On a mild Miami evening in January, I ordered what I believe was already my second or third Chipotle order that week. Thinking that DoorDash had saved my preferred toppings from a previous order, I unknowingly paid for a meager bowl of chicken — and absolutely nothing else. No rice. No beans. No salsa. The minute I peeled back the tinfoil of my burrito bowl to reveal that pathetic pile of poultry, I should have known this year would devolve into chaos.
The so-called Great Chicken Chipotle Disaster of 2022 was just the start of an absurd year. It's funny, I had decided 2022 would be the year of sitting atop a mountain and emptying my mind, but I did quite the opposite. In the wake of heartbreak and change, I feared I had become emotionally numb, so I filled the void with spontaneous trips, unexplored vices and just random stuff to do — subconsciously placing myself in the “splash zone" in hopes of washing over this ennui I had been feeling. That said, I don't think I am closing out this year with any definitive or profound takeaways. If nothing else, it's time to set aside notions of fate and passivity, and call my mid-20s antics what it is: impulsive. This blurb is just a long-winded way of saying, I did a lot of stupid things this year without much thought behind them. (Re: The Great Chicken Disaster of 2022) Defining this year according to how good or bad it was seems reductive. Frankly, I'm left grateful and humbled. Next year, I hope to put (some of) the chaos to rest and siphon that energy into fulfilling experiences that add shape to my life — not fill a hole.
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