This Day, That Day, One Day

 

Well, here we are at the end of February; cold, grey, and wet February.  

February has been motivationally and inspirationally challenging for me; thinking or acting with intent

toward anything creative has been like fighting a four alarm fire with the garden hose.  

 

I attended an event with co-workers on Friday. In conversation with one of them helped me see that I may approach February with a different mindset; that rather blanketing in the emotions of the losses, there may be ways to allow myself to celebrate the joys of those lifetimes. 

But, then again, that is is okay to have experience the grief, to acknowledge the loss and the void.  

 

Well, here we are at the end of February; cold, grey, and wet February.  

Middle

middle of the month.  

middle of a road. 

middle of life. 

I have aunts on both sides of the family tree who are over 90. Both are in fact a stone's throw from the century mark. So I may very well be very well in the midst of a middle passage. The thought of being of this earth for the next 30 or more years is a tad . . . daunting.   

To say the least. 

Still, there are many things I want to do, many more I want to see, hear, feel, and taste. The world awaits. Or whatever portion of the world I shall choose to take by storm, awaits. Storm may be a bit strong. 

To say the least.  

I am a year, six and a half months away from my sixtieth birthday. And while I am at present devoid of energy, motivation, inspiration or hope beyond getting into and through the next twenty-four hours, twenty-four hours at a time, I know this too, shall pass. I know, I know. . . I have work to do to get from here

to there. 

To say the least.

sixty... 561 days and counting