Turn up the music, and read this. For the people I love, old friends and new ones, brothers and sisters, my mother, my father, my cousins, my kindred and my kind. Go with me while I try to get it right, the meaning and the feeling; the intent and the intensity; the color and the composition and the cadence. We’ve all learned that words matter, and that what we say, how we say it, is important. If we mean it, if we feel it, we’ve got to say it; we’ve got to sing it; we’ve got to send it round the world, to do its thing, to shake the ground and move the air and cause the ripples in the water; to be the rain and make the changes and heal the wounds; to stir our souls and to sound the clarion calls. Life changes in instants, by fractions, unnoticed and yet remarkable. There’s so much we don’t, we can’t, we’re not meant, to know. It’s so short, this deep mystery of life; but it feels so long sometimes too. Nights are long, and heartbreak never ends. But then it does. We don’t know how much time we have, or how many chances there are to say thank you, or forgive me, or I love you; or it’s going to be OK, or I’m sorry, or I didn’t mean it. So don’t save those words. Spill them, spend them, spit them out, let them fly; let them work and weave and wend. It’s not as if we only get so many. Feelings, and the words to express them, don’t run out. There’s always water in the well, as long as we’re willing to be full, to be filled, to overflow sometimes. I’m certain that the love we feel is never wasted. Even when it seems as if it’s been misspent. Even when we love more than we are loved, even as the fire of love burns and chars and grinds our bones into sand. Love hurts, as the song says. But it gives to us more than it takes from us. Even when we are not loved in return. To love is the first lesson. It leads to so many of the others. And we can’t fully understand the rest of the lessons, if we don’t master the first one. Do we want to live with virtuosity, or always be stuck in the first few measures? It’s elemental and elementary. We have to practice and practice and practice; we have to play and play and play with our first instruments: Our hearts. Always learning, always improving, until playing, until loving happens like breathing, like music, like poetry, like song. We gotta allow ourselves to wade in, to sing about it, to live within it, even as the waters rise over our heads. It’s okay to drown in our feelings occasionally. In fact, I recommend it. Occasionally. We’ve all been schooled. Been fools for love. There’s no better reason for foolishness and tomfoolery. Hell and its high water will come to us all sometimes, so we have to know how to swim. That’s how we survive, and then we thrive and flourish. It’s the first stroke that leads to triumph, that leads us through trial and tragedy and high school. We’re never too old to be young. Remember. We’re never old enough to be bitter or sad or sore; or tired and uninspired; bruised and confused and abused and through with it all. Remember. It’s too long and too short. It’s decades and moments and flashes of lightning and joy and darkness. It’s too simple and too complicated. Too deep and too shallow; beautiful and brutal and strange and confounding; astonishing and relentless and dangerous. There are forces that act on us, through us, within us, against us. The only equal force is love. The love we seek and find and share in moments of stillness and peace; the force and power of love we create when we care for each other. Memories are long, but sometimes we have to reach for them. Sometimes it seems like the lyrics we used to sing, the dreamer who used to dream, the composer, the poet, the visionary, the child within us is as deeply buried under the sands of time as Cleopatra and Julius Caesar and the gods of Egypt and Rome. Remember the past, but don’t be its prisoner. Start digging in that sand. Remember the kid who chased lightning bugs and saw angels and unicorns and castles when he looked at the clouds. The kid, the composer, the poet, he’s still there; still composing. He’s still hoping and dreaming, skipping and scheming. Just remember. It’s harder to find him, to unbury and unbind him, as the years pass, crawling and flying, fleet and feeble, swift and unsure. But he’s still there. The Eternal Child. Peter or Wendy or One of the Lost Boys. We have to be willing to hear him, even as his voice is softer, and sometimes one of many, calling to us as we live and work and sleep. Remember. We’re never too old to be young. No matter how tired and worn and worn out; no matter how weary or afraid we are, life changes in an instant, by fractions. Feel tired. Feel bitter. Feel angry and lost. And then let those feelings go, so the good ones can fill you, so that you have room for love and peace; for joy and forgiveness. It’s the antidote to all the fear and pain and sorrow. Expect the love of your lives, my friends, and the chances of a lifetime, and the impossible dreams. But don’t wait for them. Don’t let waiting be all that we do. Invite, entice, and invoke them by doing the unexpected, by taking chances, by working hard, by loving people around you. We have to hum the lyrics of the composer, live by the words of the poet as we pay our dues and our bills and walk the dog and go to pilates class and the drugstore and the ATM. We all make mistakes. We all feel angry and ashamed and embarrassed sometimes. It’s being human. Imperfect. It’s life. We have to feel it, and then forgive ourselves and make amends and keep going. Because life is brief and long, legato and staccato. We need to keep up and slow down; drink it in and soak it up. Master our fates, and surrender to moments of serendipity. Life is a song, a sonnet, an epic, an odyssey. And we are Sarah Brightman, and William Shakespeare, and Homer. We are poor players, playing with the Sound and the Fury of our lives. And it signifies everything. (Thanks, Will. I love you. And we all owe you a debt for your wonderful words. I still often chant your sonnets or Wordsworth or Joan Jett or Pat Benatar as I walk.) Love is a Battlefield. And we dance with the daffodils. Let Joy be unconfined. Walk like an Egyptian. Life is a dream, an awakening, and a revelation. An epiphany. A point, a period, a paragraph. A season. The reason and the rhyme, a moment in time, where we meet and rend; begin and end. Where we part and start, over and again. We can reach deep, or we can hide. We can be loud, or we can whisper. We can keep what we have, or we can share. We can be indifferent, or we can care so much we can’t contain it. We can be brave, or we can allow our fear and pain and doubt hold us hostage. We can shout, we can let it out, or we can hold it in. Where it will change us, and estrange us from each other, so that we are lonely within and without our band of brothers. So that we don’t heal from what we feel and recover and discover joy and peace and hope in unexpected places deep inside, dark with regret. We can forget and forgive, and remember and surrender and subside. Love abides. No matter how much we lose, or how much time passes, we can still win. We can choose to spend our days like loose change, like the pennies in our pockets, for our thoughts. We can live a lifetime in each minute, each moment, each memory. We are how we love each other, bursts of song and chords of sound and interludes of silence and peace; motes of dust and grains of sand and pebbles on the beach. We are with and for and within each other, if we are willing to be there; and when you need me, my fireflies, my fey, my wild ones, I will flash across the sky like lightning; to scatter your troubles with thunder and rain. I am your shield, your shelter, your warrior. All you have to do is say my name. A song, a sigh, a syllable, a whisper. I am listening. And I hear you. 

