I wish it could be different, but it isn’t. Life has shifted and my trip is at an end. The work to finish the film is on pause while family takes a front seat and I elevate from one rhythm to a new and very different counterpoint.
I wish 15-year-old me could see me now. All of the struggle to earn confidence and courage without losing sensitivity and soul… it has all been worth it. I don’t cling to stasis or predictability. I flow, move, change and adapt to new knowledge and understanding. I am capable. I feel capable.
I think the teenage me would be both a little impressed and a little shocked with who I’ve become. I suppose my most-often reminisced regret is not learning so many of these lessons sooner. Ha… I guess hindsight like this is the gift of old age.
There’s something about the keys in my pocket that say where I’m at in life. For almost a year, I had two keys: the key to my car, and the key to my door. The key to my car was used constantly; the key to my door, almost never.
Now, I have a big wad of keys. I’ve gone from key-pauperdom to a key-king, with fourteen pounds of metal necessitating a tighter belt when I walk.
Keys for the shop; keys for the house, my apartment, the storage shed; keys for friends; keys on loan for the show I’m on… They’re all someone else’s keys.