GOLD DIGGER

She’s slinky and sly. Botoxed and buffed just waiting to hook the perfect guy.

Chemical peels. Laser corrections.

Investing in “me time” to fix all that needs correcting.

Fancy dinners. Exotic vacations. Putting on a perfect image to keep up social relations.

Perfect hair. Flawless teeth, but a soul that is rotting beneath.

With each lie, her beauty fades and as the money runs out so does her grace.

She’s looking again for that special man who can cater to her selfish demands.

On the prowl, hitting the hunting ground-the gold digger is running out of men it the town.

As each year passes her flaws are harder to hide, she wonders if her investment should have been on what’s inside.

It’s too late now time has taken it’s toll and there’s not much left of the gold digger’s soul.

Lonely and broke.

Faded and sad.

The gold digger should have been digging for love instead.

The Sunset and The Sea

She let go.

A sunset sinking down.

With a graceful bow, she surrendered and let time take its end.

A million memories, like waves flooding the sands, soaked her soul and filled it back up again.

Her purples. Her pinks. Her oranges. Her blues.

The green in her eyes brought back their hue.

The sea was there to greet her and carry her away.

And as her colors spilled in, they became one again.

KEEP IT REAL CORPORATE AMERICA: BE “FANCY”

The people I work with, some for nearly a decade now, they are the ones that make it all worthwhile. All the support and humor through bright and dark times-they make the difference. I know it’s supposed to be “business”. That we’re here to make money, to do well for investors, to reach goals and blah, blah, blah…but it’s never been business for me, honestly I’ve always felt like a voyeur in corporate America. I’m here, but I don’t buy in to the culture campaigns and ladder climbing. I just get to do what I love to do-write. Beyond that, I like to hear people’s stories. I like to make people laugh. I like to listen and try to figure out their modus operandi, because in my opinion, just like in the real world, in corporate America there are two kinds of people-nice ones and mean ones. And I want to be associated with the nice ones.

The thing is, I think cubicles are just mean. And I don't care for hierarchy. I don’t think people with higher paying positions are better, smarter, cooler, or more awesome than people who water the plants, or choose to stay home. I think people make choices and sometimes their forced into one. Some want to climb high. Some want world dominance. Some are afraid to make a move. Some want to be left alone, be paid and leave at a respectable hour so they can drink wine and finish reading their book. Some people thrive off being around other people who are “fancy”. I don’t care what your extravagant title is, I care how you treat people, and how intact your soul is.

Fanciness, in my opinion, is when people are authentic and have no alternative motive. I mean, face it corporate America, you’re a number. None of this is ours to keep, so you might as well have fun, be kind, and stay humble. Do your job well and focus on how you can be truly “fancy”, because at some point, just like everything in life, this too shall pass, either by reorg, buy out, sell out, new leadership, disbandment, abandonment, mob retaliation, the axe dropping, forced retirement, or legit retirement. In the end, people will only remember how you made them feel, not that you got to park in front.

I’m lucky for my job and for the super fancy, good ones that surround me. In an environment where nothing is ours to keep, I treasure the realness of the tangible and intangible things you’ve given and shown to me…

Thank you cards, get well cards, custom zit joke cards, every kind of card, cover up for zits,  quotes, candy, flowers, cakes, t-shirts, gifts for my kids, books, articles, jokes, pictures, calendars, vitamin D lamps, vitamin D, dictionaries, casseroles, condolences, books on writing, books on writing about writing, card stock, bobble heads,  gum, breath mints, tampons, ointments, medical dictionaries, scotch, Christmas CDs, recipes, scarves, hand warmers, zinc, expensive pens, made up awards, flamingos, Irish plaques, goldfish, Halloween decorations,  mouse pads, phone covers, earrings, saffron,  and today…unicorn post-its for my little girl.

Keep it fancy, people.

EMBRACE THE FLAMINGO

She’s fully naked with the exception of the fluorescent orange cast on her right leg. She’s taking a shower in our bathroom, because it’s the easiest access for an invalid. I’m nervous because if she falls she’ll break something else. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed waiting for my cue to come help dry her off and put on clothes, then I hear, “MAAAAAA. MOMMY!” I bolt from the edge of my bed to the bathroom. She’s pushed the shower curtain aside and with impenetrable confidence, balancing on one leg, she says, “My new spirit animal is the flamingo!” I look at her for a moment. I take in her full spirit and my eyes immediately well, because I’m proud of her and I’m lucky God made me her mother. She’s naked, broken, soapy, and happy.