Friday afternoon. As the shadows gather and lengthen and play across the floor, I offer this: I applied for a few jobs, and I walked and rode my bike for two and a half hours, and I did a load of laundry, and changed the sheets on my bed, and I stretched. If your daily to-do list is overwhelming, or if you feel lonely, remember that you have more company than you might think. I spent the afternoon with my cousin, Douglas Adams, and my friend, Allan B Long, and Darius Rucker, and Mary Chapin Carpenter, and Gavin DeGraw. Mary has a song that says we all have two lives: one, we're given, and one, we make. I allow that the one we make depends on the one we're given, but we can all probably make more than we think. If you're lonely or tired, you're not alone. I am beside you. The earth is beneath you, us. The wind and the sky are around you, us. God is within you, and all of us. All we have to do is reach. And sing. Any lyrics we choose. The music, the noise, the singing, is what matters. The sound is what changes us, and we are what changes everyone and everything around us. ♥️

Even as we ache and sleep and heal, love hides and the old smoke of hope curls and twists inside us Even as we hate and shake and break, love waits to surge and flow, Faith grows Doubt fades Fear divides Bravery abides The tides of shame and regret, guilt and remorse Roll in and out, Wax and wane, Moan and shake and sigh, while each builds and breaks Gives and takes, pours and pounds over and around The old forms and frames, fixtures and fancies, Fascinations and foibles of our past But we don't have to drown here, endlessly swimming in the riptides, feeding on wet sorrow, eaten by sharks and acid We can rise up and breathe, break the surface We are oceans and eddies, streams and rivers, one wave, one grain of sand and salt, and all, Fish and Whale and Crab We can survive and thrive and drink the water We are of the sea and sky, of the deep and the dark and the light, Of the Fowl and Wolves who Howl, Sharp and Blunt, Blood and mud, Skin and bone, fur and feather At our worst, still, the best of what makes and breaks us Endures forever

We are a tangled mass of contradictions and opposition. Grateful for our friends but lonely. Well fed and warm but hungry for meaning and connection. Searching for our purpose and busy with minutiae. Groceries and dentists, laundry and electric bills and dusting. Fortunate but yearning. Earnest and callous. Generous and selfish. Greedy but surprised by gestures of generosity and sacrifice. It's how we live in the space between all these that defines and guides us, gives us constellations in our midnight. This space is where we feel compassion for each other and acknowledge that we are the same so much more and more often than we are different. We are small and mean and cold. But we are capable of more. We can rise up and out of our small minds and cold hearts. We can use our hands to help and heal and warm each other. Face our mistakes. Forgive and forget. Make amends and solve our problems and resolve our disagreements with dignity and respect for each other We are blind and insightful. Willful and capricious. Jealous and careless and cunning and cutting. As if we are innocent as children making our first promises, pledging a faith that has never known disappointment or failure or betrayal. That's how we must believe in each other right now. That's how we fight through this. That's how we know that we will. As angry and tired and wounded as we might be, it's not all that we are. There are centuries that pass in the blink of an eye and cities who dance on the heads of pins and dwell in motes of dust. We are furious and fine. And as we blink and the centuries and seconds pass, we will pause and find our innocence. And we will start again. Together. To rebuild our cities. To dance. To pay the electric bill. To dream Of better times and futures than seem possible at midnight until we look up to the constellations and remember the magic and magnetism of our stars We are all composed of better and worse, depths and shallows, shades of black and shafts of light We all have wounds that keep us from sleeping and interfere with our breathing but still are worth keeping Drafts of cold air and drops of rain. Flames of wildfire and flakes of snow. Plains of tall grass and crashing waves. Grains of sand and Milky Ways of stars and comets Within us, Grace and Reprieve, We bend and we offend, We rise and we fall, we bleed and we grieve We all wax and wane Hide and chide and lie Bend and break Reach and breach Gasp and grasp Sob and sing and sigh Quake and quiver Cry and shiver Fail and flail and fly Crawl and brawl Lose and bruise Soar and sink and try Win and sin Begin and end Forgive and live and die We are our sum and our parts Our minds our bones our blood And our hearts Our best and worst Blessed and cursed Alone and together We choose Now and next and again and forever Again and before and tomorrow It’s joy and it’s peace and it’s sorrow Broken hearts still beat and bleed, still Love and move and prove the truth of faith Still gain and give and strain to heal and feel and steal Moments and minutes and years, Still pulse and ping and pine and purr. Ruined hearts still sing and soar, still hold Ancient cities and swords and secrets as we live and Lose and learn within, As legions rise and fall and burn. We end and stall and mend to love again Even as we ache and break and mistake false friends as true, Wrong and right blend and blur, Fine and False combine and lead to peace and hope, Even as we bleed and cry and try, Bones stir and settle, and history sighs and calls We forgive and sleep and wake and dream again We all are judged and found wanting Daunted, haunted by ghosts of our vices and facile devices of thought, virtues we flaunted Regrets crawling like mice from our dark places Taught to hide our faces from detection No reflection in the black shine on pools of blood We are creatures of flight, Of wings that beat and teeth that bite, Of feet that crawl in mud, Of bursts of light and notes of song and wrongs we hide and sudden grief Mercy and madness, Fleeting sadness, Ruins of gladness and pride Tall grass and the bones of yesterday's meal Hidden and proud Silent and loud Seasons and reason Seconds and centuries Bees and trees and birds Verbs and bells, Cells and words heaped at heavens gate, waiting No more hating Our gazes removed from the hells of our making Blazes descend while eternities end in last blasts of light in the last hour We fall to our knees Get up by degrees Call for our mothers and Reach for our brothers Pray as we wait to begin or to end That we won't break apart in the beats of our hearts into Shattered glass and chips of paint and shreds of cloth, the ragged disguise we wear and we share as we live And fly among the sky In the dirt and smoke and flames, something bright yet remains

