I’m at the airport, with time on my hands, love in the bank, and cheese on my plate.
In no particular order…
I did not choose:
To lose my father in 2012
To be born a boy, in 1965
To lose my mother when I was just 18
The genetic sleight of hand that triggers my iritis
To be bullied at work, though maybe I invited it in?
For the wheel on my suitcase to break at the airport today
To be the father of an inspiring daughter, though I am so much better for it
The ability to detect pitch and tone so sensitively, without the ability to replicate it
I did not choose insecurity………….or did I?
Carole and I chose each other, and I choose my own attitude. I wouldn’t have it any other way.