Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail.

In 2024, it was when I read my piece fretting about motherhood with a pregnancy loss. In 2023, it was reading at the Racket. In 2022, it was the moment on Cathedral Rock where I passed other cowardly people, thinking that it wasn’t that bad! In 2021, it was all moments after I finished creating something like after the initial Weddin video. In 2020, it was the moment(s) when I was creating. In 2019, it was the moment that I realized that he was actually…alive and whole. In 2018, it was the moment that we realized that the car would start. In 2017, it was the moment (or moments) that I deeply connected with a group I had just met at a conference where I thought I would have been antisocial (or just horribly socially anxious). In 2016, it was the moment that I felt in the flow in telling the story of Ice Cream Travel Guide. In 2015, it was the moments after my hat was “stolen” in Rio. In 2014, it was a moment in a writing workshop that I had achieved greatness. In 2013, it was talking to Yasar Usta in Istanbul. In 2012, it was using the ocean as a “big toilet” while floating outside Palawan. In 2011, it was my birthday moment. In 2010, it was the success in Journey to the End to the Night.

At first, when I first read this question, I immediately thought about driving Chris to the ER. About how I thought we would just walk in and hope for a short wait. About how it would be like last time, where he laid on a gurney. About how I was mad at first that he couldn’t buckle his seatbelt on his own. About how I tried to buckle him in as I was driving. About how after the seatbelt alarm stopped going, he suddenly became unresponsive. About how I panicked, yelling, opening the window, trying to tickle him. About how I didn’t even think to go to a nearer ER. About how all I knew was that we had to get to Kaiser and it would take too long to pull over and I was almost there. About how I took the wrong turns, obeyed the green light, arrived at the ER, not knowing what to do.

But did I feel alive? I could say that it was the moment that I did a slideshow about everything (well, before the assault), but I was pissed off by some responses that I felt less alive with the results.

But I think it must have been when at a meeting, we went around to share our milestones. I was feeling unhappy lately so I didn’t want to share any optimism. At least not with my coworkers. Several coworkers described how their kids were growing and their achievements. One described their dog and new tricks. One about their recent engagement. Another about their pregnancy. Then it was my turn. Plants, anything, I was told. It had been just a month since the assault, nearly a year since my diagnosis, over a year since Chris’ mom died.

I had always hated the conference room. It was in the middle of the building, so it lacked windows. It is awkwardly placed in an outer hallway and inner hallway, so some people pass through it. And all the chairs had weird crumbs on it. And this meeting. I was supportive of it initially, but soured on it. And I was feeling resentful just generally. I was quiet throughout—what else could I do but politely nod? Of course, I am happy for my coworkers, but then when it came to my turn, I remember when during the pandemic, someone asked everyone if they had anything exciting to share and one said nothing. How do you help someone who isn’t feeling great?

Well, I obviously could have demurred or said pass. But instead, I decided to double down. Because I typically like icebreakers and talking about myself. I wanted to share the thing on top of my head, although it was completely not as devastating as it sounded. “Every September for the last three years, I was pregnant. But soon after I realized that I wasn’t. So this year is the first time, that I am not, because of various reasons. So I guess that’s a milestone for me whether it’s good or bad.”

Silence descended in the room. I wasn’t embarrassed exactly. I felt almost angry that I was asked the question. So I told the truth even if it was painful.

“Thank you for sharing,” someone eventually said. Even some coworkers privately DMed me later about it.

And there was an awkward closing. I felt a bit self-righteous about it. I couldn’t square why I felt a bit uncomfortable about it, partly because I felt somewhat guilty about making people feel bad for something that I didn’t need to receive pity for. Which is definitely involved with my mixed feelings of being a parent. But I felt so alive.