Is there a better feeling than waking up to the quietness of a beautiful morning? When the eyes are still closed, but inside you feel full of gratitude and love for all that is in your life? Think I am full of shit? Few years ago, I would have agreed and perhaps even said that I was just trying to be a creative writer. Yet, last year around this time is when I was still recovering from my brain surgery and prior to that, my wife’s illness and then before that a stroke around the time a loss of a dear dear friend reverberated through my soul. So I could say life was not fair. I could have whined, and been angry. And honestly, I did. I cannot even read some of the stuff I wrote around that time because the stench of self-pity suffocates me. I felt so sorry for myself that I engaged in soul deadening behaviors like avoidance, and pretending all was well. I stopped reading, writing or really doing anything that gave me true joy. I fought with people in my life with such a vengeance as if it was their fault my life was where it was.
I probably would have continued if some of the strangest things came together to salvage who I used to be. It began with a subscription to The New Yorker. I have been buying books all my life, and there are always piles of unread books surrounding my homes, but subscribing to the New Yorker was a new commitment for me. I had no idea that each week, a magazine that was extremely well written with VERY long articles would come to my doorstep. Each and every single fucking week. So I began reading. Around the same time, a forwarded You Tube link of BK Shivani’s “Healer Within” caught my eye. At first, I was uncomfortable with the Indian accents, but her words struck me into submission with their clarity and accuracy. I also began doing Morning Pages from The Artist’s Way as well as doing Lumosity brain games while trying to learn Spanish (still struggling).
I didn’t realize at the time, but I had begun constructing a new me….
To Be Continued….
