Tomorrow is Wednesday. Babies will be born. People will die. Marriages will end. First crushes will crescendo. People will be hired. New stories will begin. Garbage bags will tear.
We will all feel different things.
As my Instagram feed has shifted, a result of each of us grabbing the reins of our own stories and sharing what we feel is appropriate, I am seeing bouquets of flowers because life is too short not to buy them, as often as I am seeing flowers because life was in fact too short. Mountainous swells of joy follow words that so succinctly portray heartache it doesn’t seem possible that they occupy the same realm.
I have no answers, but I do know one thing—I want to fight time less. Less judgment, less contempt, and more space for light. The other day I was in the car with Fin. The car was idling as we waited for something, though I can’t for the life of me remember what. She was bored, not cross, but definitely not as happy as she could have been.
I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and realized she’d begun to play with a bit of light. Her little fingers twitched and pointed as she made tiny shadow puppets from sunlight.
It occurs to me that we don’t have to have the answers or to be right, but we do need to remember how to let the light in, if not to see, then to keep us company as we pass the time.