As much as I love to be outside, I know the odds are stacked against me. But here I am perched under the canopy of the large fig bush with sycamore trees hanging overhead. The morning weather girl promised me it wasn’t going to be as hot today. But with the humidity and dew point hovering in the upper 70’s, the pleasant 79° f she said it was outside actually feels like 93°f. Still I’m outside hoping for a little wind to blow before the sand gnats zero in on me. But if the sand gnats don’t get me then the knee high grass pollen certainly will. It’s crazy my yards starting to look like a hayfield.
Now that I’ve meet my bitching quota for today. I could just step back inside and sit under the AC with a nice, scented candle. But in the tradition of Hemingway and Bukowski, I assume live out my misery firsthand. While sure enough it’s the grass that does me in today. My legs and arms are beginning to itch for my grass allergies. But I’ll try to stand it for as long as I can before I have to take a shower to get the pollen off.
Life’s full of little inconveniences and discomforts that keep you away from what you want. Rather it’s the desire to be a billionaire or just lonely writer looking for the next line. We all have something that drives us. For some that drive may not have been discovered, but it’s there. For some that drive maybe fueled by bitterness and hate or the lust for power, but let’s hope that’s not your passion. For decades I was told I never good enough, so I made plans my whole life to prove that I was.
But even with my writing skills, at first it was a feudal effort to prove it to myself. It took practice, effort, and sheer need; to prove to myself that I could. It also took a conscious effort on my part to better myself both mentally and spiritually. The way I did that was through mindfulness and meditation. It was through observing nature and compassionately listening to my pain, that I learned trauma can only be healed by facing it head on. And it is through my writing that I now do that. Sometimes in life you don’t get everything you want. I mean I don’t have a multi-million dollar book deal or even a reliable bug stray. But it doesn’t mean I still can’t be happy doing what I love.
Now that I’ve meet my bitching quota for today. I could just step back inside and sit under the AC with a nice, scented candle. But in the tradition of Hemingway and Bukowski, I assume live out my misery firsthand. While sure enough it’s the grass that does me in today. My legs and arms are beginning to itch for my grass allergies. But I’ll try to stand it for as long as I can before I have to take a shower to get the pollen off.
Life’s full of little inconveniences and discomforts that keep you away from what you want. Rather it’s the desire to be a billionaire or just lonely writer looking for the next line. We all have something that drives us. For some that drive may not have been discovered, but it’s there. For some that drive maybe fueled by bitterness and hate or the lust for power, but let’s hope that’s not your passion. For decades I was told I never good enough, so I made plans my whole life to prove that I was.
But even with my writing skills, at first it was a feudal effort to prove it to myself. It took practice, effort, and sheer need; to prove to myself that I could. It also took a conscious effort on my part to better myself both mentally and spiritually. The way I did that was through mindfulness and meditation. It was through observing nature and compassionately listening to my pain, that I learned trauma can only be healed by facing it head on. And it is through my writing that I now do that. Sometimes in life you don’t get everything you want. I mean I don’t have a multi-million dollar book deal or even a reliable bug stray. But it doesn’t mean I still can’t be happy doing what I love.
RSS Feed