I’m leaning againt a pole, surrounded by a sea of beautiful people, listening to a haunting song by a man with a beard.
A woman with ginger hair is next to me, a large camera hugs her small waist.
I listen to the bearded man and his voice is piercing and booming and at that moment something crashes over me.
A sense of ultimate sadness and fulfillment.
A sense that I’m where I’m supposed to be even though I really don’t want to.
And tears stream down my face and I keep saying sorry to no one in particular.
Everybody is lost in the music.
The woman who I’ve only met twice before leans to me and we hold each other like estranged lovers reunited after a decade of being apart.
Like brothers reconciling.
Like friends forgiving each other.
Like finding that one sliver of hope and holding onto it with the life that is left in you.
In that moment I was broken and in that moment I was healing.
I brought all of these people together yet here I was standing by myself and feeling completely alone.
But the ginger-woman is still holding on to me and she tells me not to cry.
All I needed was the embrace.
That moment made me look back at what I had achieved and how far I’ve come. Sometimes it feels like I’ve come very far, others it seems that I am still standing still.
Have I ever done enough?
Have I even done the right things?
I’ve published books and I’ve traveled the world and I’ve started a grassroots arts movement and I’ve won awards and I’ve organized festivals and I’ve been selected for residencies and I’ve loved and lost and rose and fell and rose and fell again.
Am I still falling?
Or am I still in the process of rising?
Maybe I’m just floating…