|Some weeks I can only hope not to fall off the rails|
There are times when I wonder: where is my life? Is it lost in a fog of paper grading?
Where are the quiet moments to watch birds out the window or curl up on the couch with a good book?
Where is my writing studio and why am I never writing in it?
This week began with a speeding ticket early Monday morning and just ended with an emergency visit to the veterinarian. In-between there was an eye infection. That kind of week.
The trouble is there are too many weeks when my life is swept up by circumstance. I know that it's my choice to drive a car, to adopt stray cats, to cook dinner. But what I don't understand is why I haven't learned to commit to my life for the joyous bits as well.
Some days are better than others. If I get out even in stormy weather and walk the beach I feel better all day. Same with writing poems. Even bad poems. I need to live my life in a way that I recognize myself.
We only get one life. One. It's not a very big number. How do we make sure we get it right?