A whole day, a whole life ahead. What better Christmas gift than that. A world of possibilities (verbs optional). Realization that every day is new. Sometimes, you have more control than you think. Even within the confines (not so much confined) of what you’ve been given and what you’ve made for yourself.
Take all of this, then, and do something with it. Something that brings joy (grab joy when you can find it, when it catches your eye, sparkling from rooftops and drifting behind clouds; reach up and catch the faintest corner and pull it down towards you) or contentment or peace. A gracious and still moment. Even though the chaos howls around you, whirling like brittle leaves in the fall.
Sometimes it’s easy. The pieces fit together like a puzzle and they snap in place effortlessly and you know. This, this is exactly how things should be. Those times are to give you strength when it’s hard and you wonder, when can I stop climbing? I can’t stop climbing or I’ll fall backwards, plummeting in the darkness.
Both ways lead you to a new day. No matter what path, what darkness, what light, the next day comes. And you gather up all the pieces around you (ye rosebuds, while ye may, before that smiling flower dies) and craft something entirely new with it.
I used to look at that as loneliness (she is the one who will have to rescue herself), but I was wrong. It’s freedom.