But I wasn’t okay. I was different.

And anyone who has ever been different as a child knows the feelings of separation and loneliness that come with it, no matter how often your parents tell you that being different means you’re going to do something really important one day.

She thought of how nice it would be to be invited into those homes one day, to live how her clients lived, to enjoy a cocktail and listen to their laughter, which she imagined tinkled like the bell over the shop door.

Quite suddenly my peripheral vision went black on the left and the right and then those two sides rushed towards each other to meet in the middle, like someone closing a curtain. I remember gripping the bathroom counter tightly, saying “Oh my God, oh my God” and then the world ended.

I take refuge in sitting still and being small and quiet and watching all of the little lives unfolding around me. It allows me to comprehend that my drama is no more important than their drama.

I proclaimed that my word for 2020 was “bloom” and even bought a bracelet with this word on it to remind myself throughout the year when things got tough.

And then things got tough for us all.

And so yes, of course I’ve been called to arms over this pandemic— my life depends on that kind of reaction. And each of us, up to this point, has been trying to do what is right for our own households, forging our own path.

And mistakenly thinking that we aren’t all traveling the same path together.

It had a solid foundation of stone, but its walls were glass. A bright fire shone from within and the forest gathered closely around it, protecting it, as if the deeply-rooted trees were holding the cottage in their branches.

So I am here in the NOW, right this moment! I’m about to apply my stage makeup, I plan to have fun tonight and to give the audience exactly what they came for: laughter and joy and raucousness.

I remember wondering if this was the last daylight I’d ever see, and I remember opening my eyes WIDE and trying to see it ALL, as if I could ward off the darkness of death with all of the light I was carrying within me.

Yesterday was my birthday and it was a big one. Not because it was a big decade milestone like 40 or 50, but because it happened at all.

And there it waited, as if some other insect was unwittingly buzzing around the interior of my now booby-trapped car. It made me smile to think that a little spider could have such big hopes.

The last time I danced on this stage in front of an audience was in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert and I was dying. I was in end-stage heart failure and while I didn’t know it, I was only nine months from receiving a new heart.

It was a terrifying morning and there was only time to hug my parents one last time before The Boy was chasing my bed down the hall as the anesthesiologist pushed me towards either a new beginning or a very real end.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about time.

Of course, tis the season. In the days between Christmas and New Year’s Eve I think most of us reflect, look back, look inward and worry that we’ve wasted another year.

I hurried from the dining table to the coffee table where my phone was sitting, looked at the number and saw that the call was coming from Indianapolis. 

And I knew. This wasn't a wrong number.

I wasn't afraid of those sharks. They were beautiful and powerful and unconcerned with the passage of time. They had no idea I was there watching them-- they just swam. 

It’s lovely and comfortable and each successive night that I’ve been home from the hospital, I hate going to bed there more and more.

It's all exactly like last year and the year before it and the year before it... but something is different. Something is larger and incomprehensible and waiting to gobble me up, as if I'm a plump blackberry too.

Sometimes it feels like I’m standing in a hall of mirrors and everything that has ever happened or will ever happen is going on at the same time and I just feel so MUCH.

Today was the first day of the rest of my life.