The Day I Stopped Waiting
My father lifted his glass.
"To a better year," he said.
I looked at the two of them, then at the city beyond the glass.
London was waiting for me. Work was waiting. Friends, meetings, unread books, mornings I had not lived yet. A life that did not ask me to prove my worth by how much I could endure.
I touched my glass to theirs.
"To a full one," I said.
And when the new year arrived, I did not look back.