I absorb this new information. This means the mythological wonder we’ve been chasing, dreaming about and sleeping with for nearly a decade just became yesterday’s craze. “Wow. That’s awesome, Mae. Flamingos are totally cool.” I give her a thumbs up and slowly push back the shower curtain as she smiles and then looks down at her foot balancing the new challenge that just came about from the epic warp wall fail in gym class.

I head back to my place on the edge of the bed and wait for my cue. I start comparing unicorns and flamingos. Their color, habits, beauty, purpose, their place in literature, pop culture, clothing, gift shops. I contemplate everything, and as I get deeper into my analysis on the edge of my bed, it occurs to me that the natural progression for a girl of nine would be moving from a unicorn to a flamingo. That sometimes we’re not ready to move on, but life has other plans. Sometimes you think you’re a unicorn and then one day; BAM! The universe makes you a flamingo and you can either fight it or embrace it. You can either sulk and dream of what it was, or start embracing what it is.

I sat with this and much like my nine-year-old, I came to a definitive conclusion that flamingos are amazing compared to unicorns. That the universe has been duped. That all this time, while little girls are having unicorn parties, the flamingo is patiently waiting for someone to take notice of its power, beauty, grace, femininity, balance, uniqueness, confidence, allure- and above all-realness.

As women, we should embrace the flamingo. We should stand on one leg together and let our pinkness shine.

So, based on my opinion and experience, which has not been proven by science, but can be backed by grow pains, menstrual cramps, and journals full of disappointment and angst, I have created a list for all of you who have not yet let go of unicorns.

Here we go. Lift your leg. Balance. Now, embrace the Flamingo!

REALNESS

First off, unicorns aren’t real. Ok. There. I said it. I know we’ve all seen them on the internet, but it’s time to grow up. We need to stop it. The misinformation, the conflicting use of their “magical” hair. The adult coloring books! We have to face the facts, it’s all a ruse by the manufacturers of glitter to spread the herpes of crafts through unicorn belief. But flamingos? They’re real. You want to see a flamingo? You don’t need rainbow hay, or gold dust to catch a glimpse. You need a ride to the zoo or a trip to the tropics. The hardcore truth- it’s better to be real than fake and it’s a lot less messier. Let people find you; the real you. You don’t need magical poop to be awesome. You need to aspire to be the one everyone calls when the shit hits the fan.

UNIQUENESS

Ok, we already know that unicorns aren’t real, so it’s ridiculous that I’m going to go into specifics here, but sometimes you have to go where don’t want to go to drive home a metaphor-Unicorn horns. Everyone is pumped about them. Well, did anyone ever stop and think that science would be further along if we didn’t spend a ridiculous amount of time in the Renaissance period hypothesizing about the powers of mythical horns and perfecting wiccan unicorn spells that influenced alchemy and medicine?! We would probably have a cure for cancer if so many morons weren’t out hunting unicorn horns. Did anyone take a moment to think maybe it’s not a horn? Maybe it’s a dunce hat? A Goddamn dunce hat, people. There is nothing unique about the unicorn horn, because again, it’s not real. But the flamingo?! Oh my god.  Do you know that they still have no idea why the flamingo stands on one leg? They even sleep standing on one leg. Because of this uniqueness, the scientific community has taken a closer look at flamingos and have found that standing on one leg may counter-intuitively require less effort for flamingos than standing on two. It’s a finding that could help lead to more stable legged robots and better prosthetic legs. I’m gonna give you a moment to read that last FACT again. Yes. The flamingo is influencing robotic technology and improving the lives of the handicapped just from standing still. Meanwhile, the unicorn has impeded technological advancements with its dunce cone that has zero healing powers while it remains elusive and aloof. I would also like to add that perhaps game trophy hunting wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t for unicorns…this is tough to take in, but think about it. I’m sure the elephants hate unicorns. It all started with them. Big takeaway-the thing that makes you special could change the world, don’t hide it. Put it out there on a pedestal. Stand it up straight and let power of your gifts shine against the false sea of unicorn horns and just plain jackassery. (Yes, that’s a word. A unicorn told me, so it’s true.).

