A year ago, I was nursing wounds from breast cancer surgery. A year ago, I was happy to just be able to take a shower and get dressed. A year ago, walking along this bluff top in Half Moon Bay would have required an insurmountable amount of energy.
Today, I walk half a mile to find a hidden perch with a view that takes my breath away. I feel the warmth of the morning sun dueling with the bite of cold breeze on my cheek. I’m slightly irritated that my bangs are blowing out of control, so I tuck them into my knitted cap; touching the soft wool as a reminder of the radiology waiting room and weeks of treatment. I hear the constant, comforting sound of waves crashing and frolicking against each other, like playful children. It’s a sound I’ve come to love dearly after decades of living in Northern California. It’s here that I face the expanse of the world and humbly accept my small, fleeting part.
It is a part I play – not in the cynical sense, but as part of a whole that will always be greater than myself. Part of that essence and wonder that is our world; a collection of miraculous molecules.
I wonder if I can create molecules of joy? Atoms of love? As I move through this life, this current iteration of my spirit, can I consciously choose to create health? Happiness? Meaning? Connection? Am I as unique as each wave, willing to crash into others to create a force for good? I breath deeply and commit to exploring the answers to those questions and more.
Now that’s perspective . . .