My friend texted me a video.
Twenty-two seconds in a sunlit room. Dappled light through the window and white curtains. Her. Playing the piano. Hesitantly. Tentatively.
She said: “It’s been 26 years since my fingers even touched a piano.”
She played about ten keys. I stared into my phone, watching, and cried.
To me, those ten halting notes sounded just as beautiful as a professional pianist playing “Nocturnes, Op. 48: No. 1 in C Minor” by Chopin. Because those ten notes felt like the sound of optimism. The sound of renewal. The sound of trying again.
It’s never too late to try again.
Many times in my life, I have fallen into a slump. Tired and lethargic. Mentally clouded. Disconnected from my physical body, from the pulse of creativity, from God, from the wonder and awe that’s available all around, at every moment. Disconnected from hope.
And yet, to reconnect, all it takes is a quiet decision–the decision to begin again.
Play a few notes. Make a new checklist. Write a few words. Lace up those sneakers. Unroll that yoga mat for the first time in forever. Smile at someone from across the room and maybe even say hello. Rise again. Open again. Try again.
Today is not over yet.
This life is not over yet.
And it’s never too late.
Even after 26 years.