I saw an old friend last week and she said – I didn’t know if we would still be friends. We were out on a walk, bundled in jackets and toques in the cold rain, stopping occasionally to let the dogs go pee. She didn’t know if we would still be friends, and yet somehow we are. And this particular friendship seems to constantly surprise me. Superficially we seem to grow apart but at the same time our lives always parallel enough that we can still understand each others secrets of the heart.
I am in the process of moving back to Ontario after spending the last couple of years in British Columbia. And as I step back into old places and relationships from which I’ve been gone a long time, I am finding that I don’t remember all the street names. But I still remember what’s important. I remember the secrets of these places and of these hearts.
And now as I sit in bed, as the tail end of a cold sweeps through me, surrounded by bags half packed, I’m mentally preparing to move to a new city. Trying it out. Playing it by ear. Improvising to create the life that I want.
I can’t know what it will be and I’m okay with the unknowing. Today I lay in bed sleeping off the sickness. Tomorrow will be a new day.