2016 felt like a sudden drop in temperature, a cold wind moving in. It was my brother's heart valve tearing, flapping ineffectually as his lungs filled with fluid, until the doctors could figure out what was happening and sew it back on. It was a quick layover in Istanbul with my husband -- one of our first trips without the kids -- walking through a security checkpoint into the market in Istanbul, shortly before a bomb ripped through it. It was an undertow in the ocean off the coast of Costa Rica -- my friend urging me to come back to the shore -- while I continued to move hypnotically towards the giant waves crashing in the distance. And then, unexpectedly, finding myself in the Holy Land, getting pulled into a deep current of love and hope even while I breathed the tense air of a world on the brink of war. 2016 felt like prologue, just scene setting, while I sat on the front steps of my new farm house, looked up at the stars and moon, and tried to understand what it meant that Donald Trump had just been elected president.