It happens.

I guess that’s life. Things start, things end. You fall into new routines, tear out old ones, and sometimes you find yourself staring at white screen, trying to summarize an era in a few hundred words. 

But it really just happens. Fast, too.

As much as I wish there was, there is no grand plan. No temporal treasure map told me I’d get here, trying to wrap something up that never felt like it started properly in the first place. Highschool: four years of running, rerouting, running and rewriting. And somehow, I hit the end.
There’s this pressure to make endings feel profound. To condense your experiences, the good and the bad, into a shining diamond of a quote. But honestly, sometimes you can’t tie the threads of memories into a neat bow, so here’s the next best thing: frayed threads and a vague sense of “Well…that was a thing.”

And that’s great. Amazing, even.

I’ve always felt like I had to chase the polished version of life, look for closure, clarity and carefully filtered success. But I always find something real in the rough drafts, the scraps, the clippings on the drawing board floor. In the uncertainty, in the misses, failures, switch-ups and strange wins that you keep to yourself. Life isn’t clean. It’s weird. Inconsistent. Occasionally brilliant.And that’s enough.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that the best things never arrive when they’re supposed to, and they’re supposed to, and they’re rarely what except. But they leave their mark anyway. In people, places, projects, even passing moments that felt small at the time but ended up mattering most. 

So this isn’t some dramatic sign-off or speech. It’s more of a quiet nod. A final period at the end of a sentence I didn’t know I was writing. To the people who were part of it: thanks for being there. To the person I was at the start: You did it.

Whatever happens next, I’ll figure it out. 

After all, it happens.