A wave of humidity settled over New York this summer, and it seemed to shake everything up.

A friend of mine asked me six months ago, “Are you dying to be engaged?” I told her that yes; I was ready to marry Ryan. Something about last August solidified our relationship and that deep assurance bled into fall. By Christmas, I knew without a doubt that I'd selected my partner in crime. It was an oddly undeniable feeling.

But was I dying to be engaged? No, not entirely. I rarely crave modifications in The Big Three: housing, significant others, and jobs. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy a little switch up. I just don’t ever pine for change—mostly because it has always woken up, and smacked me in the face.

I was very content with life for the last year and that’s how I knew change was on the hunt, sniffing around for an ideal time to appear. I probably created the catalyst by taking a two-week trip; that deviation from the norm seemed to wake the beast. February was for planning, March was for Scotland, and April was for Iceland. Then I was in a best friend’s wedding, I gleefully got engaged, I moved to Brooklyn, babies were born, sisters lost their jobs, and Ryan’s eye decided it no longer wanted to function.

This is why one should not crave change. It’s my opinion change will find you.

(I’m sitting in a coffee shop typing this, and I feel very safe in front of my computer with a cup of caffeine seeping into my blood stream. The wheels are starting to turn in my dusty Sunday morning brain. I could sit here forever, the breeze blowing in from an open window while Bob Dylan plays at a low volume…

Ah, but I couldn’t.
I take back everything I just told you.
I’m already bored and I've had too much coffee.
Plus, I’d be terribly irritable if the world didn’t keep spinning madly round.)

Maybe I’d like to rephrase if you’d allow me that, dear reader?

I adore change just as I adore being content in certain seasons. My anxiety was speaking out, and she is a much worse monster than change. She is the evil queen of stagnant motions. She gets her cheap thrills from repetition and fear. She doesn’t like success because it’s too much of a gamble, and her favorite pastime is chewing brains into dull submission.

No, no we shall not feed that beast.
It's true; this has been a terrible summer—isolating and humid.
But just like every season, it is not infinite.

So I’ll sit
And I’ll wait.
And then I’ll plan out the next steps.

Where shall Ryan and I travel? What should I write next? Will I finally do my laundry today? Will Ryan’s fourth eye surgery actually work? I don’t know the answers to these questions.

This I do know: With one hundred percent certainty, many of our delicately constructed plans will be altered. But the joke’s on life—because we don’t know what we want, either.

We just hope to keep progressing forward.
And, luckily, we have the ability to do that.