My life has been one big perpetual April Fools' Day since my father died. It was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. I was 26. Without him I did not feel alive. But I had to go on, having intimately witnessed his indomitable will to survive, day by day a devotion to his supernatural zest for life. Seeing the sunset, squeezing California lemon over cherry tomatoes, falling in love, feeling snow fall on my nose, tasting fresh lobster dipped in melted butter, smelling the salty sea while tidepooling, meeting his beloved students, seizing diverse career opportunities in front of me... it was such an immense privilege to remain in physical reality, honoring his memory. Savoring every drive and each supper like it could be my last too. I thought I was immune to further tragedy for awhile but oh no, became the Fool once again receiving my own life-changing diagnosis five years later. That's when cliff jumping suddenly felt very tantalizing, instead of embarking on another medical odyssey. But by viewing my brand new life (and body) as a grand science experiment full of surprises, I've adapted to mysterious illness, committed to carrying on my dad's legacy. And just as we celebrated joy, pleasure, and magic moments while he was dying, so I seek them now as a life raft. Geese that fly in a V, lingering dinners in good company, these daffodils that bloomed this week on his birthday 🌼 Life becomes even more sacred when we live in spite of its undertone, when we face the unknown. That's really all there is to it ✨

💛 Smith-Waite Centennial Tarot