Last Tuesday, I was having a particularly bad day. (My toddler painted the dog with hummus. Enough said.) I ducked into a diner to hide for ten minutes, and under my coffee cup was a napkin with handwriting so elegant it looked like sheet music. It read:
When she returned, my face was wet. I hadn’t realized I was crying.
I walked out of Door #9 feeling lighter. Not fixed. Not transformed. Just… permitted .