Worries are like pennies in my pocket. I can't spend them all for my peace of mind: I need a few to keep my fingers busy, naming thoughts that keep me awake as they clink against each other. There's a constant boiling-kettle whistle in my ears, conjured by my insomnia. Does anyone else want tea? I wake up from dreams of falling, sweaty and scared, hives forming on my skin. Thoughts racing. Yes, my brain is on fire. Yes, it hurts. Not sure what happens when all the trees burn. Smoke escapes from my ears. ( I hope.) Yes, you can borrow five cents. I have change. Sleep will come, even for me. But maybe not tonight. Or tomorrow. The kettle whistle will become white noise. But maybe not tonight. Or tomorrow. We are both: old and new, young and old. The world and we in it, are what we see, and what we believe; what we know, and what we hope for; what we fear, and what we change; what we make, and what we lose; what we find, and what we cherish. Gravity holds us down, while faith lifts us up. Oxygen fills our lungs, while hope fuels our footsteps. Words we speak and remember inspire and connect us, to each other, and to our ideals, our promises. Human life is both practical and prosaic and profoundly mysterious; made up of hinges that turn and rust, and proofs we cannot solve, questions we cannot answer; but still cannot cease asking. Fire burns our forests and stirs our souls; forges our mettle, sparks our imagination, seeds our discoveries. We need both fact and fiction to survive and to thrive. Goodbye, old self. Hello, strange unfamiliar new reflection. I am unsettled, but not unhappy to see you. I think it's time to stop trying to recapture the person I once was. She will not leave me entirely, but I am becoming something better, someone else. No more reassembly of scattered broken pieces: our hearts, our ideals, our faith in the way the universe works; the expectations we have, the symbols we hang on to, the melodies we hear. These continue, even as they feel broken: these renew and resolve into new species, new aspects, of the old forms, even as we mourn the damage time does. There is grace, too. There is more to me than I can know in any one mood or moment, of joy or despair, hope or exhaustion; and to all of you. So wait, and the rest comes, one mood, one moment, and all at once. Things were better before. I was a better person, before. Better. Stronger. Younger. Unbroken. Undefeated. I don't think that's true, but I think it often feels true, especially when I can't sleep. Before and After. Day and Night. Childhood and Maturity. Innocence and Experience. All of it is part of the mosaic. And some of the innocence remains, if it matters to us. And it matters to us! Be young and old and innocent and wise. Now and tomorrow. In dreams, and awake. We are together, even while we are spinning apart: so we must learn to be together, to solve together the problems and proofs, the mysteries and miasmas of our lifetime. We can do it, if it matters to us. And it matters to us. Vote! And the intro to my ghost story, after a short intermission. Sleep well and sweet dreams, my friends and fellows

We should push ourselves. Find our limits. Mow them down and rebuild them in a strange new place. Live outside them, in the clean, thin air, even if only for moments. We should all raise our faces toward the Higher Ground. Expand our boundaries, face our fears, even as they hound us, teeth bared, fierce and sharp. Shame is worse than not trying at all, acidic, more corrosive than failure, dissolving every good thing if we allow ourselves to steep in it. We have to move though our limbs are frozen, run though the path is steep and unforgiving and unfamiliar. Sometimes we have to leap without looking, just to know the feeling: the thrill, the terror, the adrenaline. It's important to know who we are when we're afraid. That knowledge makes us stronger in all our moments, and kinder to those around us, more aware of the signs of fear in our brothers and sisters, friends and strangers. So try it, at least once, flying blind without first knowing how. Learn in mid-air, by finding and using the wings we weren't sure we had. At least once, we have to allow ourselves to grow into the images we have of ourselves, even if the clothes are a few sizes too big right now. It's all good advice. It's all words and actions I believe in. I am learning to fly lately. Finding my wings, testing my feathers. It's all language to speak and space to leap toward and skin to live in. Remember that it's also OK to change your mind, to know when you've gone too far, to alter the course by degrees, to turn back. When our noses bleed, and our lungs strain for air and our toes scrabble for purchase in sandy soil; as we free-fall from great heights, through the leagues and oceans of air and cloud, steam and vapor, as wings and limbs, dreams and perceptions bend and break and bow, pause for an instant. Breathe. Find a rocky outcrop, rest and heal and gather up the pieces. Even broken dreams matter. And time might mend them, if we keep them nearby, in a safe place. Reevaluate. Make another choice. Sometimes the price isn't one worth paying. Success. Happiness. Peace. These are personal and subjective terms we each must define for ourselves, after trial and error, anxiety and pain; sacrifice and reflection. Sometimes hope and faith and promise mislead us, but we can learn so much from our missteps and miscalculations, from forgiving ourselves for the chances we take, from starting over. We know ourselves better. We're smarter and happier and better at finding our places, our people, our native tongues; even as the ground shifts and the world spins faster and faster. There's peace of mind even in the blowing winds; and joy in sharing the small hard-won moments of pride and quiet and tested strength and accepted foibles and weakness and human error. We are not perfect. We fumble, we fail, we disappoint. But we try. And we try again. And we fly. And we fall. And we fly again. Because we never lose our love of flying, no matter how often we break our wings. Feathers grow back. Wings heal. We're made to try. We're meant to fly. It's home, that ocean in the sky, if we're brave enough to live there. We can help each other as we fly, give each other love and hope, splints and space, and time to heal. I am flying, falling, learning and burning, terrified and thrilled and compelled, again tomorrow, and I hope to see you too, in the sky.♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

It’s difficult sometimes to face the future with hope. It can seem impossible. But lean in: possibilities are always before us, leading us forward by moments. When darkness surrounds and subsumes, don’t fear it or fight it. Don’t surrender to it. It seems formless, and endless, but our perceptions deceive us. Darkness has its shape, its edges; its geometry. It begins, it abides, and it abates. Sometimes all we need is one tiny pinprick of light to follow, one shaft of glow or glimmer. One pinprick, and the darkness cracks, and that’s how the light gets in. (Listen to the song, Anthem, by Leonard Cohen, there is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in. Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. You can add up the parts But you won't have the sum You can strike up the march, There is no drum. Every heart, every heart To love will come But like a refugee. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in. That’s how the light gets in. That’s how the light gets in.) I’m going to have that song on my mind for a while. So much to think about. And there’s a great book by Louise Penny that I think was in part inspired by the song, How the Light Gets In. It’s our wounds and flaws that give us the cracks, and the light, and the hope for renewal and restoration. So then we rise up to meet the possibilities with faith. Believe in the goodwill all around us. All will be well in the end, even if, we must now endure and abide in the beginning or the middle. Our struggles will abate, and fade as the darkness does into the light. His plan is to prosper and never to harm us. (In the book of Jeremiah) So we must hang on to the joy and the laughter invested long ago in our childlike hearts; girlish, boyish, boisterous and exuberant; bursting and unrestrained. If we can keep these feelings alive and vibrant inside us, even as strands of gray grow in our hair, and Time gently writes lines on our faces, our youth never fully leaves us. We are never really alone, or lonely, because we never lose the company of the children we have been, and still are, in some small ways. If we are wise and thoughtful and fortunate enough, we invite our memories to live in and with and beside us. So, if you are feeling cracked this afternoon, remember the words of Leonard Cohen, and be grateful for each one: that’s how the light gets in. Another week of class resumes tomorrow. Think of me kindly. It might be dark sometimes, learning to be someone new, do something new, and make it appear easy. But the light will get in again. I will probably make new cracks every day until I feel comfortable in my new job, many days or weeks from now. But the discomfort is a small price to pay for the opportunity to challenge myself, and to realize there’s more to me than I knew. The pride I will feel when I achieve this, and the new friends I will have; the old ones I have found again; and the new faith in myself and my independence, that is all currency I will never spend, riches more priceless than rubies. So be bold, my chicks and sparrows, my kits and kittens. Be fearless, and kind, laugh into the darkness, and spread the light wherever you go. We don’t know who might need it.  Dios te bendiga

Hi, Everyone! I will have a new post for my blog in a few days, which I will share here. Right now, I am neck-deep in the training class for my new job. I made a 95 on the mid-term exam. Only missed one question! And tomorrow, I have to take calls from customers for four hours. It's been a long time since I've been the new kid who doesn't know anything. Wish me luck tomorrow, and I hope everyone has a great day, and check back on Saturday or Sunday for a new blog post! Pax Vobiscum!