SYMBOLISM

Do you know the legendary unicorn was never captured, but its symbolic association with virginity made it the sign of the incarnation of God's Word, innocence, and divine power? Well-la, dee, da, dee. So glad to know that the unicorn has never had a sexual encounter. If unicorns are so coy, why does every oversexed nymph in the forest ride a unicorn while wearing just a tulip leaf over one breast? Unicorns are literally transporting whores through the forest. Why do they get credit for personification of God’s word? Last I heard, they DON’T SPEAK. Innocence? Ummm excuse me, I’ve seen photos of them shooting ray guns while sliding down rainbows drinking moonshine. I’ve seen herds of them running in a meadow, which means they’ve had sex with each other. So, not sure if God got the memo, but unicorns are bad PR for all things heavenly. But the flamingo?! They are an American cultural icon. The plastic lawn flamingo is a beacon of hope, a shining plastic pink emblem of pride for the front yard of the USA. The city of Madison, Wisconsin named the plastic pink flamingo it’s official bird. Why? Because Wisconsinites are wholesome, decent, cheese-loving people. The flamingo represents, beauty, balance, femininity, confidence, and grace. They’re unapologetically flirty and bold. They’re on the front of vacation tees all over world because they know how to have a good time, but still keep their namesake intact. Life lesson- be a symbol you can stand by. Be something people want to mold and stick in their front yard. Flirt, have fun, be balanced, have a good time, and embrace your femininity, but be careful if an oversexed nymph asks for a ride through the forest, it’s bad PR, let the unicorns handle that.

BEAUTY

Everyone is always going berserk over the beauty of the unicorn. What are we teaching our children? Let’s not forget the saying, beauty is only skin deep. This applies directly to the unicorn. While their outward appearance might be mysterious and profoundly gorgeous, there’s not much happening on the inside. In fact, there is some scary shit happening with the unicorns. Here are some facts that corroborate my findings:

1.) They pierce the hearts of liars. Ok, well, if this is true every three year old in the universe is at risk.

2.)They don’t like the Fall. So sorry that God couldn’t make the universe more perfect for you unicorns, but the rest of us are gonna head out and rake leaves and take family photos in the woods, while you’re complaining and hiding in a waterfall cave. 

3.) They heal sickness. Uh huh. Unicorns think they’re Jesus. This is absolute bullshit and everyone knows it. The fact that unicorns allow this misinformation to circulate is an outrage.

4.) According to Jewish legend, the unicorn can easily kill an elephant, a testament to its immense power and strength. WHAT THE HELL?! Seriously. To show off its strength, the unicorn could have moved a minivan, but instead it chose to take out an elephant!

5.) Unicorn families spend their lives alone living in peace deep in the forest…except for when they are challenged to show off their strength and head out of the forest to kill an elephant.

There’s more but it’s all so disturbing. What you need to know is that Flamingos don’t do any of this crap. They just stand on one leg and eat crustaceans that gradually turn their feathers pink.

Key information- beauty is bigger than the myth, more imaginative than the mirror, and so important for a good soul. Feed yourself with things that make you happy, loved and pink. Stand alongside all the other flamingos, don’t throw shade on them, just stand there and let them be them, while you be you. Be pink, proud and kind.

Know that your feathers are beautiful.

They’ll keep you safe from the rain.

They’ll turn from a dull gray to pink.

And when you’re ready, they’ll lift you off to be wherever you want to be.

Embrace the flamingo.

Courtney is the author of the Gnat & Corky Series; universal and diverse stories based on the spirit of real kids. Gnat paints it. Corky writes it. You can follow Gnat & Corky on Instgram and Facebook @gnatandcorky The first book (of 16) Addison The Light Catcher will be available June 21st, 2018.

I KNOW HOW THE FAT ROBIN FLIES

He’s doing the pile of dishes downstairs cause the cleaning people are coming at 9AM. We’re cleaning so they can clean. I’m spraying Shout on the white pillowcase that is slaughtered with drippings from Matthew’s 3AM bloody nose. Mae is trying to attach her homemade wooden unicorn horn to the sparkle headband she dug out of the Halloween trunk in the basement.  She gets it attached and Matthew tells her the horn could be considered a weapon and she’ll get kicked out of school. This devastates Mae, and she hates Matthew for always being a risk assessor, but she comes up with a strategy and says that she’ll quickly remove the headband if anyone considers the horn a weapon.

