Wanna Feel Better? Then Love on Yourself!

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Joy is juice. Pleasure is the nectar that keeps us going.

Yet there are lots of excellent reasons to feel like f***ing s*** these days. And feeling like crud is bad for writers. It blocks us from flowing when we really need to keep going.

Getting dumped; getting fired (another kind of dumped); losing your friend group in a break up (yet another kind of dumped); fights with anybody important to you — family/partner/spouse/offspring/sibling/co-worker; toxic work environment; narcissistic anything and narcissists everywhere; asking somebody out only to get turned down; asking somebody out who only strings you along without a clean and honest rejection; one-sided friendships; moving to a new place where you know nobody and the culture is not friendly; realizing that the good buddy you lent money to will never pay you back; getting into a car accident; lousy customer service; deliberate rudeness…this list could go on for eternity.

Unfortunately, there is an abundance of unkindness in the world. People treat each other with disrespect all the time, and many of us are stressed and unhappy as a result.

That being the case, can we always rely on outside sources — like supportive friends and healthy relationships — for our contentment and happiness?

In my opinion, the answer is no. We need to get really, really good at filling our own wells.

How do we do that?

Again, this is an opinion: we can do that through the pursuit of pleasure, particularly the kinds that bring us to joy.

This may sound frivolous to some. Pleasure is dessert, not dinner.

And can we honestly say that the concept of joy receives the cultural respect it deserves? I came across a Ted Talk that addresses this topic, which I’ll post at the end of this article — because I want you to finish reading this. Of course.

Pleasure is extremely important. I think it’s far more crucial than people want to admit.

Stop and think about those stellar moments, when you feel amazing and your being is in a delicious state of lightness, when all your cares fall away, and you settle fully in the present. What comes not only to your mind, but to your heart?

Joy.

It doesn’t matter how you got there. What matters is that every single one of those pleasurable moments adds joy to your well, to your inner reserves that give you strength and resilience.

Those moments of pleasure remind you that life is worth living. So later, when one of the miseries strikes you, that nourishment will be there to sustain you.

Joy is juice. Pleasure is the nectar that keeps us going.

As we all know, loving, healthy relationships and true friends are the main source of juice and nectar.

But life happens. There are times when we don’t have that loving partner or our healthy friends are caught up in their own lives. Or both. Sometimes there’s nobody available to help you feel better.

These are the times to love on yourself.

Allow me to share a few of my go-to’s when it comes to bringing on the bliss. I’ll start with something simple.

Get thee to a waterfall.

I can’t encourage this enough. The powerful force of falling water does something to us on a cellular level. The negative hydrogen ions released from the splitting water molecules enter our bloodstream and increase our levels of serotonin — which relieves stress and depression.

Trust me. It works.

I’ve sat before a waterfall in a state of raging despair. When I left an hour or so later, no matter how devastated I was when I arrived, I left feeling serene.

My problems hadn’t gone away, but I wasn’t in a pretzel over them either.

Of course, not everybody can get to a waterfall readily without some kind of road trip involved. But if you can, do it.

If a waterfall is not readily available, any source of running water — such as rivers, creeks, or the ocean — will still be helpful. Even an indoor water fountain that makes that gurgling sound that’s agreeable to your ears will do some good.

Here’s another bliss blast that is not dependent on nature. This is not for the faint of heart. But damn, it works.

HOT Sauna followed with COLD plunge. Run HOT and COLD for several rounds.

Work up to this however you want.

Sauna for as long as you can stand it and submerge in a chill tub (I think this is far more powerful than a cold shower) for as many seconds as you can take it. Increase your time with each round. Take the heat until the sweat pours off of you, then immerse your torso, hands, feet, and head in a cold tub. The longer you do each, the more you get out of it.

Physically, this is amazing for lymphatic drainage. But emotionally, it pushes the ICK right out of you. It is impossible to feel depressed, anxious, or angry after going HOT and COLD for several rounds.

Once you get accustomed to this, you’ll find yourself craving the cold. You will find intense pleasure in the COLD the longer you stay in it.

The bliss is indescribable. You’re buzzing and floating and overwhelmed with well-being. You have to experience it for yourself to know how awesome it is.

And you’ll feel like a badass.

But there’s another juicy benefit of the practice of HOT Sauna followed with COLD Plunge.

Better Orgasms.

Which brings me to my last go-to.

Make love to yourself.

I mean that literally. What better way to love on yourself than to…well, really love on yourself?

I recommend this to everybody, even those with awesome sex lives with loving sweeties.

Who can truly be your own best lover more than you?

