The end of year is a natural time to collect memories and, again, I am trying to make sense of this past year. I am twenty-four, mature in my better moments and childish in others, and a woman increasingly aware of physical changes in my body as I outgrow an effortlessly-thin teenage metabolism. This year, I have felt gratitude, wonder, loneliness, and physical sickness. I have felt joy and exhaustion in my job. I have felt envy, said yes to things I have wanted to say no to, and chosen selfishly. I have received forgiveness, second and third and fourth chances, and unconditional acts of love. I have used my hands to make, tried new mediums, and struggled with being creative in a social-media culture – as though I need to prove that I am creative and not some sort of artist fraud.