Coastlines and Cliffs.

After 23 months of daily briefings, weird pendants, and an untold number of deaths, the province I live in is on the brink of getting rid of just about every one of its public health restrictions.

And I can’t help but imagine that we are about to live life on the edge from here on out.

I can’t tell if that’s fear and trepidation speaking or simply my lack of understanding (of what-in-the-world an endemic really means) rearing its head.

It almost feels like I’m breaking the fourth wall—like Don Cheadle did in House of Lies—and stepping into a scene that has always been there but suddenly feels eerily unfamiliar, i.e., public gatherings.

The world isn’t exactly the same as I’ve known it to be, but it is, in fact, the same as it’s always been. And somehow, I’m going to need to adapt to what was.

Yeah, I know. It all sounds confusing. But that’s only because it is.

I want a disease-free world for my family and friends. Particularly, a world free from that virus.

But I can’t have that, and I’ve known that ever since one summer afternoon two years ago when Solace and I admitted that to ourselves over the phone.

So now, whether we want to or not, we will have to live life on the edge. And by edge, I don’t mean those beautiful, awe-inspiring coastlines and shores that fill the homepage of travel agencies’ websites.

No, not those. I’m talking about cliffs. Tall, steep, and rocky cliffs.

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