Use your imagination and get creative. There’s no excuse not to explore variety, because there are all kinds of books, methods, and sex toys to play with.

It’s win, Win, and WIN for anybody who takes the time and makes the effort.

Besides creating your own ecstasy with self-love and orgasms, masturbation will make you a better lover.

Beyond the obvious reasons of knowing your body and telling your inner shame monster to get lost, you’ll be more present in your body — not your head — the next time you have a lover in your bed.

So there you have some go-to’s for getting your bliss on. So get busy and love on yourself. You’ll feel better.

Oh, and wear bright colors. Click here that Ted Talk I mentioned earlier.

That Moment When the Wheel of Fortune Turns Against A Really Rotten Human

Image by Vicki Lynn from Pixabay

Hello _____,

One of the last bits of wisdom my grandfather passed on to my cousin before he died was: “Remember this. You are nothing without your integrity.”

I’ve already filed a police report about some missing pieces of jewelry that belonged to my deceased father. To jog your memory - a gold watch, a watch with a large round gold face and leather wristband, a gold coin medallion with a thick chain, and a ring with an oval-shaped emerald.

In the next few days, I’ll follow up by sending the report or filing fresh reports with various Hawaiian police departments - just in case those pieces show up in pawn shops there.

The last time I saw these items was in mid-May of last year, when I was writing the memorial essays about Dad. By November 2nd, I noticed them missing because I wanted one of the watches for his Day of the Dead altar. When I went to the armoire where I kept the jewelry wallet (wrapped in a canvas bag) that held those pieces, it was gone.

I’ve been spring cleaning and emptied out the guest bedroom. Those items have not turned up.

Due to the pandemic, there were no guests in that room. Very few people came over, and those who did never went in that room. The only people who went into the guest bedroom on a regular basis were A and her sister or son, and you.

I double-checked with the friends who had recommended A to me. My friends swear by the honesty of that family. She has cleaned for them for close to 20 years. They have recommended the A crew to 7 other friends/couples, and everybody raves about how excellent, conscientious and trustworthy they are.

People work hard to establish their professional reputations. I never believed they stole from me. A few of my friends did mainly because they couldn't accept that somebody who lived with me and knew me would do something like that. It's awful that A and her team were put in a suspicious light through no fault of their own.

I know you like to blame a ghost that follows you because things go missing wherever you are. But it really looks to me like you’re a thief and a liar.

I can’t prove that you took the jewelry – along with so many other things that went missing while you lived here - but I’m 90% sure you did.

My therapist is exceptionally perceptive. Her discernment is so on-point, I wonder if she’s psychic. In the 5 ½ years I’ve seen her, she has never been wrong. She’s called it every time.

When I described to her what happened and that I was looking through the pawn shops in Portland, her immediate response was:

“Oh, she still has it. She’s going to want to keep the jewelry because it’s expensive, especially the ring with an emerald. Kleptomania is odd. In her mind she knows the emotional distress that missing jewelry will cause you, and that’s what gives her satisfaction. Knowing that she got back at you for having something she doesn’t.”

Wow. That's really demented.

With all the meals together, the chats, the confidences, the shared holidays, the little gifts to the neighbors, the platitudes of manifesting your desires from the Universe, and putting the positivity of light and love out there - underneath all that is the seething venom of malice, spite, envy, greed, and hate.

I have a few questions for you:

1.    How can you stand to fake nice your way through life?

2.    What the hell do you think you’re going to manifest with that hidden ugly-nasty that you’re so good at concealing? I hope you like smelly farts and diarrhea showers because that's likely what you have coming from the Universe.

3.    Do you actually aspire to be Gollum from Lord of the Rings, obsessing over “your precious,” and fuming over anybody who has it better than you? That character was so repugnant I cringed every time he was on the screen.

My life is blessed, and nothing you can do will ever take that away from me.

Fuck you anyway. I deserve the blessings life has to offer - love, friendship, abundance. And if this is the way you treat people, you really don’t.

You don't have a single justifiable reason for any of this.

I gave you an excellent deal that was far below market value for Portland to start. Not to mention that you got $300/month off your rent - for no more than 12 hours work/month, cleaning biweekly and doing the cat boxes during a pandemic.

In case you forgot, you approached me about that arrangement. I was hardly exploiting you. During a horrible time where most people were terrified of losing everything, you had it pretty good. I didn't even know you before you answered my ad for a housemate.

And you want to get back at me? Really?

Sure, it sucks that irreplaceable mementos of my father were probably stolen by a fake-nice human like you. I even felt like I had been raped for a while. Thievery is not the same as a violent sexual assault. But given that I trusted you with my home, where I should have been completely safe in a state of deep grief and depression, physical rape is the only way I could have felt more violated.

