Those envelopes arrived when I was a kid, offering hope of free stuff, prizes, being picked out of the crowd, being different. You may already be a winner. You may be special, you just don’t know it yet. And of course you knew you weren’t really a winner, but there was the possibility, right?
I feel that now. On the one hand, I’m going through the most banal, boring, been there done that experience in the western world; the middle age separation. I am woman, hear me roar. On the other there’s just this glimmer of something. I go down streets I’ve been down a thousand times, but they look different, new, precious. My friends have become more treasured, my job more interesting.
Part of this is the return of sex in my life. I can’t demand love from anyone; that either happens or it doesn’t. It’s easy to find sex, but I feel privileged to know the two men who have become my lovers.
And this feeling of being alive is intoxicating. I can’t help but feel lucky that I live in a place where even if what I’m doing is taboo, and least I don’t risk lapidation.