Messy Canvas

Picking the word “vulnerable” for my next year of life feels a bit like willingly entering back into the junior high school cafeteria and scanning the crowd hoping someone has managed to save me a seat and then realizing I don’t actually want to be sitting in the first place. And who said I had to be? I have the power to walk right back out of that cafeteria and keep on walking. Every now and then I look back over my shoulder and think, is anyone going to come with me? This is vulnerable. This is my new word.