Here I am at the airport, waiting to board a flight that will MAYBE take off and take me to rehearsal for a play that will Maybe happen, barring a Covid infection in the Cast or Crew, at the beginning of a year in which we will Maybe have another kid, or not, I will Maybe get my first TV show made, or Not. It’s a year of vast possibility and unknowns and I’m laughing at how in previous years, as previous selves, how much I presumed, and thought that I Knew. I can focus on the Definitelys. I will Definitely turn 40 this year. There will be Joe, and Crockpot, and Bed, and toothpaste, and Air, if I’m lucky. There will be Easter and laundry and Tuesdays and Sugar and books, if I’m lucky. These are the Definitelys, and there are a million more, presuming Life. But I love you, Maybes. You untether me from tomorrow, from next week. You keep me Here.