PS And be nice, if you have to call for help with something. You never know if you might be someone's first call, or what he or she has to juggle in order to help you. If he or she takes a little time finding your answer or solving your problem, try to remember back to your first day at work: the mistakes you made as you learned, and the patience you needed from everyone around you, and the difference it made when those people treated you with tolerance and kindness. Every eagle, all the hawks and owls who are so at ease in the sky that they become part of it, wings blending into wind and clouds and rain, each one who now flies without effort or thought, was once an eaglet, an owlet, a fledgling; an eyas, who had to face his fear of falling and the unknown to make the first leap. Learning the mystery and magic of flight, learning to use your wings takes time and trial, failure and falling. And then, somehow, the lesson is learned, and we know. So we can move on to the next one, and more time and trial, and failure and falling. The wisdom we earn each time is this: the time and trial, the failure and falling, is nothing to be afraid of. We can get up. We do get up. Dirty and bruised, maybe, but smarter and stronger. Kinder to the eaglets, and owlets and eyas among us. I don't particularly enjoy all of the pain of learning, but doing the work now, taking the pain, means I will fly with grace and assurance someday soon. Spread the word, little birds: Kindness always matters; it always makes a difference; it always changes someone's day for the better, which changes us, and ours.

It's Sunday afternoon, and I am reflecting on the complicated fabric of gratitude and anxiety. There are many threads which entwine them. There is a delicate dance of regret for the past and its grief, and the weight of its mistakes, long carried; and hope for the future, and its untarnished possibilities. The units of measure which balance light and shadow can be tiny, unnoticed until the scale moves, events are weighed, and days are brighter, or darker. It can take years, sometimes, to set down the weight of past events and allow ourselves to be unburdened. But the day comes when the contents of our households are easier to carry, more readily tidied away and stowed for the next journey. Dawn breaks, and again we hear the flight of bees and butterflies stirred by warm breezes. Again, we hear the timeless duet of lightning and thunder; and sunlight and soft rain. And, again, the dance, the duet and its music, the scale and its balance, bring peace. I am deeply grateful for my good fortune. I am excited and nervous, and hopeful for the future. I will work to control my anxiety and to lay my past and its baggage down here, at the bend in the road. Let my trunks be buried by the dust of many travelers as they pass. Sometimes our lives collide in the least expected and most surprising ways. We find old love letters, we find old friends, we quiet the old whispers of guilt and pain and sorrow. The resulting astral blaze lights up the sky with fire and fury. Tomorrow is obscured, but the future will reveal itself in increments, in moments and minutes, in hours and days. Try not to anticipate too much. Don't waste too many moments in worry. Worrying rarely changes the future for the better. When you find yourself pacing, worrying, scratching; pensive, pondering, blue, find something better: a friend, a cause, a cat; a sonnet, a sunset, knitting needles and yarn; irregular verbs to conjugate, a garden to tend, a walk to take. Sing, meditate, bake bread. Sponge paint or recycle. If right now isn't easy, tomorrow will be better. Sometimes the periods of time that try us, test us, tear us up inside, are very long, seemingly endless. But even a very long season is just a season in life. And the season will turn. The weather will change. And we will move on. We grow. We grow up, we forgive, we let go. Even the deepest sadness loses some of its sting, eventually loosens its grip on us; exacts its toll and subsides, just a little, day by day, tide by tide. Chastened, wiser, humbled, happiness returns. Smile again, laugh. It's no sacrilege to the hymns of the past to be happy again. After morning prayers, move on, into the daylight. There's still time, still work to do, still life, with all of its possibilities, its joys and sorrows, risks and sacrifices; successes and failures, awaiting. Godspeed to you all, my bees and butterflies, into the daylight, into the wind and the warm breezes, of today and tomorrow and tomorrow.

So it's been on my mind, of course, all the unrest. I'm sure that's true for most of us. I have been busy, of course, getting a job, (Can I say, “WOOT!”) but I always want to be careful what I say and how I say it. So: I don't know what it's like to have skin that isn't white, and I think it's one of the very few things that is hard, if not impossible, to fully imagine and understand and know, if you don’t actually live it. I can't fully appreciate how being white, with its umbrella of privilege and entitlement and safety, has protectively shaded all of my experiences. But I have been bullied and beaten and abused; excluded and shamed and ostracized; harassed and diminished and discriminated against, based on the way I walk. Because I was born with cerebral palsy. So maybe I understand, just a little. Because there are way too many people, even among people who know me and should love me and should try to imagine it, even if, especially if, they cannot fully do so. There are way too many people who have never even tried for an instant to imagine what it's like, and how they would want the people who know and love them to behave, if the orthopedic shoes were on their feet, instead of mine. That lapse of imagination creates quite a distance, sometimes, between me and other people, even people I love. I do my best to bridge it, by imagining their lives and trying to wear their shoes. But I can't fully bridge the distance, because the work isn't only mine to do; the leap isn’t only mine to make. There are still way too many people who judge me for it, who think I am stupid, who think I don't feel and want the same things it’s only human to feel and want. There are still people who think they have the right to ask me ridiculous personal questions that are none of their business, as if having cerebral palsy means there are no private areas in my heart or mind or soul. There are still people who think they can touch me without my permission, because they want to know what scar tissue feels like. (It feels like scar tissue, dammit. Most people have some.) No matter what I have done, or what I will do to prove myself, to some people, still nothing is proven by any of my achievements. There are still people who believe I should stay at home. I should be quiet, I should live in the smallest way, and occupy the smallest space. I should feel and do and be and believe, only within and from the confines of ignorance, cruelty, prejudice, and stupidity. To all of them, I say, loudly and proudly, with the roar of the lion: you are wrong. Just wrong. About me, and about everyone else you judge for so narrow and flimsy a reason: disability or age or color; creed or sexual orientation or identity. That's not judgment, but you don't even know it. We, my friends of all races and religions and orientations and nationalities and disabilities, we thrive on the Unquiet. We are not lesser creatures. We are more than you will ever see, with your willful blindness; more than your closed minds and small hearts and mean spirits could ever know. You are the small ones, the lesser ones, the ones who lose, when you choose not to know us, not to see us, not to hear us. We sing, we shout, we fight, all in keys you cannot hear, because you do not choose to. Each act of cruelty and bigotry and unkindness only makes us stronger and more united in our purpose, more determined. More determined to live with courage and honesty and defiance; with honor and pride and resolve; to do everything we dream of and hope for; to continue fighting and helping each other and being happy in spite of everything and anyone else; until our last day, our last hour, our last breath. Remember, there are three things that cannot long be hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. The truth is, until all of us are free, none of us is fully free. And we will be, if we, the people who know better and are better, and strive always to do better, lead the way through the current maze of injustice and repression; protest and reform. One day, we will, honestly, actually, all be free. I challenge all of you, my friends, to step up: help me and the others who fight, to lead the way. God bless us all. Amen

