I bought a flying pig today.
A glittery, green flying pig. I’ve just hung this little gal on my Christmas tree as a dangling reminder that we all must coexist peacefully with the unexpected, the inexplicable and the improbable.
Two years ago, if you would have told my younger self that she would be without both of her parents in 2012, she would not have believed you. If you then would have told her that she would be facing also losing a sister to ovarian cancer, she would have scoffed at you—telling you cancer doesn’t even run in the family. And if you would have then put the cherry on top—that she’d be forced to end a marriage for the good of all involved—well, she would have shown you the door.
How quickly things change.
What I’ve realized over the past two years is that it is all fleeting. Until you get that in a very real way, a concrete can’t-go-back kind of way, you’re just playing at life.
Hence the green pig. Rather than a reminder of what’s been, of unanticipated pain, she is a reminder that the upcoming year will bring its fair share of the unexpected and inexplicable. But this little pork chop is a harbinger of good, I believe. She is a reminder to myself that a year from now, I will look back in amazement at how far I’ve come, at how much I’ve achieved, at how full of love and joy life can be.
And each dream I hold dear—my most outlandish aspirations—has a very real chance of being realized.
When pigs fly.
They already are, on my Christmas tree. How about yours?