Today seemed to me like an endless cycle of bumping into dead-end walls, disheartening challenges and headaches.
I knew this was coming–after all, wasn’t it my choice to leave a second home, a somehow thriving career and people dear to me six months ago? Wasn’t it my choice to have myself thrown off the deep end of a very, very, very deep pool, so to speak, and end up struggling to hit the surface and swim against the currents?
Six months–how time flies.
At first I was numb, selfish even–it was all bliss to me. But now, the painful and aching anxiety of separation hit–coupled with what seems to be dog-gone days over here.
I know what must be done. The directions are clear.
But how do you create change?
How can I do an Obama amidst a sea of people with wills so strong, or hardened by their views and ways, or with angst and quirks so different from the norm?
I don’t know the answer yet, but in the deepest recesses of my gut, my heart and my mind, when the clutter of frustration and worries are moved out of the way, I know giving up is not one of them.
Sure, it’s easy–there is, after all, a ready and available way out–more than one in fact.
But what then?
Perhaps I’m ranting because it’s just been a bad week.
Maybe things will change.
Who knows?
But one thing’s sure–never, ever decide or think when your mind ain’t clear, if you’re hyperacidic and hungry, or if you badly need to pee.
