You, yet again, have given me renewed purpose and meaning…

Dear Courtney,

I remember meeting you for the first time four years ago as the new intern I had helped hire for my team at Oakland City Hall. We were working to build digital services for a variety of departments, and modernize the City of Oakland’s website, and our team of FTEs were a little worn and weary after more than a dozen months of chipping away at our big civic tech dream. Then you came in and you were a breath of fresh air. You were just one person added to a team of five, but judging by the impact you had on our spirits, anyone would’ve understandably assumed that the team had doubled in size or that you were a magic-making coach (May I coin the phrase “digital service whisperer”?).

We became friends shortly after, and stayed in touch even though we were in different cities – you finishing your undergraduate degree in Berkeley, me finishing my graduate degree in Boston. Life has a way of playing with railroad switches (yes, I’m blatantly making train references because I know how much you love them), and three years after your summer internship at Oakland City Hall, we learned that both of our first summers after graduation would be spent working for the same government organization yet again! (This time it was for the Technology Transformation Services (TTS) of the General Services Administration). I flew to DC for my onboarding orientation and we made sure to see each other twice in that three day window. A couple weeks later, we were both back home in SF’s Civic Center working across the street from one another – you at Twitter, me at 18F – and our monthly coffees and lunches began. We attended civic tech happy hours together, lectures and panels on women and queer folks in government, and strategized about Gay for Transit.

But these are only the visible pieces from the chronology of our friendship. What isn’t captured by our messages exchanged, our events attended, or our meals shared, is that I looked up to you. Even though you’d always ask my advice and input, you quickly outgrew being my intern or mentee as far as I’m concerned. (Not gonna lie, I did see you as my little brother though.) I have yet to find another friend that shared my passions as deeply. Everything I would ever want to talk about – the state of technology in government, urban planning and public transit, being queer, being a Big Sensitive Journaler, my love for the Bay Area, plants, dogs, board games, and Lin Manuel Miranda – could be articulated by you even more kindly and fearlessly. I saw in you a younger and brighter version of me. Whenever I felt down or worn, your words, tweets, or company had a way of lightening my spirit and reminding me of my purpose and my unadulterated dreams. You had a way of carrying your purpose, aspirations and sense of justice unabashedly on your sleeve. I reminded myself to be more like you, to not let the waves break me down. Your generosity, your principled approach, your empathy, your intelligence and humility, were all inspiring for me. I never told you (and why I felt ashamed to explicitly tell you earlier is now beyond me) but you were one of the handful of people that had me really excited to return to the Bay Area after grad school. I was really excited to build with you. And building we were -- quite strongly and fervently, in fact – until.

You are the first friend I’ve lost to gun violence. You are the first friend I’ve lost unexpectedly and so young. It’s been less than a year since you graduated from college. And that too with flying colors. How is this possible. I keep thinking I’m living some sort of cruel joke, like the Truman Show or Groundhogs Day, and that tomorrow I’ll wake up and this will have never happened. That we’ll have the video hangout we had scheduled. And plus, you owed me ice cream at the Civic Center Bi-Rite post-covid. I’m trying to understand how to wrap my brain around this all. How to make meaning of something that has none. So I’m starting with this letter to you. And I’m looking through all these amazing pictures of you that have been shared by TTS colleagues from Code.gov and Coding it Forward, and stories from friends, colleagues and admirers on Twitter, and I’m basking in how much of an impact you had in just twenty-two years. You held and organized others so deeply and generously, and now they are holding you right back and rallying around you. It is powerful to witness. Please give me the strength to carry forward your impact, your light, and your generosity. You, yet again, have given me renewed purpose and meaning -- except this time with your absence rather than your presence. You will not be forgotten.

With all my strength and love.
Ayushi