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.