Jon is singing loudly. He sings in the morning and claps loudly. It’s annoying but I stop for a moment and think of what life would be like without hearing him sing every morning. It would be terrible and lonely. I can hear him all the way upstairs and I am grateful for him, for the singing and the dishes. I stop and thank God.

No one can find socks, because the bucket is in the basement from the other day when I was going to sit down there and dedicate time to partnering them, but I got distracted by a box of old photos. I hate how I thought I looked fat in the pictures. The socks without partners are really a problem. I feel like I think about them a lot. Here I am writing about them again. I really don’t understand why I don’t throw them away and go binge with 100 bucks at Walmart and start fresh. I’m doing that today.  I mean they’re just socks for God sake. Maybe I could make puppets out of some of them. I’m not making puppets.

The bloodstains are coming out, but I don’t have time. I spray the pillowcase down, throw it on top of the stacked laundry baskets and head down. It’s like a daring death walk trying to navigate down the stairs in business casual and a semi-obstructed view from stacked laundry baskets with broken handles. Halfway down the stairs I realize my work badge is on my nightstand. I trudge the baskets down two flights of stairs to the basement, throw in a pile of laundry and head back up to get my badge and apply more deodorant and grab a handful of Tampax for the day.

The kids are pondering what you can do with cream cheese. “It’s not just for bagels.  Can it be put it on toast or is that just butter and jelly? Some people like it on raisin toast. I hate raisins. Mom puts it in potatoes. It’s not just for bread stuff, it’s for dips and party foods." They are amazed by their discoveries and decide that we should always have cream cheese in the fridge, cause it’s like Ketchup.

 Jake is staring out the window at all the fat robins in the yard. They are so plump, I don’t understand how they take flight. Matt grabs the binoculars and spots the fattest robin. From a distance, it looks like a small dog. This sets us all off into fits of laughter. We each take a turn mocking her through the binoculars. I realize it’s not so nice. I feel bad that we’re picking on this poor lady. I think how bad it would suck to be a bird, especially a female.  Especially since it just snowed again and she probably has no nest ready, and where the hell is the man bird? I make a note to Google information about robins and as the fat robin flies away, I tell the kids that she’s amazing. That she’s fat cause she has like four giant blue egg babies in her belly. That she ate a lot over the Winter, so she could have the energy to face the Spring. That she’s trying to find worms and sticks and soft stuff before she runs out of time and her kids come plopping out. That she’s gotta work her ass off flying, and gathering, and worrying, and always searching, and wondering, and reassessing, and second guessing, and obsessing, and taking baths in cold dirty turd-laden rain water!

They’re all looking at me, and I turn to them and say, “But she can still fly,” and we head out the door to face the day.

Hold Tight

Everyone keeps telling me to hold on tight to them.  To make time and savor every moment.

We make snuggles pods. We cook, and I always mess something up-but we’re together. We try not to overdo things and always make room to call audibles- a random road trip, a fancy dinner on a Tuesday for no reason.

People say it goes so fast and then before you know it they’re gone. There is such a short time that we’re with our parents, under their roof and guidance. I just can’t find the manual for this.

We sometimes just sit, but we run around a lot too. I want them to see the world. All the opinions, all the colors and flavors. I want them to be renaissance kids who have perspective, empathy and strength. Maybe we should have stayed in the city? No. They need to run. They should run more.

I think sometimes that we’re doing it right, but most of the time I feel like we won’t know until it’s years later. I’m sure I’m missing some big glaring thing that they’ll both pay for in therapy bills. What kinds of things will they say about me when they’re old enough to realize I’ve been second guessing myself every step of the way. That I’m a self-deprecating, worrywart who overthinks and has random bouts of hiding away.

We use the leftovers on our plates to construct clues for movies. For example, Jon took a left over salad leaf, rolled up his pants and placed the salad sprig just above his ankle. We all screamed out, “Timothy Green!”  Are these the sorts of things they’ll remember? Or will they latch onto my absolute failure to explain sex. I always overdo it. No pun intended.

