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Robin Hebb.

writer, performer, cool girl.

 

01/01/18.

01/01/18.

Artwork by Agathe Sorlet.

I’m not going anywhere this year.

I’m not going anywhere this year.

I’m not going anywhere this year.


I woke up early on January 1st, 2018 and wrote down all the things I knew was going to happen during the next year.


The list included my work schedule at the bakery and the restaurant for the next two weeks and a wedding in New Brunswick in the springtime.


I stared at the short, uneventful list.


The sun beamed bright through the window.


The sky was clear- it was cold outside.


I could feel I was losing my grip, but I was still holding on.


I had been trying sobriety on for size- I was on my ninth week.


I couldn’t have ever foreseen how fast and hard I was about to crash.


Just how much I would wind up losing my grip.


I couldn’t have ever known how much it was going to hurt.


I couldn’t have ever predicted how quickly I was about to turn shit around.


It was impossible to see how much lightness was ahead.


I felt weak, tired and lonely on January 1st 2018.


Broken.


I had no idea that the damage was reversible.


Beautiful.


I had no idea it was going to become my super power.


I had no idea it was going to all be so simple.



How do you feel?

How did you get here?

Who do you have to thank?

Be clear.

Be honest.


I stared at the short, uneventful list.


The room was quiet. Everything was frozen.


I soaked up the silence.


I relished the dead of winter.


On January 1st I had no idea how much love I would receive and reciprocate.


I didn’t know that harder moments would wind up softening me.


On January 1st 2018

It was impossible to see how much pride I’d wind up carrying with me into 2019.


Landscapes.

Landscapes.

George Stroumboulopoulos.

George Stroumboulopoulos.