2022 was the year of chaotic good.
The year that will forever be remembered by the phrase “three kids under three.”
The year where doing what I love and being with those I loved clashed the most.
The year I wandered the streets of Vienna at night, missing what it was like to have big, late night talks with friends more often.
The year I learned to simultaneously celebrate and mourn the fact that my life ain’t just mine, anymore.
The year a 59 year old Guatemalan mom taught me how to prepare pepian, then taught me from her own experience raising twins that you just gotta ask for help sometimes.
The year the Phillies and Argentina served up the best couple months of sports I could’ve imagined.
The year I actually started to recognize the early signs of burnout.
The year I rediscovered my love of biryani, Ethiopian coffee, and movies on planes.
The year I got to share my story on stage, and in the process of preparing that talk, gained a more robust appreciation for all the ‘impossible’ things I’ve managed to do in life.
The year of hospitality set to the sound of thundering drum beats in Burundi.
The year a Bengali man lit a betel leaf on fire and put it into my mouth; the most unique snack I’ve had in a long while.
The year I learned $30 worth of food in Toronto’s Chinatown is a lot in one evening.
The year I visited my 50th state.
This was the year where simply getting to leave the house was a tremendous obstacle, and yet we made our way to four continents and countless adventures.
It’s a beautiful year to build off of, and I have a pretty good feeling about 2023 as well.