As I write this, I am back home in comfortable, quiet Connecticut. But my mind is elsewhere.
Recently, I had the opportunity to spend two weeks in Boston, my adopted home for 12 of my 32 years. To say that I was excited to visit the city for an extended period of time is an understatement. I was thrilled.
My years in Boston, from 2004-2016, were the most eventful years of my life. They formed me into who I am today.
Boston was where I went to college, worked for six years, and got my MBA.
It was where I first noticed symptoms of the muscle disease that would take over my life.
It was where I made lifelong friends and lost a dear friend.
It was where I fell many, many times.
It was where I questioned my very existence and the point of this frustrating, maddening hand I was dealt.
Most important, it was where I learned to pick up the pieces of my life and start over again.
Boston is where I grew up.
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