Food For Thought, Myself

A New Monday

d29eb96da040ebccca2f20e6f2f22017Another Monday. Another day to start the week right. Too often, in the past. I have greeted today as something to regret rather than see it as the opportunity it is. Truth be told, each day, each moment can be a new beginning, but something about the beginning of the week makes it a more complete beginning for me. The early morning quiet in my library allows me to ruminate about what I intend to create this week in my life. Not tasks, not just things to do to cross of my list, but real heavy weight things that will impact my future. That option is always there, yet too often I treat it as just another week.

My past experience has shown me how powerful intention can be, but what really stops me is how exhausting it is. No one tells you how living each day with integrity, intention and love takes time, energy and commitment. No one tells you that being worthy requires work. That being right isn’t enough, you have to live, act and breathe it. Otherwise, all you have are dreams. I will be the first one to tell you that I am a day dreamer, but lately fantasy is just not enough. Thinking without action just doesn’t do it for me anymore. I am more than my thoughts. More than “Should’ve”s, “Could’ve”s. More than empty promises. It’s funny how much shit gets done when you put the excuses and stories away. When you stop feeling sorry for yourself, and starting being more than a collection of words.

So yeah, I am happy its Monday. A new Monday. A new chance to be the Sanjay I know I can be. Happy Monday!

Journal, Myself

Dreams

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Image via Wikipedia/ twitter.com/zibasanjay

The images of talking to Preeti’s dad evoked my dread of the long-awaited conversation of what next?  Flash of Gurjit crying reminded me of Tejpal’s as well as the death of the normalcy of my life and of the challenges ahead.  Still I dived in these murky as my heartbeat slowed, well aware that the heat of the blankets told of an intense and long sleep.  The room become brighter as if to mark my awareness.  No longer did I want to ignore the idea that I was awake, instead I fished for more.

I marveled that I only had one drink yesterday yet told everyone I had two.  Why?  I wondered.  What was it about being in certain crowds that made you want to be an overachiever in an activity designed to kill brain cells? What was it about social discomfort that made me want to grasp to the one liquid that could return me back to feeling like everything was ok temporarily. How was it different from my dreams?

Then it hit me.  While I thought about last night, the dreams had made their escape.  It was as if I had been purposefully distracted so they could go to their secret hiding place. My breathing slowed, the blankets cooled, I reached for my phone to get my daily Twitter and Words with Friends fix  and the dreams went further away and suddenly the urge to write feels silly and trite.  I am left holding simplistic words and thoughts rather than the deep implications my dreams carried.  Conned, once again by my mind, I reluctantly came to my page and had nothing to offer except the memory of my dreams gone.

I closed my eyes, and nothing came save for the feeling of betrayal I caused myself.