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Thoughts on an Autumn Afternoon 4/1/2008 11:56:52 AM
Another piece found in the vaults...
Sometimes dreams come true in small increments. And perhaps this is the best way.
I’m a published author. This is a dream come true.
I’m sitting by my pool, connected to my wireless network, beer resting on the table, temperature cool, no bugs.
Typing poolside is another dream come to life, one I had imagined even before I owned a laptop.
Sometimes I grumble in my writings, sometimes I ramble. And that’s OK, because I’m writing. And something significant may very well come of this. Perhaps an essay. Or an article for pay.
Perhaps I write because it’s not the destination that’s important, but the journey itself.
During the journey there is something I continually ask: Dare I allow myself to feel good about things?
The answer is a resounding YES!
But often there is something that prevents this from happening. There is some thought, some regret, some guilt, some feeling that screams of depression and self-defeat, a voice that drowns out any lofty aspiration of actually feeling good about myself.
Yet, here I sit, an author, typing away, poolside, on a beautiful autumn afternoon. The chirping and racket of birds and squirrels echo through the woods. The dog gags and vomits beside me. And that’s OK, too.
I must enjoy these moments. I know this. It’s easy to envision the life I live and would like to live, once I squelch the racket emanating from my negative side. And when circumstances seem overwhelming, I need to step back. I need to not take it personal. I should not become vengeful, or hateful. I should not dwell on my problems. I should not put a hex on those who see things differently than I. There is lemonade to be made from those sour grapes (I can mix my metaphors if I have a hankering!) and I’m ready to drink.
Which is why there is a beer sitting on the table here beside me.
Outside. By the pool.
Where I sit.
Writing.
Dreaming.
Envisioning the world I wish to live in.
Because dreams can come true, often in small increments.
