Yesterday someone reached out to me and acknowledged something which I had done for that person for which I have long believed they harbored resentment. And perhaps they did. But now that act has emerged as something noteworthy; a turning-point perhaps. I hovered in the shadows of my fear that the person thought ill of me for what I had done; and now I come forward to stand in the light. I had not needed to be praised. I had not acted with the thought of being appreciated. In fact, my action had been completely spontaneous. But for years, this lingering taste of sorrow had haunted me, and now I can instead taste the sweetness of a pure connection.
It is the thirty-first day of the twenty-seventh month of My Year Without Complaining. This morning I told the owner of my neighborhood coffee shop that I could not complain. He laughed and replied, what good would it do, eh? But I reiterated: I cannot complain. My readers hold me accountable. I took my cup and went out into the day, knowing that each step I take in this wild journey brings me closer to the truth.