This morning I was feeling the gray cloud again. I've been thinking about writing. (In fact, I'd like to write a book at some point, though at this point I have no idea what that book would be.) So I started an entry in my journal, and it has made such a difference for me today. Here's what I wrote this morning:
"Why am I sad? Do I have a reason to be? And tired? I'm always tired. If I'm honest, I feel there's not much to which to look forward. I'm here, but there is no inherent purpose to that. I must provide the purpose, and some days I can. Some days are happy and fulfilling. Other days are such a drag.
"'God' once provided some meaning. But 'God' has been shown to be a myth. So there is no going back to god. He's gone. And honestly, good riddance. His son said a couple of decent things, and some of his people are lovely, but on the whole God is just nasty.
"So here we are. The truth appears to be, regardless of what triggered the event, that we are here as a distant minor consequence of an explosion that occurred about 13.8 billion years ago."
And there I ran out of time. But in writing that something inside me unclenched. My heart became lighter; hope grew stronger.
I did not create myself. I do not control all the many things that affect my future. But I do control some of them, and I do get to choose how I react to the rest. That I can live with. Time to go figure out some more.
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Connecting the dots
11 years ago
