It kind of crept up on me. One day, sitting at my workstation, I stopped typing,
stared blankly at the screen for a few seconds, and a switch flipped in my head.

On the night of New Year’s Eve, my backpack was stolen from me on the train from
Berlin to Amsterdam, and with it about $2000 worth of equipment, clothes, and so
on. A portent for the year that was to come. I generally keep my private and
public lives carefully separated, but perhaps I will offer you a peek behind the
curtain today.

It seems like every week or two this year, another crisis presented itself, each
manageable in isolation. Some were independent events, others snowballed as the
same problems escalated. Gossip at the hackerspace, my personal life put on
display and mocked. A difficult break-up in February, followed by a close friend
facing their own relationship’s hurtful end. Another close friend – old, grave
problems, once forgotten, remembered, and found to still be causing harm. Yet
another friend, struggling to deal with depression and emotional abuse at the
hands of their partner. Another friendship still: lost, perhaps someday to be
found again.

Dependable Drew, an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, always knowing the
right words to say, ready to help a