My bowl of cherries hasn’t been empty this year, just sour. I took bites anyway; nourishment’s nourishment and I’ll be damned if 2020 starves me of all hope.
There’s something about having already battled depression, when the outside world was seemingly sunny, that has made the challenge of battling a depressed outside world doable. 2019 was my 2020 of sorts. I made a promise to myself, as the clock struck midnight on January 1st, that this year would be different, regardless of any shitshow that might present.
Present it did, and how. But in the midst of the anger, disappointment, and sadness of 2020, there’s been light. I’ve harnessed focus and quelled fear enough to move onward with exploring this big world, allowing curiosity and ingenuity to be my guide. There was something magical about turning 45 in June; I became committed to flowing for what I want, and fighting when necessary. My writing, this blog, embracing the philosophy that life is my blank canvass and mine alone to colorfully ornament…
I’m jazzed to grow this site and unearth what’s eating at us collectively. I’m ready to reveal more of my story. Let’s illuminate the interesting.
I’m taking bites and savoring each morsel. The whole is the sum of its parts, you know. (Aristotle didn’t write this, by the way. Neither did Aquinas. The internet lies.)
More to come.