Seeking equality, fairness, the greater good…that does something remarkable for me. It breaks my selfish bubble. It makes me a whole human being. It gives me freedom.
But wait, there’s more. So much more. Seeking balance and harmony for all…brings me out of my despair. It brings light to my darkness. It brings healing to my pain. It lifts me up and out of feeling down and blue, up to the level of okay I was looking for much of my life. And being okay inside and out is the remarkable place I was talking about earlier.
When I make life not all about my pleasure or my suffering, oh wow is it good. It’s elevation.
Like inwardly summiting a spiritual Mt Everest and bringing everyone else up top to share the view.
You probably already knew all of that but it took me almost a lifetime to figure out.
Most of it was spent cleaning and packing up my house. That was a lot. I lived there for 11 years, the longest place I’d ever lived in my life. I threw away countless bags of trash, of life debris and clutter. ⛸
After all my moaning my 2018 diaries book is now ready to be put in your shopping carts. If you have an unfulfilled diaries magazine subscription don’t buy the book. Your paperback will be in the mail soon.
The ones available here on the site are autographed, too. Paperback and Kindle editions are available on Amazon, non-autographed of course.
You should buy my book. And then tell your friends about it. And share it on social media, as you do. And then leave an Amazon review. I know that’s asking a lot but it would mean the world to me and I’d be eternally grateful. 💙 Sharing and reviews really do help.
It’d be really cool if I could just do my writing (both spiritual and ridiculous) and earn a living doing such. As it is now, I do both when I have time. I hate making room for those things that are truly important. I just want to do those things that absolutely make truly my heart sing all the fucking time.
I have at least 15 pieces that I’ve started writing but haven’t had the chance to finish. I have to feel what I’m writing or else the words come across like a piece of shit. And the writing zone isn’t something I can just turn on when I have 15 minutes to spare.
And then I have at least 50 podcast episodes I could record but again, I have to be in the mood. Otherwise the words come out of my mouth like I’m an uncaring automaton.
When somebody is being over-the-top nice after they’ve fucked something up.
Do you know what I really like?
When someone offers up a sincere apology and then gets on with the day.
Own it. Regret it. Forget it.
Take five minutes, have a real conversation, and then go back to regular life.
If I don’t acknowledge I can come across like an unsympathetic magician. Trying to trick you into paying attention to my magic rabbit and hat. All the while my other hand is holding a bloody knife. I’m not fooling anyone.
And then if I’m dancing around like an out-of-the-ordinary, out-of-control ballerina with an obviously fabricated sugary song and dance, it only makes whatever transgression worse. It prolongs the distress.
Elaine said to me seven years ago, “…and don’t grovel.”
I get “wanting to make it better” with flowers from up my sleeve and I’m sure I’ve tried to pull rosy ruses myself. But keep it to a minimum. Otherwise it’s a black reminder. The fuck up lingers like a red rubber band, stretching the hurt out for way longer than it needs to.
Humility. Brevity. Authenticity. I won’t go wrong with these.
When I got to the place where I couldn’t stand myself anymore, where I didn’t want to be the person I’d always been. And not do the same things I’d always done, I can see now that’s when I had reached the breaking point.
The pain of being me had broken my very soul. Fuck.
It wasn’t the drinking, it wasn’t ever the drugs. It was me. It wasn’t the traffic or the other drivers. It wasn’t other people at all. Well, it was some of those people…but when that blanket of denial was pulled back just far enough I could see, when a light came on that cast a clarity almost too bright on what I’d been doing to myself nothing ever looked the same again in the days after.
Thinking back to that moment and all the desperate, frantic pain, tortured to tears, completely sober and sick of being myself, that’s when I turned a corner and walked down a path I’d only heard other people talk about.