I’m not sure any of us believed there would ever be a fire. Still, when the blare of the alarm sounded, pencils shot across worksheets, books fell from desks, shoes that dangled from heels were shoved back on, and we all jumped to attention. We lined up at the door and serpentined down our designated hallways, our feet moving twice as fast as the group itself. The front doors of Washington Elementary were flung open. We sniffed the air and scanned the streets for big red trucks. When the threat was certained to be just a drill, the thrill of being outside took over. The air was so fresh on a Tuesday at 1:15 in the afternoon. We jumped and waved our arms in this new found freedom. Maybe we didn’t learn the seriousness of what could happen, and maybe we weren’t supposed to. But I know we appreciated the gift of the unexpected. These moments, ever so brief, when we were released to dance on the sidewalk, two hours ahead of schedule.

The thing is, we think we’re prepared. But in between all the alarms, our shoes still slide from the backs of our heels. We’re surprised when something bad happens. We dance in something good. Needing both, to tell the difference. The only certainty is that the doors, will, and always can be, flung wide open.

Nothing prepares you for this day. Your heart is cracked open. So you cry. The world keeps turning. So you live. No one tells your heart to stop beating. So you love! Nothing prepares you for this beautiful day.