The list of people who have tried to get me to change my wicked ways would fill the phone book for a small nation.   These include my son, all three of my long-suffering husbands, a few dozen friends, a couple of siblings, my parents, every boss that I’ve had except the legendary John Arens who loved me just the way I was, and most of the secretaries who worked with me at every job over the last four decades.

Needless to say, I ignored all of the advice I got and here I am, none the wiser, alone again (naturally), and wondering what the hell happened to the innocent girl who set out to change the world at fifteen.

But I finally learned one lesson, and not because of the repeated eye rolls which a number of people who strove to teach it delivered in the wake of its pronouncement.

As I sat on my porch last night, ruminating about chores undone and days to come, I realized that I’ve finally started drinking enough water.

Funny old world, isn’t it?  I’ve had people accuse me of deliberately not drinking enough water just to thwart their efforts to improve my health.  On the back side of that barb, I’m supposed to have ignored the advice to drink more water in a perverse attempt to denigrate the person urging me to do so.  I’m not stupid, came the rebuke.  I know what I’m talking about; you should drink more water.  Uh, yes.  I should.  And yes, you’re right.  And no, I’m not avoiding water just to prove I don’t respect you.

The stillness of yesterday’s evening air brought some clarity.  I glanced over my shoulder at the begonias blooming in last year’s pots.  Beyond the deck I could see the tops of the fuchsia peonies, slightly swaying, caressed by a bold breeze.  The birds nesting in my gutter sent a sweet call as they settled.  My eyes returned to the table at hand, where my water sat.

I stopped at a store in Point Reyes Station, California to buy groceries on my way to the hostel set deep within the national park during my last trip out west.  The cashier gestured to an inner aisle in response to my question about water bottles.  I found the display and selected one.  Later that night, I filled the bottle with filtered water from the kitchen tap and sat in the great room of the hostel watching the rain come down in sheets.  With no internet, no phone service, no television and no one around who had ever previously met me, I found myself ascending to a curious state of calm.

I finished the water and went back for more.  Nothing had ever tasted as pure as that water consumed deep within the isolation of the mountains, gazing at the timeless grace of the surrounding forest.  I swear to you, I got drunk on the stuff.

It’s the tenth day of the forty-first month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.