“The only way out is through” she repeated to herself
over and over again.
How many times had she re-invented herself?
At least half a dozen in her 66 years on this earth.
Once per decade, give or take.
Every time she thought she had her ducks in a row and
could relax, the damn ducks migrated, turned into pigeons, or exploded.
And here she was again. Bit by bit, all the things that
she thought were permanent and stable pieces of her life, she was giving away
or leaving behind.
“The only way out is through.”
Step by step.
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