A Happy Place?

I’ll be honest.  My life has been characterized lately by an endless, and unfortunately negative, track playing over and over in my head.  I am not at liberty to share the track,  just know, that regardless of my attempts to shut the cerebral turntable off, it seems to just keep spinning, and spinning, and spinning, and…

I also refer to this tireless lyrical mish-mash as a horde of rotten marbles rolling around in my it-feels-like-its-actually-empty skull.

I want control of my brain back!

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Let me tell you a story…

Once upon a time there was an astoundingly beautiful young woman (yeah, that’s me) who didn’t have a boyfriend, or a husband, or a lover on Valentine’s Day.  She was only twenty-one or twenty-two so she still bought into that shit.  However, instead of wallowing in her own emotional cesspool, she went out and bought herself a bouquet of roses, a box of chocolates, some candles and some fine cuisine.  She fixed up the food, fancied up the table, and, in a set of sweet lingerie, sat down to eat by candlelight.  She cranked up the jazz, toasted herself with a fine Cabernet, and savored her dinner-for-one. She expected nothing more than what she had given herself and thoroughly enjoyed it.  This confident, sexy (did I mention this was me?) and tearless young woman went to bed full, happy, and not at all longing for someone to share her heart or her bed or her soul. The next morning, upon waking, she stepped out of her front door for a glimpse of the sunrise. On the doorstep, were several thoughtful and wildly beautiful flower arrangements.  Of course, this wildly beautiful young woman assumed that they were for her roommate who had a very steady steady.  But, in fact, when she picked up the first bouquet to read the card, she saw that they were for her. A small gaggle of her male friends had delivered her Valentine’s Day flowers in the middle of the night.  Of course, she was struck.  And, she decided then, and still believes now, that the gifts from these sweet, handsome young men stemmed directly from the gifts and self-love that she had given herself.

The Lesson (as if it weren’t clear as crystal…): Give unto yourself as you would like given unto you.

(And, of course, give unto others too.)

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40 Days!

Once, way, way back, in my very early twenties, I gave up alcohol for forty days. I lovingly called the bourbon-less, beer-less, Cab-Zin-Red-Blend-less fasting “ExperiLent.”  The days were not approaching Easter and I no longer considered myself Catholic, but I decided it high time to give up something and felt the need to detox. If memory serves, I was successful or, at least, mildly successful and I must have been damn proud.  I have since entertained the idea of denying myself some pleasure for forty more days. I promised myself to spend a month vegan, for example. I was licking the sour cream container within two days. Apart from that one experilentil stint, I have not done well with this type of sacrifice.

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Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?

It is necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness; to sit on a rock in the forest and ask of himself ‘Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going? ~ Carl Sandburg

I received a journal with this quote and a picture of a beautiful lonely old Adirondack chair settled on a plain of gray stone on the cover.  I received it from my sister who, as I write this I am realizing, is always giving me journals with similar inscriptions.

One day, she noticed something new in her reflection. Something that had a light all its own. ~ Anonymous

You are unique, and if that is not fulfilled, then something has been lost. ~ Martha Graham

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined. ~ Henry David Thoreau

Now that I think of it, she even sends me media texts with pictures of folk art and modern art and graffiti and signs saying things like And then when she finally did jump, she realized she had wings…

You’d think she’s trying to tell me something.

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