Hi, everyone! I am working on a post for later, so stay tuned. In the meantime, take a look at the eagle owls who have a nest on this guy's balcony in the Netherlands....https://www.huffpost.com/entry/eagle-owls-window-watching_n_5ec36a05c5b62c8e02912170 Or read the article in the Atlantic about figuring out what makes you happy, or "finding your marshmallow", 4 Rules for Identifying your Life's Work, by Arthur C Brooks .https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2020/05/how-choose-fulfilling-career/611920

Be brave, even when you are afraid. Be strong, even when weakness drags at you. Be bold. Don't be the actor who never takes the stage. Don't be the shy one who never approaches the cool kids. Cool kids are just kids. Don't be the bird who never spreads his wings for the first time. Don't be the girl who never asks a guy out. When you are afraid, when you sweat and tremble and shake, keep going. Ask him out. Spread your wings, my chicks, my beauties, my eagle owls. There’s nothing like flying. I’ve only flown in my dreams, but I still know it’s true. It’s wild and free and lonely and wonderful. Exhilaration dances in your blood like no other feeling. It’s chemical laughter. You don’t want to miss it. You must fly, you must ride the black stallion, you must die the dramatic death of Romeo or Juliet or King Lear. You will never regret those moments. Even if he says no, even if you fall from the horse, if you fail, if you forget your lines. It will hurt, but the hurt does its work. It creates depths and shades and shadows. Light needs darkness. It’s balance. It’s perspective. It’s the topography of our character. Like the lines and wrinkles on our faces and our fingerprints. Without darkness, we wouldn’t know there are stars in the sky above us. We need to know bitterness to know sweetness. We need to feel pain and austerity so that we understand abundance and respite and reprieve. We are most likely to offer kindness to others if we know what it is to need it. Those defining moments, when we are literally on fire with shame, burning with embarrassment, do we endure them with grace? When the fire is out, do we try again? Ride again. Fly again. Die again, as MacBeth, as Mary Queen of Scots, as Julius Caesar. Sometimes he will say yes. Sometimes you will leap over fences. Sometimes you will fly higher than you thought you could. And those moments of chemical laughter are each worth a thousand moments of fire and shame. And regret is worse. It’s worse to never dare. To never take chances. To never act out, act up, cause a stir, create a ruckus. To never be the outspoken, unquiet one. To never risk foolishness, or heartbreak or ruin. Every chance is a moment of chemical laughter that will reveal another aspect, another continent of undiscovered country within yourself. Every dare you accept might change you, or your future, or the world as we know it, just when you, or we, most need it. Just when we most need to believe we can be different. Just when we are most tired of who we are and who we have been, when we are ready to meet who we haven't dared to be. We can always be different. We just have to be wiling to risk it. 

Hello, my faithful readers. Sorry I have been away for a little while. Greetings from a weary soul. I am deep in the woods, but I will return, to myself, and to you. I wrote these words before, and I include them here for myself, and for anyone who might take comfort from them: Even as gnarled sins, old and new, complicated and plain, dance in what feels like the desert of the soul, forgive yourself. For your sins, for your weaknesses, for your mistakes and bad decisions and missed opportunities. Forgiveness is what frees you to be stronger and smarter, to make better choices, and to make peace with your old selves. I refuse to use my life like this, and so grow old inside, and waste the music that I hear. I intend that the desert will one day meet the sea, and disappear. Because nothing and no one dances like me, and now, when I am dancing, I don't remember fear. That is what comes from forgiveness. No memory of fear. And that is what makes me brave. And that new fearlessness is needed now, more than ever. We are suddenly in a more dangerous word, full of new hazards and uncertainties. First I felt the bee sting of waspish unkind thoughtless words. And I didn't think to protect myself. Tears burn and heat as they wash old wounds and bleed through years of deflections and defenses and denials. Old love lost is lost again. It feels like a sin, an indulgence, a weakness, to allow myself to be hurt again by someone who has casually and carelessly hurt me for years, with not a blink of an eye, or a heartbeat, or an inhalation, or a moment's concern for the damage he might have done. I had hardened my heart and my hide to his sticks and stones long ago. So I am surprised his missiles reached any tender part. I never wanted my heart to harden into indifference. It didn't. It hasn't. I'm glad it hasn't. But now I also feel foolish, for being here again. Time hasn't made him kinder. Time hasn't made me wiser. Even as I chide myself for foolishness, knots of old feelings reach for me again like vines and branches and ivy. Maybe I can't prevent the resurgence of old feelings, the time and tides of life. But I don't have to lie still within their grasp, as those same old vines and branches and ivy hang over me. I don't have to try, and try again, to untangle them all. Maybe that would be the indulgence. I can, we can, move on. One moment, one step, one feeling, at a time. Do you know Shakespeare in Love? When he is describing his writer's block to his therapist? "My quill is broken. The proud tower of my genius has collapsed." I am crushed under the fall of bricks and mortar. I wasn't sure I had any words left to share, worth sharing. But today, it seems, perhaps, as if, after all, I do. At first, I was hurt, even though, until the bee sting, I didn't realize I could still be hurt by the author of the unkind words. So I would ask everyone to be careful what you say. Your words matter. They have weight and gravity and impact, even words which mean little to you can wound and break and batter. Lots of angry words are being said right now because we are all worried and scared and apprehensive. Ask yourself if you owe anyone an apology. Be a hero. Be the better man, and offer it. The sting of humility is a small price to pay for the balm of restored friendships. I don't think you'll regret it, and you might heal more wounds than the ones you caused. Stop. Take a breath. Be kind. Speak kindly, even when, especially when, kindness is not what you feel. I feel angry sometimes. Lonely. Overwhelmed. Frightened. Outcast. We all do, especially now, when so much has changed and so much is uncertain. It's human. But it's the best expression of our humanity if we lead with kindness. If we speak with tolerance. If we act with empathy and compassion and restraint. If we love without limitations or conditions. If we forgive, ourselves, and each other, without reservation. We can choose to allow our emotions to inform and imbue our actions and our choices; our words and our decisions. We can also choose not to be ruled by our emotions, and our new, more dangerous world can also be a more beautiful, more serene one. Cherish your memories, my butterflies and black birds. Remember everything but fear. Hold on tightly to what you love, but let it fly from your hands. Let freedom ring, and sing the songs of silence 🙂

