Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

A place of sustainable joy.

June 7, 2016


Man, I hear you. I so badly want to move out of this place of constant learning, constant feeling-my-way-ing. I want a steady paycheck and I want to stop worrying about grocery money, insurance premiums, and mounting debt. Sometimes that longing is so fierce it keeps me up all night--this gnawing metal-jawed machine-like churning that just spins me up into its orbit until sleep is laughable, progress of any kind is ridiculous, and I'm convinced I'll end up living in my Jeep if, of course, I can keep up with the car payments...


But then the sun finally comes up and, no, there's no magical solution. Well, I suppose there is: get up. Do one thing. Put that thing down, do the next. The only way to eat an elephant, as they say, is one bite at a time (man, that's a horrible analogy for this vegetarian...let's change it to tattoo an elephant--one color at a time; the elephant will dig it, at least, this imaginary one will...). It's not easy. Hell, no. It's frustrating as all get-out and slow-ass. 


But (and I'm audibly sighing here) it's the only way. The only way to save yourself from drowning is by taking one conscious breath, one conscious stroke through the water at a time. You're still in danger, sure, but not as much as one minute ago, two minutes ago. You can't see the shore, but you can feel the minor change in temperature--there's always a mark for your progress if you slow down long enough to feel it. 


Does any of this make me feel better this morning? Hell, no. I'm still worried, anxious, floundering. But I know it's truth. And I know it will pass because everything does, inevitably. Is that comfort? Again, hells, no. But do I want, eventually, to be happy? (That's a resounding yes, by the way). Well then, this is the only path. 


As Leonard Cohen said, "If you don't become the ocean, you'll be seasick every day."














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