This is NOT a resolution. (It totally is.)
My grandmother is a magic woman. She is not kind, but she is caring. She is not patient, but she is always there. She is in perpetual motion. She owns a hammock. I don't know why. I have literally never seen her use it. At midnight on her 80th birthday, she was riding the roller coaster at Space Mountain. I want to be her, but I also don't. I want to be my version of her. I don't know if that's possible, though. I think her fierceness is required. The sharpness and kinetic-ness of her must come with the loyalty and strength. I'm too soft. I'm too slow. My edges are uglier and any wounds I inflict the way she does wouldn't be cauterized with love behind them. I think of her accomplishments often. I measure myself by them. I fall short. Never mind the 46 years she has on me. They are my bar. She is my bar. She is an amazing bar. Anyone who could measure ...