Good morning, Everyone! For this week, I am working on a ghost story, I think. We could all use a break from thinking about the Virus. And the jobs report. Our credit card balance. ( I have High Credit Card Balance Anxiety Disorder. Please don't ask me what's in my wallet.) So get ready to be scared by something other than the actual state of the world. I am, I think, Mary Shelley meets Alice Hoffman meets ee cummings . And I am Windy Many-Words, Teller of Tales and Limping Amateur Witch; Damaryllis, Zombie Goddess....I am fueling up with my Zulu Coconut Coffee in the mug made for me by my cousin, Darrell. I hope you, especially you, Mark Tinker, and Jennifer Gann Pendergraph, and Lisa Carmean, and the LeGrand siblings, and my little brother, Keven, will not be disappointed. And you, Dinamarie Serrano, and you, Heather Kight. And you, Douglas. Picture me scribbling feverishly. No, I don't have a fever, really, just the burning fire of my imagination♥️😃 And to all the rest of my readers .....Be well today, and check in here again later this afternoon, to read and be afraid in the best way :) What dreams dance by, in the moments before midnight, as the moon rises, and night birds fly? Midnight, and crickets sing their lullabies, and leaves and branches sigh, and stir in restless reply? Hush now, my children, and close your eyes, and listen to the story I tell. My words and my magic will ease you to sleep, soft and safe as the blanket under which you lie. Rain falls, and thunder and lightning play in the sky. Crescendo. Staccato. No reason, yet, to fear. I am here, nearby, guardian. Night Watchman of your peaceful slumber. Cinderella, Snow White, my lovely daughters; Arthur, Robin Hood, my brave sons; we go on a journey, by the light of the moon. Before the sun and the morning, we seek our lost companions.....those we love, those we miss, those we see in our dreams

I don't know why my path isn't straighter, or less strewn with obstacles, flesh-eating vines, and body parts. Life is, in many ways, a mystery. There will always be questions which have no answers. Some people seem to be impervious to bad luck, bad choices, circumstance, fate that seem to rule my days, no matter what I do. I don't know why. I won't know why. And I have to make peace with the debate raging inside me, never quite resolved. Maybe my offerings to the Moirai have not been pleasing. Sisters, please, have mercy. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, please handle the fabric carefully. But they cut where they will. We can't see the pattern they follow, or the scales they balance.  We have to be comfortable, somehow, with uncertainty. Asking questions is more important than finding all of the answers. Curiosity leads us to new discoveries, new friends, new skills; cures and peace treaties and sustainable energy sources. We are a jumble of contradictions. We feel hope and fear, bravery and prevarication, love and hate, loneliness and communion, sometimes simultaneously. It's overwhelming, this human condition. We hesitate. We act in haste. We plan, and then we act on impulse, wrecking everything around us. But most things can be rebuilt: careers, relationships, houses, bank accounts. Disasters can be natural or man-made. But have faith, that mingling of hope and curiosity and resilience and hard work. Things will work out. The coronovirus will abate; we will find a vaccine. The tide will turn, and the sun will rise, and we try again. To be good people, to spread good will, to make the world better. To clean up the mess we make as we speed through life, to make amends, to forgive, to let go of the past. To face tomorrow with grace and courage and kindness

Good morning, I need your help, my fine feathered friends, my caped crusaders. New post coming later, but right now, can you give me some options for trash pick up and recycling in the Acworth area? I don't want to renew the service I have, if I can help it. They don't deserve my business. Thanks! And I didn't get the job I interviewed for on Friday, but I will keep trying. They decided on an internal candidate, so maybe I did come close this time. I don't know if that's just something they say to make you feel better. Some of the rejection emails do seem to try to soften the blow. I'm a single female writer in her early 50s. I've been rejected a lot. That's what the thick skin is for: Being out in all weather. There may be chinks in the armor after all this time, but the wounds are superficial. They will heal. One thing I am certain of is that the damage we inflict on ourselves when we stop trying is much worse than anything someone else can do. So grab the rain coats and the boots, because the Long Hike is far from over. Keep walking. Maybe we're uninspired, battered, so just take one more step at a time. Sometimes inspiration returns unnoticed,in the mist and fog, mid-step, mid-breath, mid-journey. In my dreams, I am still the girl racing the wind with my equine brothers and sisters, all grace and strength and speed, in the better world filled with promise and hope and possibilities. It's just possible to live where dreams and reality meet and intermingle, if we believe. I believe it matters how we treat each other, how we let others treat us, how we spend our money, our time, our focus. If you believe, too, do something that matters today: Meals on Wheels, a soup kitchen, a clothing drive, a blood donation; plant a tree, adopt a shelter pet, teach someone to read. It can be almost anything, as long as it lightens the load for someone. Funny how when we carry someone else's burdens for a while, we pay less attention to the weight of our own.

Good morning, friends and readers. What follows is an ode to my Latin teacher, Mrs. Robuck, for all the wonderful stories we read.The sun is rising, and our daily labors begin. I could have used the aid of a few titans as I pushed my trash and recycling cans out of the garage. Come, Atlas, and Hercules and Hippolyta, lend me your strength: my trash can weighs 700 pounds. I am embroiled in battle with the service company, and they have failed in their duty to collect my trash and recycling for months. Gods, help me, I implore you. Go now, into the morning, my fearless fellows, my lads and ladies, my vikings; my titans, my painted warriors astride, my lauded and laureled heroes. Be steadfast, defiant, relentless, in the face of your enemies. Defy all your worries and weekday weariness, and the battle is nearly won. In the drawing of our swords, I invite the Hydra, and Cerberus, fierce, three-headed guardian dog, and the Medusa, with her headdress of serpents. Draw near, and be slain. Meet your end at our feet. We have coins for Charon, Ferryman of the River Styx, for your journey to Hades. We are the heroes of this tale, and we toil bravely at our Twelve Labors. The trials that the Fates set before us are but part of the story. Go now, my Jason, my Artemis, my Dido, Demeter, Diana; my Odysseus, my Mars, my Vulcan of the Forge and Fire. Aeneas, Achilles, remember us who wait for you. Be defiant and faithful, and may Poseidon smooth the seas beneath your sails and bring you all safely home by the setting of the sun. I admit I didn't sleep much last night. Have a good day, my WeekDay Warriors: I fight at your backs always. Semper Fidelis

