💌 Love letter to November '24
A quick lil retrospective.
November ended with me bedridden, in what I like to call my ailing Victorian child era. Fevered, exhausted, and far from reflective, I spent the last days of the month recovering, was on the plane for some adventures right after. Hence the belated post.
The rest of November was a mix of opposites. There were moments of peace, trust, and clarity—feelings I hadn’t felt as deeply in months. But there was also uncertainty, impatience, and restlessness.
It felt like the month was preparing me for change, forcing me to see where I was dissatisfied and take steps forward. I guess the real growth doesn’t happen in comfort—it happens in the mess, where you’re tested on all the theoretical wisdom you’ve learned when things were peaceful.
I started the month in Washington for a team colocation and was surprised by how much I loved it. The sunshine, good food, and time with someone I love made the days feel effortless. Small joys—discovering incredible mango sticky rice, a perfect bookstore, and incredible Korean and Vietnamese meals—added to the magic. Even post-election, I found myself coping, accepting where we are, and focusing on what I could control.
Back home in Toronto, I was reminded of what matters most. Time with family, the people who feel like home, and the simple moments that ground me. Through small existential spirals, I realized just how much their presence anchors me. A good conversation was often the light on cloudy days.
November also reminded me how much emotions show up in the body. Stress, exhaustion, and turmoil can weaken you, leaving you much more succeptible to the world. The unecesary mental and emotional disturbance I had mid month, showed up in my weakened immune by the month’s end.
Though I ended this month physically miserable, internally I was deeply grateful. This time, I wasn’t alone (which the past two times I’ve gotten this sick, I had been!). I had warm soups, medicines, care, and reminders of how much worse things could be.
Memories (of when even hot water was a luxury) grounded me. Even in the hardest moments, when I couldn’t breathe, and my throat was on fire, and all I wanted to do was sleep, there was gratitude—for the love, for comfort, for the small things. Sometimes, it takes losing an ordinary day to realize how much you value it.
With love,
Mishaal