It's beyond belief to me that you would find any gratification in that.

Do you find the thought satisfying that I might hate you?

I pity you, Kylee.

I don't need the jewelry. They're material items and I can let them go. Dad's legacy lives on in me, and that can never be stolen.

I think you've been ripping off people you know for a long time. That's a lot of baggage you're carrying, along with the horrible karma of stealing pieces of a dead man's heritage.

Character is destiny. You really are nothing without your integrity. There is no getting away with anything - even when you think you did. Because what you do ultimately becomes what you are.

There must be a thrill, a rush of adrenaline every time you steal and don't get caught - every time you find satisfaction in feeding your greed, envy, malice, spite, and hate.

But you pay a price for that.

What is starved are those inner qualities that bring love, friendship, community, family, success, and true abundance - and I believe you crave all that, as well as the "love and light" you claim to stand for.

But it is impossible to bond with somebody who presents a face to the world that doesn't match what's going on inside because there's nothing genuine to connect to. Nothing "woke" about that.

I can't imagine the emotional desolation it must take to do people like that.

Yet if you insist on avarice, on greedily grasping heirlooms you have no right to - whether they are in your parents' house, in boxes at your friend’s house, with you in ___, or wherever else they end up - what are you bringing on yourself but bad luck?

There is another option, Kylee. If that jewelry is returned safely to me - and I don't care how that happens - I won’t press charges.

It would be even better if most, if not all, of the missing or “broken” items that disappeared from my house while you lived here also showed up.

I can’t promise that will clear your karma. But it’s a step in the right direction.

Here’s my address and phone number in case you forgot or in case somebody you know needs to get a hold of me:

_____

For your sake, I hope you take that sharp detour to the high road, even if the incline is steep.
M

How Loneliness Became Blessed Solitude

Image by Jonny Lindner from Pixabay

In my former home of Juneau, Alaska, more than one person has said that there’s no lonely like Juneau lonely.

And it’s true.

It was there that I developed a problem with being alone for the first time in my life. And it was in Juneau that I learned to contribute to community and to fill up my inner space.

But if you don’t have everything you need there, the loneliness is excruciating and only gets worse with time.

So much that I left Juneau and moved to Portland, Oregon.

But I brought that writhing anguish of loneliness with me, and it continued to consume me for several more years.

Of course, there were a few short-lived dating disasters during this time. But the long gaps of dateless years continued.

I prayed, meditated, begged, bargained, and even threatened God, Goddess, and the Universe to fall in love and have the relationship of my dreams. There wasn’t anything that I wouldn’t have done to meet somebody special.

During this time, I didn’t just sit around and mope in my self-pity.

I filled up my life with all kinds of wonderful things. Fortunately, Portland, Oregon is a creative city that makes it very easy to be single.

There are so many things to do while flying solo here where one can find connection, and sometimes even touch — like Ecstatic Dance, Silent Disco, Contact Improv, Dinner Salons, and Cuddle Parties to name a few.

Image by Michael Pajewski from Pixabay

That’s not to mention all the meetup groups and 1–3 day workshops around anything and everything you could want in creativity, meditation, breathwork, energy work, sexuality, Tantra, kundalini, and expanding consciousness.

And hot springs. Lots and lots of hot springs.

The possibilities were endless.

Yes, my tastes run to the hippie/New Agey end of the spectrum. But fuck it, those things work.

It was incredibly healing to bring my lonesome self to natural highs. Those moments of self-created bliss and ecstasy gave me relief, and the afterglow was pretty gosh-darned lovely as well.

Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay

Those moments gave me relief from that incessant gnawing ache of reluctant solitude.

In spite of all this loneliness and personal strife, by some miracle, I have at my core a reserve of self-respect and self-esteem. I’ve never been one to settle for less than what I want.

Ironically enough, those desolate years built up my self-worth. I knew from the depths of my being that I was not so wretched to deserve the isolation I endured.

I also built up an eclectic network of beautiful humans as friends.

That did not come easy either.

Even though loneliness has become an American epidemic - to the point that it’s considered even more deadly than smoking or obesity - there’s little support for the isolated.

To admit that you’re lonely is to beg for ostracism.

Loneliness is a repellent.

Isolation makes you vulnerable, and thus makes it challenging to attract healthy people who have integrity and would make quality friends.

Friendships that are false or weak, riddled with judgment, and bereft of understanding will make one feel lonelier than ever.

I suffered numerous fall-outs, and many times I walked away from various individuals and groups who didn’t support me or treat me well.

