I'm at the library practicing the art of writing and editing. I have a book to edit. I am writing this blog.
At the moment, I am pleased with myself. A couple of days ago, I harvested money from the stock market and I have found a secure and fruitful home for it. My retirement will not go down the drain as it did in 2008.
In early January, I experienced a weird running injury. It is now mended enough to begin again to do miles. Two days ago, I got in 12 miles. Yay! This winter has been mild so there has been many days of sunshine and temperatures warm enough for outside running, not even much snow or ice. I mainly care about running. Running has been a lifetime obsession. So happy that I continue on. In 10 years, walking will be ok too. I walked a lot when I was injured.
But...
There is a "but"included in my idyllic life? Yes, it is still me and my moods which lives it. It is still me that has to life my spirits. I'm either emotionally spiraling down or spiraling up. And only I can notice and shift. The book I wrote for myself helps me a lot. The book I was reading by someone else this morning was snarky enough to send me downward. I had to break away from the poison. Hence the library and my own writing.
Feeling good about myself seems like such a hard thing. There isn't a real world reason for my feelings of depression, in fact, quite the opposite. Yet it is work to feel like anything other than a failure and a loser. An incredibly successful person who feels like shit. Isn't that amazing?
Sitting at the library, looking out the window, reading my own book, I felt better. I just am an existence and I feel better when I drop the world's expectations.
