The Spinning

There’s this phase where nothing moves. The days are all the same—sun up, sun down, nothing changed. Then something breaks and suddenly everything accelerates. You’re drowning in moments, good ones and terrible ones, and you realize you’ve been standing still the whole time.

April did that. A friend’s mother died of cancer, and they buried her today. It’s the kind of moment that makes you stop pretending things stay the same.

Becca decided she needed out. She’s moving to Freiburg, somewhere better. We were close, but I was never really there for it—always somewhere else in my head, thinking about things I don’t even remember anymore. She deserved better. I think about the nights we’d cook together, the walks, how easy it was to just be around her. I’m going to miss that. But she’s right to go, and I’m proud of her, even though it means she’s leaving and I’m staying.

There’s something clarifying about watching someone else move forward while you’re stationary. Not bitter, just clear: you’re not stuck, you’re choosing not to move. You see someone gather the courage to change something broken, and your excuses suddenly sound thin.

So I’m done sitting around. Actually going to work on my studies now, actually push on the thing I keep deferring. I’m tired of being the person who talks about change while staying exactly where I am. Watching Becca have the courage to move makes it hard to pretend that’s anything other than my own choice.