On the afternoon of December 21st, 2006, I was cut down by a tree .

Spines of hoarfrost glimmered in the pale light, and despite my fleece-lined GoreTex, I was shivering. This part of western Canada was considered a temperate rainforest; it didn’t usually get this cold. I had turned seventeen in April, and like most teens, I was confused, lonely, and had a poor relationship with the future.

But more than anything, I was afraid. Mostly of my own faults and lack of experience, but further terrified of my ambitions. I wanted to become a writer, an educator,

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