I once read an article about Toni Morrison who said every time she sits down to start another book she is afraid she no longer has anything to say. I think there are a great many people in this world who are tormented by fear that they will be found out or found lacking or be seen as other than what they are longing for others to see in them. It is a universal angst and fraught with pain and dismay.
I find that inside me lives two women: the one who becomes despondent and the one who wants her to live and find peace in the living. I suspect everyone has at some time or times in their life believed they can no longer go on living. Pulling yourself back from the precipice takes courage, strong will, and an intentionality that says I will not do this just because I will not do it. Sometimes there is no clear reason why not to take your life. You simply don’t and hope it will get better. My heart is filled with love and compassion for those for whom it simply doesn’t get better. I hold you in love and understanding. I hold you in the hope that a tiny pearl of a tear, a glimpse of a red winged black bird, a soft breeze puffing out the organdie curtains, a snow flake on the window sill, some tiny something will touch your heart and give you a moment’s reason to go on living.
Life goes on. The garden is lovely: several shades of pink, lots of green, and some white. The fountain soothes, the birds’ splash, Aimee chases squirrels. I write, love my clients, and visit my family. As I age I find I work differently that I once did. And one of the differences I am aware of is my use of time. I pretty much take the time it takes. I do not have a 50 minute hour. I love the luxury of time that semi-retirement gives me.