A weekend trip to a Fallout gathering in Goodsprings, Nevada turned into a reminder of why the game has been my refuge, my metaphor, and sometimes my lifeline.
A weekend trip to a Fallout gathering in Goodsprings, Nevada turned into a reminder of why the game has been my refuge, my metaphor, and sometimes my lifeline.
Adulting isn’t just bills and groceries—it’s the heavy weight of making decisions alone after years of partnership. From bad floors to life-changing choices, I’m learning how to carry it.
The world feels like it’s gone off the rails. Between broken floors, broken politics, and the broken idea that we can’t speak ill of the dead, I’ve been wrestling with grief, free speech, and the double standards we’re drowning in. Some people deserve kindness after death. Others deserve honesty. Either way, we shouldn’t be told to keep quiet.
Grief doesn’t come with an instruction manual. My therapist reminded me today: I didn’t do it wrong. Different doesn’t mean broken. Giving myself grace, like I give others, might be the hardest part of this race.