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Today is the 11th anniversary of This Battered Suitcase. I’d be lying if I said that I felt OK about it all, and that I still have the confidence that things would go back to “normal”. It hits me like a ton of bricks a few times a day: the dream job I worked for for almost two decades is gone, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back to where it used to be. The last year has brought with it massive waves of anxiety, and on some days, I can’t even turn on my computer, let alone try to write anything meaningful or coherent.

I’ve been a huge fan of Spotify for around five years now. In the last year alone, I listened to nearly 50,000 minutes of music (that’s the equivalent of about 35 days of nonstop music). I like to think I know Spotify well; I look forward to my Discover Weekly every Monday, I’m always checking our their suggestions, and I make many playlists. But somehow I have remained in the dark about audiobooks on Spotify, as I only recently discovered just how many books you can listen to with a Spotify account!

For a very long time, it was very important to me that others knew I had good taste, that the books I was reading made me seem smart, that the music I was listening to made me seem cool, that the food I was eating made me seem cultured.

And then I went travelling.

I was in the dating world for about twenty years before I met my boyfriend, Jon. With those twenty years came a lot of experience, both for the better and for the worse. I’ve been ghosted after three months of dating, I’ve dealt with intermittent reinforcement, and I’ve been in my fair share of rocky relationships. But the most common dating experience I’ve had? Love bombing. I only recently realized exactly what love bombing is, so I thought I’d share the warning signs and how to avoid it. Because – trust me – love bombing never ends well.

In a recent blog post called “Here Are All the Things I Haven’t Accomplished this Year in Self-Isolation”, I reflected on all the yoga I didn’t do. All the canning, the crafts, the reading and the writing I thought I’d tackle and then just… didn’t. The one thing I did do consistently… other than watch TV, eat two-bite brownies, and watch IG reels of cute dogs? Make limoncello. That’s right, I learned how to make limoncello at home.

Do you remember, back in March, when we all thought this would last two weeks?

The snow was melting in Winnipeg, I had a new boyfriend, I was almost overwhelmed with freelancing work, I was going to the gym regularly and loving it.

“Two weeks without seeing my family and friends, two weeks without going to restaurants, two weeks without going to the gym?” I panicked.

Oh, how innocent and naive I was. How blissfully, ignorantly unaware.