Yesterday I spent the afternoon trying to answer that question on my laptop. But as long as I typed on my computer, my internal editor followed me around like a chaperone, demanding cuts, edits, interrupting the circuitous courtship of ideas necessary to discern if they’re meant for one another. Finally, I relented and let my pen dance upon the page, the music of my mind allowed to improvise. And there at the end of the cotillion, was the clincher that tied it all together, the unexpected kiss, distilled from disparate experience, that embraced the beginning like a partner at the close of a delicious waltz.
The soul is always sifting, searching, stitching together significance we can’t see as events hurtle by at the breakneck speed of life. Yet even when we don’t know what it is we’re looking for, how wonderful as writers, to take the time to reflect and find that sweet kiss at the end, that darling, unhurried kiss that throws it’s arms around our insecure, wobbly beginning and reassures, “It’s all right, dear. I understand. Everything will be all right.”