Intermission

On the first day of 2022, I feel as though the curtain on Act I of my life has closed, but Act II has yet to begin. I am behind the stage, learning my lines, or don’t even know what my lines are.

It is Intermission, and what else can I do, but surrender? And trust that my Soul has a plan for me. This past year, one of my biggest fears came to fruition: my father passed away. I knew that it would happen one day. I remember, years ago, we went for a walk in the woods together, and I observed him from afar, as he looked up at the light that was beaming down into an open patch of ferns where he stood, surrounded by trees.

In that moment, it hit me: he would one day be gone. And it terrified me.

Much has happened since, including the largest health care crisis the world has seen. Once again, fear reared its ugly head in my life, but I also learned to appreciate a simpler existence, and to love where I am. Instead of fashionable clothing stores to serve as eye candy during my lunch break in the city, I notice the items that line the dollar store in my down-trodden neighborhood, sometimes getting teary-eyed when I think of the people that made them, that shipped them. Who are they? Where do they live?

Nothing is certain in this world, so I resolve to start this year, not with a resolution, but more of a vow:

"I promise to love myself and my fellow fragile humans, until it is time for me to be welcomed back into the Light. I will take care of me and you all the days of my life."

Act II, coming soon.