pretty. hard.

I worked pretty hard these past two years.

Read it as “pretty” and “hard.” Separately, but at the same time. I worked beautifully and I worked mightily. I worked pleasingly, lovingly, and dearly and I worked unbreakably, diligently, and powerfully.

I do anything I care about pretty hard. I write pretty hard, I love pretty hard, and I sleep pretty hard.

I love words and love and dreaming. Most of the time all at once, and it’s pretty hard to keep up with.

I crashed pretty hard when my family moved across the country, I burned prettier and harder when I fought for a crush (because it wasn’t love, not really) that was never worth my time and was never supposed to happen. I picked myself up pretty hard and got some pretty hard internships and got a pretty hard job with pretty hard decisions to make.

What I am saying is that I can be breathtakingly resilient and my resilience can be breathtaking.

What I am saying is that after two years I am pretty hard to break.

Imagine me after two more.