things change

I get fairly confused when I read entries I made two years ago. Is it common to change so much within two years that your past self is barely recognizable?

I will be returning to Detroit this year, alone. Gramma and her house, both of which had figured so prominently in my childhood, are no more: Gramma passed away earlier this year, the house sold mere months before that. Things change, my mother once joked to me, pretending to give me such unwise advice. Now I know that’s the only wisdom that means anything to me.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.