Act three

The ocean was like glass yesterday morning, I noticed three kayakers and a guy on a paddle board in the distance – none of them seemed to disturb the water. I watched a few aggressive black birds trying to intimidate a lone eagle – ruffians, thugs – with one flap of the eagle’s enormous wings he left the would-be gang in his wake.

I’d taken my coffee to the beach and settled on a cement bench to watch the world wake up –  the laziness of the morning started to seep into the rest of the day.  Life at the seashore is less frantic – hurry-up is for people with schedules and commitments, I have neither right now. 

I had my turn living my life as directed by the clock and the calendar – gearing my days around school and skating lessons, meals and mayhem   It’s taken me a while to start to settle into the quiet of this third act.  It’s like I’m at the place in a novel where the writer brings the threads of the story together to create a satisfying ending.  I am that writer and the threads are my story.  

The ending to this story is off in the distance somewhere, beyond the horizon – I can’t see it but I know it’s there. The fullness of my story is behind me in acts one and two, the third act is the finale.  I’m not feeling maudlin, although the words I’ve just written may sound it, I’m actually feeling full – full of the life I’ve lived, the people I love and the prospect of ending this story with a bang.  Act three – a story unto itself.

I’ve never been much of a visionary, I never saw myself producing the finale alone – but truth told I never saw myself much  past what I was living at any given moment.  I was a newlywed for a while with visions of being a mother.  I was a mother and mostly focused on mothering for quite a while.  I daughtered a bit, sistered a bit, friended a bit, and wifed a lot – but I didn’t see much beyond any of that. I never visioned the empty nest, the widowhood, the third act.  But here I am. 

Act three – a story unto itself.  I’m writing it by the seat of my pants.  I’m trying to be bold, trying to find the line of the story, the theme.  I’ve spent more than a year sorting and figuring out the ‘how’ I was going to afford to write this third act.  Now I’m sorted and I’m settled, sort of.  I’ve known the ‘why’ of my story all my life – I see it in the eyes of everything I love.  As it turns out the ‘when’ of that third act is now upon me and the ‘where’ is exactly where I’ve landed. It’s the ‘who’ that seems to be the stumbling block. ‘Who’ am I now and ‘what’ exactly is the story I’m supposed to tell.

Act three, a story unto itself….  I’m figuring it out.  Slowly.  I’m writing the days, the truth and the finale one page at a time.  Today I feel like that ocean looked yesterday – calm, reflective.    The truth is I have no clue what is coming next.  But today is just one page in a finale that is still being written. A story unto itself – Act three.