Like for most everyone else, the past few years have not been ones for the books in a good way. 2019 was a year that sucked bitter lemons, 2020 was "the year Stephen King wrote," and 2021 was its evil twin. And 2022 has not done much better altogether. In January, we lost Chiquita to an illness that was never properly diagnosed; I had to bring my mom here from Puerto Rico after a bad fall and hospitalization in Puerto Rico, and then she had another fall and broke her hip, requiring surgery in June; my husband's mom died suddenly and unexpectedly in August; and Lizzy (pictured above) left us last week after declining quickly also with no proper diagnosis or treatment (can't say I've been impressed with the veterinary services we've had since moving to Massachusetts last year). But we were blessed by an amazing home veterinarian, a true angel, who helped Lizzy cross the bridge peacefully and helped us be at peace with the decision to let her go.
Now, we're packing up the small Cambridge apartment where we've lived since April 2021 and I'm changing jobs once more, leaving what I thought was my dream position, which brought me back to Harvard 35 years after I left in 1986. As of the first of the year, we're moving to western Massachusetts where I start work in January at a small liberal arts college near the Berkshires.
While I'm beyond grateful for and excited about the change, there is always that anxiety about starting over, something I've been doing pretty much every other year since 2019. I am hoping we find a place to land and build community and grow older and that this is the last year of major changes. Still, it feels good to know that, even at this late stage in our lives, when we're no longer young and spry, we're unwilling to settle for less than what we feel we have earned. The early 60s provide a crystal-clear clarity that beams ahead, like a North Star.
