It’s a funny thing about not having one of the two old computers on which I normally sit and write.  I find that I have been writing half as much.

Here in my upstairs room, the older of the two old laptops never leaves its perch.  I’ve learned that I did a lot of my writing on the first floor using the laptop that got ruined last week.  Its replacement has not yet arrived.  So the writing that I did on the first floor simply fell by the wayside.

Curious thing, this situational adjustment of my habits.  As a result, the dishes have been put away more often; I’ve gotten a lot of laundry done; and my yard has been divested of two months’ worth of weeds.   I’ve also read two novels by newly-discovered German authors.

The accident which caused the demise of that laptop impacted the way I live my life.  This prompts me to ruminate about other accidents which sent me on detours. I think of turning points, small and large:  Run over by a car; met someone unexpected; conceived beyond all prognostications; found a hundred-dollar bill; discovered a book on an unexplored library shelf.

Neurologists tell us that our brains experience neuro-pathway detours when we suffer extreme occurrences, such as violence.  My personal pathway reflects this same phenomenon.  My life and how I live it has not been a linear progression, A to Z, a steady unbroken march towards  the mortal stop.

I used to think of myself as fairly rigid, but I’ve changed that view. I realize that for decades I have been bobbing along, buoyed by the current but skittering left or right, bumping against rocks and driftwood.  I’m not complaining.  I have met some fabulous people; had some glorious experiences; seen some breath-taking vistas.  But the need for self-determination claims me.  I want to put each foot more surely on the road.  I yearn for a particular destination.  My #JourneyToJoy needs to be deliberate.

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