We sit down for dinner, but not all the time. We have sock sorting days because I suck at laundry. In my struggle for balance, I find myself in a constant tornado of trying to get it right. Sometimes I kill it. Sometimes it kills me. Most of the time I drink too much wine and then tell myself tomorrow I’m gonna start being awesome, but then tomorrow comes and…well…

They should do more chores and I should follow through with things. Are they getting a good mix of all things we should mix in for them ? Do they know we love them? Are we too harsh or not harsh enough? Will they be able to face whatever they’ll have to face?  

I’m dreaming for them, for me, for us. It’s just all one big dream mixed with nightmares and sleeplessness and worry and joy and fear and happiness and sadness and vodka and wine and carbs and pulling poo out of the dog’s ass.

I’m over here holding on as tight as a I can, cause I’m happy right now. The sun is coming back. We have a new couch that we can all snuggle on-in our own spots for once! Mae is going to actually get her hair cut for the first time in three years. Matt wants to learn to golf better. Jon is happiest because he’s coaching, and I’m having girlfriends over to solve the world’s problems.

We’re all holding on as tight as we can.

Un-Valentine

For the broken hearted...

Delete the pictures. Bleach the sheets. Tear down all the memories and burn them in a glorious blaze. Don’t look back. Don’t think they were wasted days. You loved with all your heart. You gave more than you got, and that’s point of it. Sit and stew. Cry and scream, but move on before your soul can’t breathe. Turn on the music; turn off your head. Find a regime that will get you back again. Sleep, and if you wake in the middle of the night, count how many blessing you have in your life. Watch funny movies, lean on the listeners, the loyal and true. Visit with people who mean the world to you. Let it go. Let it out, but don’t be mean. It kills. It hurts so bad; the demons haunting your day, but every new moment will bring you further away. Work on you. Walk. Read. Surround yourself in everything that has built your dreams. Love is a horrible, wonderful, wretched, beautiful, unpredictable, thing. Nothing is ever yours to keep. Loyalty has caverns hidden beneath; but so does beauty. Open yourself up when you’re ready again. Don’t be bitter, but know you don’t have to be friends. Happiness is your choice-and the best revenge.

The Bickersons: A Fairy Tale

(It’s 12:21AM. Mom is on a business trip. Mae has lost a tooth and Dad is stepping in to take over the fairy duties. Mom has had a few drinks and gives Dad a call to see how things are going. Dad put the kids to bed hours ago, but is too nervous to carry out his duties, so he’s playing several rounds of Battlefield 1 in the basement.)

MOM:

How’s it going?

DAD:

Good. Where are you now?

MOM:

Back at the hotel having a few drinks.

DAD:

I’m nervous as hell.

MOM:

Why?

DAD:

Cause I hate this shit. She’s gonna wake up and it’s gonna be ruined.

MOM:

Well, just chill out. If she catches you, pretend you’re giving her a kiss.

DAD:

I’m just gonna leave it on her dresser.

MOM:

No, that’s not what Mirabelle does.

DAD:

Who the fuck is Mirabelle?

MOM:

The fairy. She has a specific fairy that does-

DAD:

Oh. Jesus Christ! I’m not doing specific shit from Maxine.

MOM:

It’s Mirabelle.

DAD:

Whatever. What does she do?

MOM:

Leaves glitter and money and a note.

DAD:

No. No. No. I’m not leaving a note. I don’t have any glitter. Where’s the glitter?

MOM:

She has glitter stashed in her room everywhere.

DAD:

I’m not leaving a glitter note from Madeline.

MOM:

It’s Mirabelle, and you can’t leave one anyway, it’s like specific handwriting that is whimsical fairy like writing.

DAD:

Yer killin me.

MOM:

Maybe another fairy can come? Maybe Mirabelle has to get a sub or something and the new fairy can explain that.

DAD:

Like she can’t fly through snow, so a dude fairy has to come?

MOM:

You don’t have to be a sexist pig. All fairies can fly through all kinds of shit.

DAD:

No they can’t. Not in the Tinker Bell series. There’s like Winter Fairies.

MOM:

Well she’s lost her tooth before in Winter and Mirabelle has flown just fine.

JON:

Not this time. This time it’s gonna be from a dude fairy-TR.

MOM:

TR? Who the hell is that? Thomas Robert?

DAD:

Tooth Recovery. TR. He’s the dude fairy when Mirabelle is out having cocktails and free dinner on her fairy company.

MOM:

His name is Tooth Recovery? Like, that’s his god given name?

DAD:

Yep. But he goes just by TR, like JT or PJ or CJ, but he’s TR.

