A man jogs towards me on the sidewalk and then goes into the street to give me six feet of space. I wave and smile. He does too. In that moment, there is a connection of care. In the necessary distance, I link with this stranger. It’s a total juxtaposition; we join through separation. Bizarre.
Read MoreFor everyone who subscribes to Brave Tutu in the month of October, a private donor will give $1 to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.
Read MoreAll but the shattered glass was a blur. My morning’s promise of journaling and cozy coffee was replaced with a dangerous mess—a sharp awakening. Unavoidable. My elbow dinged the French press as I grabbed my vitamins. No matter how careful, these fragile coffee makers eventually break. Don’t they?
I pedaled backwards and slid on sandals. I remembered my parents in broken glass situations, their diligence to keep us safe. “We don’t want your little feet anywhere near this until it’s cleaned up.” As kids you are vanquished to the next room. Protected. As the only adult, I handled that morning’s mishap and experienced a mixed moment of remembering and realization.
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