It’s four months to the day of my leaving my office for the last time, four months into this retirement adventure. Four months of contemplating what life would be birthed out of the unknown, of wondering what new scene would emerge from what felt like the swirling snow in a snow globe.
Four months later, the snow is still swirling. Perhaps it always will be. Perhaps the era of predictability, of knowing in advance the landscape where I will walk for the next weeks and months and years, is over.
Instead of having one distinct picture of what my life will be, it seems instead to be a braid of many colors and textures, with new threads being woven in all the time, as old ones come to their right endings; always changing, not planned or predictable, but always vibrant, always beautiful, alive with color, texture, energy and surprise. This is a good image, a strong image, one I want to hold on to, this picture of weaving my ribbon of life out of the gifts and choices and people and chance surprises that come my way.