This year, I’m grateful for truth.
For that liquid, uncomprehending, wily and enigmatic thing that scrabbles out of your hands at the very last second and leaves you peering into your hands wondering how you could have just had it
and then not, so quickly.
For the words aren’t felt tumbling out of your mouth free-for-all and happy-go-lucky as if you were spinning around a carousel with a lavish grin and a loose grip.
No, it’s not that.
It’s not that the words are felt being held over the edge of a cliff, crying out and thrashing about in your hand begging to be let off, either.
There’s no forcing the truth, is there?
Sometimes it’s more like climbing that cliff from the bottom with nothing but your fingernails and a prayer. Struggling tremendously for miles, straight upwards, in search of the thing.
And even once you get to it, you might grasp it for a moment only for it to morph into liquid again and run through your fingers, despite your best attempts to clench your fingers together and pool it in your hand.
I want truth like friendships that you never need explanation for.
I want truth like words that are just as they are, words.
I want truth like clothes that hug your body in all the right ways.
I want truth like nights out till 4am laughing so hard your face hurts.
This year, I’m grateful for truth. I’m grateful for when it’s here and feels so palpable I could pick it up in my palms and squeeze it, and I’m grateful for when it’s slipped away and I’m suddenly wandering alone trying to find it again.
It's a liquid, uncomprehending, wily and enigmatic thing, truth.
That usually leads to freedom.
And I like that.