After about the fourth person my age began to contemplate disappearing without a trace, I realized it must be on the mind of many people. These friends express a sort of helpless feeling of having spent a lifetime recovering from their past with nowhere to channel their new-found knowledge. Some are writers who penned a boat load of stories – some published and others languishing in an attic trunk without readers and, therefore, without meaning – wonder about their purpose on earth.
Yesterday, I was graced with an epiphany when a close friend wrote me about a mutual friend’s dying father. In turn, I have two parents and two stepparents whom I adore and my step father is deteriorating rapidly from Parkinson’s disease; however, I have had my head in the sand, as though he will live forever. His death is as inconceivable as it would have been to contemplate glaciers and Arctic ice melting ten years ago. I cried for an hour. I cursed the fact that I love friends and family so deeply and thoroughly. And then, it dawned on me that if I try to protect myself by not loving, contrarily, I would be sucked into the illusion that I am alone. By falling into love’s fire, the illusion of separation burns away and even in separation we feel more connected to the people whom we love and lose – whether the separation is death or divorce or breaking up for one reason or another. What remains in the ash is the love – impervious and infinite.
So, whether anyone reads a short story that I write, whether or not a daughter or grandson will unearth my journals and garner some flicker of understanding that could even spark an epiphany is inconsequential. What matters most is that our capacity to love deepens when we pursue our passions. Every act of bravery, of artistic endeavor is ultimately an act of love that moves hearts and minds, the changes the world in ways we will never know. And, if we happen to be discovered – no matter – in 1000 years it is likely we will be forgotten nonetheless.

Life is messy, but so dang beautiful. When I was depressed, during what I call "the black hole" period of my life, I couldn't see the beauty. I'll never really know what got me out of that depression. I mean, maybe it was the counseling, but one day I was healed and now when I go through something difficult it only makes me more grateful, more tangible... like I used to be behind glass. The glass shattered and now I get cut and I cut but at least it's authentic, real, full of messy feelings.
So, yesterday I was out with this group of people most of whom I don't know all that well and one guy turned to me and said, "You're always smiling." The others agreed - one woman seemed genuinely happy for me, someone else chimed "It's annoying, isn't it?" and I was too embarrassed to look at the others. And I thought about it... That I am happy is not a result of how little I have had to overcome, but a testament to the efficacy of therapy (or grace!). It's like I'm happy even if I'm sad or pissed off... happy is the main melody and the rest is counterpoint.
Maybe I'm happy because I've returned to my first love: dance. Tonight I'm performing at CU. I never expected to be performing at this age... but I feel like 20... my body feels and looks good...better than when I was 20. Kind of sad because I would have liked opportunities to dance in companies then but all I could do was sabotage myself. All I can hope is that I can help my daughter's discover this kind of butt kicking deep seated joy now so that they can achieve their dreams. And for me... well, how lucky am I to have found it now instead of at 90!! A natural high... a blessing. I love people so much and I just want to pass it on. I want people to know that there is light at the end of the tunnel because I have been in a lot of tunnels to know.