Because when I was in my teens and twenties out at night in my sleepy suburban neighbourhood, I would sandwich my keys between my fingers as a weapon. Just like the girls were taught in school. Just in case.
Because I’ve been told – one too many times – that I’d be prettier if I smiled.
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” ~ Mary Oliver
I mean, you may have lived a hundred before and you may come back again as a cat, or a tulip. Or something close to – but not quite – who you are now, as you work out the kinks of your former existence and burn through your karma while searching for your purpose.
It was this Sunday last year. The last day of the long weekend. And as I search my mind, I can’t honestly recall if it was sunny because there was a dark cloud following me everywhere I went and a deep-seated anxiety that bubbled quietly and angrily below the surface.