I grew up with a poem floating around my room's walls.
It read “With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she shall have music wherever she goes.”
You could say the bells I carry with me are the same as the ones from Polar Express: only audible to those who believe.
I believe in laughter and connection.
In sandy feet and forehead kisses.
I believe in love and magic, and that music is salve for the soul.
I have looked out the window of a plane to see a full moon so close it felt like I could touch it.
I’ve driven down winding roads lined with ancient trees singing at the top of my lungs as the Pacific Northwest winds kissed my skin.
I know what it’s like to feel lonely in a sea of people and what it’s like to learn the difference between solitude and isolation.
I have known strangers who turned into friends, and friends who turned into family.
I’m realizing lately that my favorite word is “and.”
As in: I can feel fear and do it anyway.
I can know sadness and still let the music of that which I love fill my being from head to toe.
With rings on my fingers and bells on my toes, I have learned that joy follows, even in the lows.