MOM:

Uh. Huh. Is she sleeping?

DAD:

Yes.

MOM:

Then just go whip up a note and get this done.

DAD:

What the hell should the note say?

MOM:

I don’t know! What would TR say? Why is he there? What motivates him? Just ask those journalistic questions and just do it.

DAD:

I’m not writing a full story.

MOM:

I didn’t say you had to do that.

DAD:

Well it sounds like that’s what you’re telling me to do. Not everyone likes to write.

MOM:

I’m just telling you to write a note from TR- any length- any content, but don’t rip on Mirabelle.

DAD:

Well, maybe Mirabelle needs constructive feedback cause she’s had a little too much to drink.

MOM:

Oh for God sake. Just sprinkle glitter on a dollar and cram it under her pillow.

DAD:

That’s what a drunk fairy would do.

MOM:

We’ll maybe JP is hammered and he broke away before Mirabelle could stop him.

DAD:

TR.

MOM:

Whatever. Maybe TR is like Mirabelle’s apprentice and he has to prove himself, so he has to fly out through a Winter shit storm and deliver the glittered cash perfectly before he can be like an official member of the tooth fairy posse.

DAD:

Uh. Huh.

MOM:

Maybe Mirabelle and TR are dating and he’s such a gentleman he didn’t let her fly through the blizzard. Cause he’s old school and proper.

DAD:

Uh. Huh.

MOM:

Are you even listening to these amazing suggestions?

DAD:

I already have a plan.

MOM:

Then do it!

DAD:

Just quit making a big deal out of it.

MOM:

I’m not. I’m suggesting. I’m tech support. I’m like a hub in Orlando.

DAD:

Yer a hot mess in Orlando.

MOM:

But I’m hot.

DAD:

Uh. Huh.

MOM:

Are you going?

DAD:

YES!!!!!!!!!!

MOM:

Looks like you’re getting a little hot yourself.

DAD:

I have to go.

MOM:

Use fancy paper.

DAD:

No, TR doesn’t do that shit. He’s a dude.

MOM:

Glitter?

DAD:

No fucking way.

MOM:

Fine.

DAD:

I’m doing this the dude way.

MOM:

May the fairies be with you.

The Super Blue Blood Moon

I don’t believe in voodoo, talisman or the stars aligning to deliver some shallow, or even profound dream.

I don’t believe in fate or waiting for the universe to deliver the answer to me.

I don’t blame God or waste my breath blowing out dried dandelions in vacant fields.

I don’t think there is some higher explanation that I’ll finally understand when I’m ready to learn and accept the answers.

I just go forward with the choices I’ve made and hope the ripple effect gives out more than I take.

Tonight there is a super blue blood moon that has been placed in the middle of a lifelong dream.

I haven’t even seen it.

I read about it in the news.

I know it’s up there and I don’t know what it means, but today it’s made me reconsider all of these things.

Just when darkness seems to seep in, the light from our dreams can bring more than we ever imagined.

Tonight the super blue blood moon has made me believe in talisman, in voodoo, and the things I can’t see.

Never say never. Always look up.

2018

Maybe you’ll make amends, or just stay where you’ve been. You can finally start that one thing. It could be terrifically sad, insanely fast, or too good to be true. It could bring nothing or everything. It could take away all you have. Maybe you can leave all your bad thoughts in the past. You can travel or stay still. Be a better listener, brother, mother, neighbor, friend. Maybe you’ll check in on that lady. Volunteer at that place. Throw away all those old things or package them in a safer place. You can promise more, or stop trying so hard. You can follow that crazy dream. You should. Take up piano. Finally learn to dance or ask him. Jump off the edge of that one thing that made you scared last time. Take deeper breaths. Take breaths away. Breathe more. Love more. Give more away. Blow dandelions. Share time and mean it. Share thoughts and don’t apologize. Run. Go for more walks. Or just sit and be fine. Enjoy company. Finally enjoy your own skin. Spend time outside. Learn the stars. Catch a big surprise. Get in the car and drive. Or stand on the edge of all of it and watch as the time passes by. You can. It’s up to you. There are 365 days and they could all be yours or not. People will leave. Things will change. Nothing is promised except for the moment you’re in.

There are so many ways this could go. It might be wonderful or maybe not. But living your best life is worth a shot.