Are you opting in?

The sound of the shower turning on. A nose blown. The smell of Old Spice and Listerine. Daylight not yet. These things ping my senses, some real, some imagined in my fevered delusion. I wake up for a blip. Yep, still sick. I get to opt out again today. And that’s my husband getting dressed for work, not my father. So weird how my dad’s smells come rushing right back into my nose though, even when I can’t smell a thing.

When I’m sick, my membranes are thin. I feel porous, more open to receive. With the day-to-day chores unattainable, I can lie in bed and re-jenga my life and priorities. I don’t opt out of much anymore, not since I quit drinking. Rephrase: I do opt out, but it’s now dictated by discernment and not a hangover. No one likes to be sick (and I never want to be hungover again) but I do appreciate the change in perspective that all that bed time allows.

I’ve opted in a lot this month. That was one of my intentions for 2023. I’ve had so much engagement that I could feel my heart literally expand. And even though through all that people-ing I caught the bug, I have no regrets. I’m grateful to have no conditions that would make it worse than it’s been. I’m ready for my next dance.

I know I’m supposed to be hand-wringing worried about so much right now: a still threatening virus, a tanking economy, leaders puffing their chests, bullets aimed and stray. And I do. But I’m also opting into beauty. I’m opting into friends and art and my family and joy and I’m opting into love. In fact, I’m doubling down on love. It’s the only way.