I’ve become the kind of person who gets stopped on the street for directions.
“Where is the washroom?”
In the corner of the food court – next to the deli.
“How far is University Avenue from here?”
Two blocks east.
“Where is the nearest subway station?”
You’re standing on it. The entrance is on the corner.
I attended a funeral last week. It was the first time I had been to a funeral in years, let alone a church.
I stood around outside the church before the ceremony. I was uncomfortable. I was nervous. I was surprised at my discomfort, because while I hadn’t been to a funeral recently, I attended many when I was younger. I didn’t recall this feeling.
It was a clear day and the sun poured in through the stained glass windows of the church. There was a large organ, and music and singing. And a big, loving family, and many friends. Kind words were spoken. Tears were shed, but there was a sense of belonging and an undercurrent of togetherness. There was grief, but also a kind of joy in the knowledge that one person’s life can continue through others.
And it was then that I realized, taking all of this in — as though I was floating above it — that I realized that I had no idea where I was going.