I don’t know what today will bring.
I have reasonable expectations about a lot of the minutes and hours. I expect that warm water will come out of the pipes when I turn the handle, that I’ll likely not be sideswiped by a truck during my .9 mile drive to the office. At work, I’ll try to be productive and not too awfully tactless. There will be a lot of general coping there, coping blended with self-criticism for not looking on the bright side more habitually than I do. I’ll type numbers representing dollars into boxes. I’ll add them, divide them. There will be more subtraction than any one wants.
At a certain point, I’ll leave work. The sun will set too quickly. These are things I’m reasonably sure of.
There are plenty of things I’m afraid could happen. So I’ll walk slowly down the long staircase to the car. I’ll look twice before pulling out into traffic. I’ll breathe deeply and conjure thoughts of God if anxiety seeps into the core of my torso and arms (the arms are the worst).
Mostly, today, I’ll repeat these words: strength, dignity, kindness. I’ll raise them up like a sail and hold on.