I have been 51 years old for ten minutes now. By the time I am done writing, I will have been 51 for a bit longer. These are the things I know . . .
. . . that I am the mother of an incredible young woman.
. . . that I have a few true friends.
. . . that family has been my battlefield, and those left standing warrant the title.
. . . that what this world has given me has come from some incredible luck and privilege, and a dose of hard work. And what it has taken has seared me to my core. It is good to be home.
. . . that my body has finally found a voice equal to my mind, and my heart is but their mediator.
. . . that if I need something best wanted, I have work to do.
. . . that systems don’t have feelings and were made by humans. Let’s remake them.
. . . that I should best be quiet right now. A lot.
. . . that there are few true demons, mostly fear. Can you hear yours?
. . . that this day will be full and imperfect and too much and just as I like it and . . . Well. I will ask it to meander with me. That sounds good.