Food For Thought, Inpsiration, Random

First April Monday

The quiet of the house surrounds me at my favorite part of the day. Just me and my thoughts and laptop.  I put the timer on for 25 minutes. Each morning usually the same:   I do my Morning Pages from The Artists Way by Julia Cameron, then write the remaining of the time till the bell sounds. Those 25 minutes allowing me to just flow and put down my thoughts and fulfill part of my vision of being a writer.  It is that time when I truly feel like a writer, yet there is a growing urge that this time cannot remain private.

With the first quarter of the year done, it hits me that visions are completed with action. This first Monday of April is a reminder that only actions can move me forward not just wanting things to be  a certain way. It is a lonely road as many won’t or cannot understand my desire to better myself. It is never easy to explain what pushes me so towards this path of betterment.I don’t always succeeds, but those times that I do, I know I am on the right path.

So the quiet of the house supports me in writing even though sometimes it feels that no one else will.

Cancer, My Past, Myself

The Stench of Self-Pity Part 1

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….