Trust

This is going to be a short post. Because I’m busy trying to figure out how to take one small bag on a trip that I will have to lug through three airports as carry on. Why? Because I’m going to try trust on for size. Because it’s been sitting in the back of the closet for a long time, like your mother’s fur jacket, beautiful, but doesn’t fit in your life because you’ve moved on to synthetics and fabrics that breathe and that have function and that you can count on to do a job.

Nothing about trust fits me anymore though. The sleeves seem too tight, I feel constricted in the neck–why does it have to fit so closely? Because it’s the one layer that you need to be human I hear my mother say, an old memory flooding back to me from her deck in Sechelt.

Trust is a gamble. I realize finally, perhaps, that I’ve never weighed the odds enough before, that I’ve resigned myself, my life, to trust in the past, as though it were a confession I had to give to a sleeping priest. I never chose it, but rather, gave in to it, and lost much in the process.

What can you pack in a small carry on? Not much. A lot of trust that you will find what you need when you get to your destination.

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