In 2020, I read the newspaper almost every day, I wrote nearly nothing, and I read less than five books. And you know what? It was FINE. Because you can really just do whatever you want. There is no book police. And oh how I fell in love with the newspaper.

Apologies are the worst. No one likes to make them, no one even really likes receiving them. Apologies can be awkward, defensive, and uncomfortable. The best apology is the one you don’t have to make. Especially when it comes to trans people.

I wrote more than 30,000 words this month, which is by far the most I’ve ever written in a month. And an hour ago, I hit delete. Intentionally. Because what I wrote doesn’t matter and I don’t want it to. Because I wrote to be writing.

I first realized my gender identity when my kid saw me a little different than I was able to see myself. She was only 6 at the time, but she knew that identity is expansive. She knew that gender isn't determined at birth by everyone else, but it's something that finds its way into a person's deep understanding of who they are and how they fit in the world. I'm pretty sure she personally identified as a Disney Princess at the time, so this made a lot of sense to her and she called me out.

I manage anxiety with information. "Oh, that? That's scary!" *runs to Twitter* like when I spent three days digging through conspiracy theories about the Nashville explosion because now my best friend lives there and it was close enough to wake her up. It probably would've been enough for me to just notice that it's terrifying to have your best friend able to hear an explosion. And to be fair, when it's your best friend, they see all the wild tweets you send them as "Hi I love you, I'm glad you're okay," anyway so it doesn't even work to block the vulnerability. Good talk.