How is everyone today? I want to remind us all that it only takes a moment for things to change. So hang on. If you're worried. If you're tired. If you're sad. Just wait. Find the still, quiet place inside you, where the chaos doesn't invade, that isn't affected by the weather or the circumstances, where peace resides, and just wait. Fortunes change with the winds, the tides, the waning moon. Have hope. Be ready. Heartbreak fades. Strength returns. Luck turns. I believe this could be my moment. I have accepted that I am responsible for my own success, that I have to finish my novel and keep writing my blog, and take care of myself. My success and happiness will come. And then I will take care of others, and repay those who have cared for me, and share my success with everyone around me. But it's a process, probably a long one; an evolution, a rebirth, a becoming. It requires pain and struggle and sacrifice. There is beauty in the pain, in the new wrinkles and the sweat; in the tears, the changes in body and soul. I am glad to be here, now, myself. I am grateful. I am learning to be my new self, to be gracious, kind, wise, generous, and thoughtful. There is chaos all around us, in the changing climate and its fire and rain; in the iniquities and inequalities and injustices in need of redress. Don't be distracted by the noise of all of it. Focus on the quiet. There will always be people who underestimate you, dismiss and disregard you, who judge and misjudge you, and I know that hurts. I feel it, too. I am hurting from it, too. But I am stronger than any hurt, any disappointment, any loss. I will go on, and so will we all. I know that there are also the people who cheer me on, who believe in and love and support me. And that's the sound I should listen for. All the rest is merely the buzzing of bees, white noise, tinnitus. I can't cure it or fully resolve it, but I don't have to be lead by it. This is what I want you to know, too. We are equal to the challenges. We will endure. We will solve the problems. All we have to do is come together. Pool our strength, our talents, our intelligence, our compassion, our resources. And then work until the changes begin. And then keep working. Don't falter, just because the hard part is longer than we want it to be, than we expected. Take a breath. Find peace. Breathe in hope and courage and serenity. Challenges are good, even as they test us, remake us, bend but do not break us. I believe the world, its people, all of us, are good, more than we are bad; are made of more than we think, than we know, than we believe. This is what I know. It is what I want all of you to know, too. I share it with you, my friends, my brothers, my sisters; and I ask that you send it on its way: the hope, the love, the peace, the strength, the compassion. When the buzzing of the bees is loud, tune in to the peace inside, and rest easy.

Hi, World:  This space will be where the alchemy of art and science and inspiration come together to create the force behind the best life I can live, and the best energy I can send out to the world and the people around me. It probably won't be like any other blog out there, but that's ok.  It will be a reflection of me, similarly composed of many different shiny parts.

Please be tolerant, if you visit in these first days.  I am still building my scaffolding, and learning as I go.  It is a dynamic, organic process, sustained by trial and error, draft and revision.  I am Curator and Editor-in-Chief, and designer, writer, and general assistant; so there will be moments when it is more important to capture my ideas as they occur than to correct my mistakes immediately.  Thank you, to everyone who has visited, and for asking anyone else to visit; and for the encouraging comments. I think many good things will flow from our discussion here.  This space has already begun to heal me, as it has occupied me fully over these last few days.  My hope is that it can heal you, too.  Find a new project, and your pain will have to recede a little to make room.  For years, I have been telling myself that I will write when  I feel better.  But I think the answer is in the reverse:  if I write, then I will feel better.  A lively and engaged spirit will envigorate its body.  If Olive Ann Burns could write Cold Sassy Tree and Leaving Cold Sassy while she had cancer, I can certainly do this.  If Flannery O'Connor could write novels like Wise Blood while living with lupus, I can easily do this.  I will live each day with energy, creativity, and purpose, as they did, with greater burdens. Some rare days I will fail, when it is too hard to rise above pain or stress, or exhaustion, but I will not fail to try.

 I will share what I'm learning about how to use food to heal yourself, one bite at a time.  Both the bites you eat, and the ones you don't.  Food can alleviate or exacerbate inflammation. What you eat, and don't eat,  can impact the level of chronic pain you have, or don't have anymore.   It can elevate or worsen your mood, which is especially important for those of us who struggle with depression or other mental health issues. Exercise creates new brain cells!  It can also improve your mood when it dumps endorphins into your bloodstream.  It improves flexibility, muscle tone and strength, bone mass, and can alleviate pain.  It causes positive changes in your brain at the cellular level, helping to mitigate the effects of aging.  There is mounting evidence that there are negative changes in your brain when you don't exercise regularly. So let's all get moving!  It's good for your body and your brain. A combination of aerobic and strength training and stretching is best, and it means you are less likely to become bored by and disinterested in your workouts.  Add some friends and family, and a hobby or two;  some meditation, a massage, and an occasional margarita; and you have all of the ingredients for the happiest and healthiest years of your life. Even if, like me, you have begun to have occasional moments when it seems as if those years are behind you, instead of in front. Don't believe it!  You have more power than you realize to change both the present and the future with the things you do right now, and in all the moments following. Change the channel when the negative thoughts try to engage.  (Because they will, but you don't have to listen.  You can get up and fight back.  Move.  Refrain.  Restrain your bad impulses, and rise above your bad behaviors. Don't just react.  Pause.  Breathe.  Think.  Choose.  Then speak, or eat, or move, or feel, or do.) I will point you to articles which will enlighten and inform, offer tips which have worked for me, and encourage you to keep trying every day.

First, allow me to introduce myself.  I am not a physician or a dietitian.  I do feel like I am turning myself into my own version of a 150-year-old-Chinese Herbalist- Medicine- Man.  I may, at some point, formally study nutrition.  Right now, I am educating myself by  reading all kinds of things from many different sources, including, but not limited to, Science and Smithsonian and Atlantic Monthly; Epicurious, Bon Appetit, and Cooking Light; and the New Yorker, the Wall Street Journal, and Psychology;  Time and Money magazines.  And I feel some urgency to share what I am learning and thinking and practicing.  I have lived with chronic pain and limited mobility and flexibility all of my life, due to cerebral palsy.  I won't try to replace the advice of your doctor.  Aren't the best decisions made by groups of smart people, actively engaged in producing the best possible outcome?  Let this be the forum for  discussions of how to give yourself better days, every day, for the rest of your life.  I will offer the benefit of my experience, gleaned from  the articles and books I have read; and from the improvements I have lived and felt in my own body and state of mind.  From implementing some strategic changes of routine, including daily exercise and an anti-inflammatory diet, there are incremental positive changes in how I move and think and feel. 

