The Universe is funny. My friend, Pam, met her husband, Steve, on her second internet date ever. And Pam was Steve’s first internet date.

Me, I wasn’t so lucky — it took 57 first dates in two and a half years, plus two decoy relationships and another year or so on top of that before I hit gold.

At the time I lamented my lousy luck. Now, though, I’m grateful. All that time and experience forged me into who I am now.

I guess that’s just how long it needed to take, to adequately cure and temper.

I guess all those dates were necessary.

[scs_alt]

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Perhaps dreams really can come true.

Perhaps true love exists.

Perhaps the goals I used to think were crazy-wild are really just the inevitable status quo.

Perhaps I’ll go to Paris someday, and Bali, and Australia.

Perhaps I’ll try that recipe for wheat-free, yeast-free sourdough bread, and perhaps it will even be good.

Perhaps I’ll paint on larger and larger canvases, until they’re the size of a wall!

Or perhaps not.

When asked, I’ll answer, “Perhaps.”

[scs_alt]

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Backpacking with my family, age 9,

a day hike to a distant lake across a field of

jagged boulders and sharp-edged stone.

I’m a mountain goat,

a wild creature with unerring judgment

and suckers for hooves.

I spring lightly from rock to rock,

marveling as I do at the wondrous workings

of brain and body,

my eyes, feet, and spine in perfect sync.

My brother and I confidently bound ahead,

our slower, more timid parents

growing smaller in the distance.

I am alive and unstoppable.

[scs_alt]

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Sometimes I have to

remind myself,

out loud,

that I am safe.

That nothing bad

is really going to happen

to me.

My body tells me

otherwise —

heart pounding,

skin clammy,

mouth dry,

pits sweaty.

Some ancient code

is preparing it

to run like mad

or scratch & flail

& scream.

The code was programmed

back when sabre-toothed cats

lurked behind every tree,

& it hasn’t been

updated since.

Now the dangers

are mists,

or ghosts of cats,

with no actual bite.

I’m safe.

I’m safe.

I’m safe.

[scs_alt]

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Those times when the teacher brought us outside to play kickball

or some other team sport were torture.

I lived in dread of them, because the first thing she’d do

is pick two team captains — the sportiest, most athletic kids in class —

and then they’d pick their teams.

Oh, the shame and humiliation of standing there, naked,

as the group around me grew smaller and smaller,

added one by one to one team or the other,

inevitably leaving just me and one other klutzy girl

for last.

[scs_alt]

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