The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite and perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries, with vast air shafts between, surrounded by very low railings.
Jorge Luis Borges
Your Year of the Found Thing. Something slips through the gap between what you meant and what landed, and instead of losing ground, you discover a door. This is the year the mistranslation leads somewhere better than the original destination would have. A conversation in February goes sideways in the best possible way, and what falls out of it becomes the idea you carry all spring. The hard truth you've been holding finds its form, the gentle one, the one that lands softly enough to actually change something. Someone receives it in March and says thank you in a way that surprises you both. By October, you are fluent in a version of yourself you were just beginning to speak last year. Keep crossing the gap. The finding is in the crossing.