 Wickipedia defines inflammation as, "part of the complex biological response of body tissues to harmful stimuli, such as pathogens, damaged cells, or irritants, and is a protective response involving immune cells, blood vessels, and molecular mediators."   It is a good thing; it keeps us healthy; until the body over-reacts to perceived threats, and there is too much inflammation.  

  I encourage everyone to be a critical thinker.  Be sceptical.  Defiant.  Read.  Ask your doctor.  Try it and see what happens for you.  Inflammation may not be the root of all evils, but research has linked it to chronic health issues including cancer, heart disease, some forms of arthritis;  and other chronic pain,  depression, and Alzheimer's.  Inflammation can lead to chronic pain because, over time,  it heightens the nervous system's sensitivity to pain.  So reducing inflammation can reduce the severity of chronic pain,  and the risk of developing these or other health problems, particularly as you age.  Approximately 100 million people deal with chronic pain in the United States.  Its cause can be impossible to diagnose; sometimes no acute findings show on CAT scans or MRIs or Xrays or blood tests.   Pain medication is not always the best therapy, since it has side-effects and can lead to addiction, and because it doesn't work well for everyone. Medication will inevitably fail at some point, if it is all you rely on to alleviate your pain.  But there are other tools which can be remarkably effective, especially if several of them work together.  We use tools to do work; there is work we can do to relieve our pain and to change our relationship to it.  By changing the way we view it, or the way we respond to it, we can change its size, its strength, and its relative importance in the landscape of our lives.  Changing its shape changes the shape of everything else we see.  Pain is an incredibly complex mechanism, with many components, some of which are emotional or pyschological, even cultural.  Which is why people of faith experience pain differently than atheists.  And why the placebo effect is so powerful:   believe that you feel better, and you will actually start feeling better.  It doesn't matter if the prescription you swallow with your morning coffee is a sugar pill, cutting-edge pharmacology or a few lines from the Bible or the Koran;  or ten minutes of yoga or meditation or knitting. 

Sometimes the key to lessening your pain, or loosening the grip it has on your life, can be to disrupt the mechanism; however you can.  Reducing inflammation is one of the ways to do that.     I am not suggesting it is easy.  It is not always easy for me, even after more than 25 years of regular exercise.  But I learned the lessons of  discipline early.  I started weekly (sometimes twice weekly) physical therapy at 15 months old.  And I began having orthopedic surgery on my legs at 4 years old.  Several surgeries were required to enable me to walk, initially, with canes and braces.  When I was very young, I also had to sleep in the braces.  And then, at the end of first grade, I learned to walk without either of them.  I work at it, every day.  It keeps the scar tissue in my legs and feet, from the surgeries and the daily practice and a few old injuries, more pliable.  And I know, if I make better choices about what I eat and if I excercise, I will feel better.  And I will be stronger, and more able to do things which will make my life better.  And, stronger and happier,   I will be so much more likely to be a better sister, a better friend, a better daughter, a better aunt, and a better human being, who strives to improve the world and the lives of everyone on it.  I am a work in progress, like everyone else.  I cheat sometimes; I get discouraged sometimes; I think sometimes that what I get out of it isn't worth what I have to give to it.  No one is perfect, not even myself.  But I am wrong when I think it isn't worth it:  there is no better medicine than knowing that I am  fighting my hardest to subdue my private demons. Sometimes the pen isn't mightier than the sword; it becomes the sword, or in my case, more accurately, a John Deere tractor, as it mows down everything in your way like tall grass.  Find hope, and pain, fear, and exhaustion, are all reduced to whispers, shadows.    What a powerful antidote to doubt and dark moments. And the will to keep trying matters more than the lapses of faith. Sometimes I think it matters more than anything else. 

I am still working on losing weight.  Around ten years ago, I was persuaded to try an anti-depressant.  I inherited a tendency toward mental health issues from both sides of my family. Genes are only the prelude to the story.  It is possible to modify gene expression by as much as 70 percent with your behavior.   I have always struggled with depression, but I had never taken anti-depressants before.  I had always just tried to keep myself busy, mentally and physically. But a lot of  things happened all together, including the death of a dear friend, a bad breakup, -Does everyone have an ex-boyfriend like the Six Foot Tumor?- job stress, physical pain.  So I tried medication.  I don't think it improved my depression much, and even worse, it made me gain between 25 and 30 pounds.  The weight gain was severely depressing.  And it made it even harder to walk.  And raised my blood pressure.  And I think it was part of the reason why I got hives and a swollen upper lip virtually every day for a year and a half.  So I stopped taking it.  Cold turkey.  Which is not the way to do it.  Seriously, don't.  Talk to your doctor about gradually weaning yourself, if you want to stop taking anti-depressants.  Stopping abrubtly can make your depression worse.  And that can be extremely dangerous. Researchers now think there may be another type of depression; which isn't due to the levels of seratonin and norepinephrine, but to a certain protein; which controls  a hormone, which then regulates mood, eating, and sleeping patterns.  This may be why the current medications don't work well for everyone.  The new research sounds very promising.  

I worked really hard with diet and exercise  and lost the weight.  I got back to 119 pounds. But when I was laid off from my job, I gained some of it back.  When your days lose their normal structure, it is easy to fall into old bad habits.  And depression makes it seem as if it doesn't matter if you gain weight.  Depression can be like wearing glasses with the wrong prescription: through its lenses, you can't see anything clearly.   "No one sees you, really, if you don't have to go to work every day", or so says the inner voice.  And I am older now, so gaining weight is all too easy, and losing it is much harder.  But I have done much harder things in my life, so I know that I can lose weight again, and get back to 119 pounds, again.  Losing weight is anti-inflammatory in itself.  Woot!  And food can have a major impact on the severity of depression.  In one study I read recently, participants who followed a mediterreanean diet, (many elements of which are anti-inflammatory) received cooking lessons and healthy foods; reported that their depression improved by as much as 45 percent!  Much less exhausting and more effective over time than trying to keep yourself constantly occupied.  It can be very hard to swim out of a depressive period, once the undertow has got you.  Please, if you are struggling with depression or other mental health illness, know that you are not swimming alone.  Let your friends and family be your lifeguards.  Call one of them to watch over you.  Or call a therapist.  Or call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800 273 8255.  There's an online chat option if that is easier.  It can get better.  It will.  You can begin to  make it happen simply by believing it.

Depression may have cast its long shadows over your life, but you can learn how to find more patches of sunlight in your days.  I know, because I have, and I will help you.