A Good Fucking Day
Today didn’t fix everything. I’m still not the same person I was before the accident, and maybe I never will be. But for the first time in a while, my brain showed up, my bike plans snapped into place, and something I built actually landed exactly right. Some days aren’t about healing or closure. Some days are just about momentum. And today? Today was a good fucking day.
Going Back
We’re taught to see work as a necessary evil, something to survive until retirement finally sets us free. But when your life is violently interrupted, you learn something different: meaningful work isn’t a trap. It’s a tether. And when you’re finally cleared to return, it doesn’t feel like obligation. It feels like coming home.
Fifty Days In
Fifty days in, and I’m not where I was, but I’m not where I was told I’d be either. I can stand. I can move. I can lift, even if it’s light and ugly and slow. My body is battered, stitched, numb, leaking, and missing pieces, but my mind? My mind is on fire. Somewhere between broken bones and stubborn refusal, I finished the work. And that counts for something. Maybe everything.
A Good Day
Recovery isn’t linear. Some days you live too far inside your own head, spiraling through thoughts that don’t always land somewhere warm. And then—sometimes—the universe throws you a bone. A good day. A real one. A day where the words flow, where purpose snaps back into focus, where unexpected kindness reminds you that life is still happening. Yesterday was one of those days. And those days matter more than people realize.