So today’s adventure in the Wasteland had me and some friends running Caravans. For those not playing Fallout 76, Caravans are an event added a couple of updates ago: you move pack Brahmin loaded with supplies across part of the Wasteland. In theory, it’s simple. In practice? It’s the single buggiest part of the game. Brahmin that won’t move, frozen screens, endless restarts.

Tonight wasn’t terrible. A few hiccups, but we got through several without a full restart. That’s a rare win in Fallout terms.

Now, I know someone in the back is already asking: What does this have to do with life? My short answer: everything, or nothing. Pick your flavor.

Because like those Caravans, I’m glitchy. I stall, freeze, swear at nothing, and need resets. Some days I run smooth and stable; other days it feels like the whole damn system needs a patch. That’s not just gaming—that’s life.

Over the past two years, my “system” has been through constant updates. And for once, they’re mine. I’m no longer bound to someone else’s vision of my future. I’ve learned to use I instead of we. I no longer feel the need to seek permission or validation from people around me. That shift felt daunting at first—like the silence after logging off a group chat—but eventually, it turned into healing.

When my marriage ended the way it did, I had already started grieving. That’s why my grief looked strange to some people: I was already halfway down that road before his death. I’ve said this before, but it remains true—I’m still in a better place today than I was before that May. It sounds odd, and I’d trade away the deaths in a heartbeat, especially Mom’s, but I know the alternative (a messy divorce) would have wrecked me even worse.

So yes, glitches and resets happen. But unlike the game, I don’t always need to restart from scratch. I keep moving forward—sometimes stable, sometimes bugged out, but always my own path.

And as always: hug your mom, hug your dog, and be a good human. You don’t know how long you’ve got.