I applied for a scholarship for an end-of-life doula training last month. I was hopeful. Learned yesterday I didn’t get it. I let myself cry and feel deeply sad about it for a while. Self-indulgent but cathartic. When I have the money, I don’t have the time and vice versa. Standard unfair life shit. And then an actual angel in my life appeared and insisted on covering the cost for me. I kindly declined. They insisted. I agreed only on the terms that I either pay them back or pay it forward when I can. They opted for the latter. Many more tears of course. I have had some low, depleted, hopeless days lately. Unsettled in the unknown. This offer was like a hand reaching down toward me, grasping my own.