As my birthday approaches, I find myself caught in a whirlwind of reflections on the past year. It’s like looking in the mirror and seeing the young woman ‘Little Hope’ always dreamed of becoming, and it’s both surreal and empowering. I’ve unfolded in ways I never thought possible, embracing a life beyond my comfort zone.
Gone are the days when the mere thought of camping or backpacking would send shivers down my spine. Past-me was the queen of creature comforts, firmly tethered to the safety of her warm bed and the security of a full skincare routine accompanied by running water. But here I am, a changed soul, now reveling in the great outdoors, unafraid to get a little dirt under my nails (or go for a pee in the woods).
The most significant transformation, however, lies in my newfound voice. I’ve shed the layers of fear and hesitation, learning to speak my mind with a courage that ‘Little Hope’ would undoubtedly applaud. In the adult world post-college, my passion for curatorial work still burns brightly, guiding me through uncharted territories.
But every journey has its roots in reflection, and mine began with a conscious decision to break free from the shackles of comparison that social media often imposes. Nearly a year ago, I bid farewell to Instagram, a pivotal moment that now stands as one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It didn’t magically solve all my problems, and yes, I still find myself scrolling online for longer than I should. But it’s different; it’s no longer a self-destructive exercise in measuring my worth against others.
This past year, I ascended both metaphorical and literal hills, the latter being the rolling landscapes of Monroe County in Indiana. Graduating from college forced me to leave behind a beloved apartment but also allowed me to shed toxic relationships and spaces. The hills of Monroe County became my sanctuary, a place where I could release pent-up frustrations and revel in the beauty of the outdoors with my partner, the catalyst for my newfound love of nature.
Living with a roommate, who unknowingly contributed to my discomfort, became a turning point. In hindsight, better communication could have eased the tension, but at the time, I lacked the skills to navigate such discussions without defensiveness. This chapter led me to therapy, a transformative step that became necessary to break the cycle of troubled female friendships I’d carried since the 4th grade.
From stolen lunches to egocentric lunchtime conversations, I developed defense mechanisms to protect myself from the pain of bad friendships. I labeled myself as the odd one, consciously pushing against the grain to avoid getting hurt again. The culmination of these experiences was a mountain I had to climb—a journey marked by big emotions and self-discovery.
Now, on the brink of turning 23, I’m surrounded by incredible people who have become part of my story. Instead of pushing new friends away, I’ve learned to lower my guard, allowing authenticity to shine. Amidst the challenges of adulting, one silver lining is the ability to curate the cast of characters in my life, choosing those who contribute positively to my story. To me, the title of Curator now extends beyond that of my dream job at an art museum. As I blow out the candles on my birthday cake, I can’t help but marvel at the mountainous journey that brought me here and look forward to the adventures that lie ahead.
Hope: Hiker and Art Historian 