A long time ago, a man with many of his own issues but a keen sense of insight, told me that time and personal responsibility are our most precious commodities.
I’ve tried to be mindful of these two gifts. I juggle my own sense of failure. Am I personally responsible or do I bludgeon myself for needing so much help from the universe? My desire to be independent clashes with my areas of outright incompetence. I hang my head in what passes for embarrassment but more closely resembles shame.
Now I’m squatting in a temporary office, trying to make sense of this huge change in my life. Am I just announcing failure, tucking my tail, and heading for the corner? Or have I conquered what I confronted here, and move, victorious and whole, to the next challenge? Neither feels like my path. Instead I take light steps, hoping to avoid landmines. I’m praying for an easy path to something better, but not disparaging that which has been my passion, my life, and my glory for the last three decades.
It’s the first day of the forty-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.