I recently re-read my entire blog from start to finish. It was a mixed bag of emotions: I ebbed from laughing at some of my more self-deprecating posts to feeling sorry for my former self, as I grappled with the experience of my first (but not last) utter mindfuck of a heartbreak.
On December 31, 2015, I left the year on a high note, excited for what 2016 had in store (clearly consistent blogging was not in the cards for the subsequent two years).
So what happened over those next two years? I never talked to Mr. B again. I created an amazing life in Toronto. I switched jobs from one corporate salt mine to another. I bought my first (shoebox) home. I fell in love again. It ended. I took a much-needed break from dating. I maxed out my Aeroplan miles every chance I got; checking off bucket list destinations left and right. I bought my first home by myself. I got out of debt. I fell in love with yoga. I made more time for my friends and family and built a life I was really proud of. And then when I least expected it – when my finger was tired from swiping left on the newest batch of insufferable douchebags – I met Mr. J.
I haven’t wanted to write about Mr. J thus far. It felt too private; too magical, to put into words. But I get emails from time to time from people going through the throws of their own heartbreaks, wondering how my story “ended.”
The truth is, this is just the beginning for me. I leave 2017 feeling grateful for everything I have; and I enter 2018 excited for everything yet to come.
Happy new year, friends. Thank you to everyone who has continued to follow my random word vomits throughout the years. See you in 2018!