I am writing this at dawn, on Christmas Eve, in the epic year that has been 2020. The sky beyond my window is a deep blue, the tree branches bare and scraping the lightening sky. The world outside is shifting in a dance with the winter wind. I am wearing my favorite shawl, wrapped in the warmth of it, listening to a candle flicker in the background of my thoughts. The mug of tea I am holding always cools before I drink it when I find myself in this state of reflection. It goes without saying that this has been a year like no other—for the vast collective of the world and the deepest, imperceptible shifts within. I am holding on to this moment of peace, honoring the enveloping quiet of home. I feel the precipice, and the cliff is coming.