In the short term that made the loneliness worse, but in the long run I built up a marvelous community, which I am so grateful for.

With each authentic friendship I forged, a chunk of loneliness fell off me.

Image by Michal Jarmoluk from Pixabay

I had a ridiculous amount of freedom. And I would later regret not appreciating that freedom while I had it.

An energy worker told me she could feel the anguish of my loneliness in my third chakra. She also paused and said:

“Mana, you really need to get comfortable with being alone before you can have the relationship you want. If you don’t, the kind of person you call in will be a reflection of your loneliness. And it will not go well.”

I knew she was right, and I wanted to be able to heed what she said. But I had been so lonely for so long, that pain was unbearable. I simply couldn’t.

Falling in love was all I could think about. And I didn’t know how much longer I could stand being alone.

The energy worker was right.

I finally met somebody about 6 months after that session. I was on a dating marathon through OkCupid, and she was date #8.

Our hungers drew us together. Both of us were desperate for different reasons.

The first three months were incredible. To be gratified in love after being long-denied was one of the purest ecstasies I’ve ever known.

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

We only got to enjoy that for a few months. Then the stress of her excessive load of baggage burst our bubble, and in I fell into the pressure cooker of her mistakes.

But I was already hooked. I took on her baggage as my own, and did everything I could to make that relationship work.

We lasted for nearly 4 years.

In that time, we got engaged and lived together for the last year we were together. The miseries of our relationship got worse every year.

I made serious attempts to end it before the first year was up, and at the 2nd year, and several attempts while we lived together. But each time, I caved under pressure to stay.

My friends asked me why. One friend even came straight out and suggested I stayed because I was afraid of being alone. She was stunned when I went back after the 2nd breakup attempt. I was with her and she witnessed the relief on my face.

I really wanted this relationship to work. But as time passed, fear of loneliness kept me there far more than love.

Yet I found myself missing the freedom I once had with the loneliness. I didn’t do the things I loved that brought me to euphoria as much any more. My ex-fiancee did not enjoy those things.

So when I did them, I went alone.

I didn’t reach those bliss peaks as often. The insidious realization that I was in the worst kind of lonely — the loneliness of being in an unhappy relationship that drained me — made that difficult.

As time passed, I realized that I had everything I never wanted in a relationship and nothing that I did.

Living together had been a catastrophe from the start.

On the suggestion of another friend, I came up with an exit plan. That was necessary because when the last straw was loaded, my tolerance broke and I left.

My exit plan was immaculate and left no room for persuasion. The relief was immediate and rather intoxicating.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

I left my own home for 5 weeks to give my ex-fiancée and my ex-stepdaughter time to move out.

It’s very strange to be transient without traveling, especially because I had 4 cats with me.

Although I was alone, I had so much support. My friends supported me, as well as the beautiful people I met along that peculiar journey. The cats helped too.

I definitely went through periods of despondency and loneliness. But the even greater sensation is relief. Because even when I’m lonesome and depressed, I’m still happier and much lighter than I was in a relationship that made me miserable.

I left my fiancée three months ago, and solitude has a different flavor now.

I’m alone, but I’m not lonely. I savor every minute of freedom, every time I can change my mind and my plans at the last minute and not have somebody to answer to.

Spontaneity is almost orgasmic it feels so good.

A couple of days ago, I even savored the pleasure of excitement.

It had been so long since I was excited about something.

Hobo Punks Remembered - On the Road #22

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

In my last On the Road blog here, I mentioned at the end that I had interviewed a few hobo punks who I had met while traveling in Alaska with the potential to freelance an article to the Anchorage Press.

 

It is one of my most painful regrets of that road trip that I didn’t follow through on that. Because I did interview these people. Their stories were incredible, and they deserved to be known for that.

 

I probably had a gnarly case of road fatigue.

For all the excitement and adventure of the unknown and this odyssey, it was exhausting to pack up the Beast and move from town to town, where I didn’t have any roots or emotional investment.

 

I had it in me to interview them. Then that was it.

 

The main people I interviewed, Derrick and Kylie Greene (names changed for privacy) had settled down in Anchorage. At the time that I had met them, they had a young son, and Kiley was pregnant with their second child.

 

This was in the autumn of 2005. In the 90’s, there was an exodus of teenagers out of the homes into the streets. The core of the homeless teens were – and still are - those who left dangerous family environments and those who had gotten kicked out of their homes, usually for coming out as gay.

 

But then there were those who came from safe homes and were simply restless and probably didn’t fit in with the mainsteam conventional culture from which they came.

 

If I remember correctly, Kylie had been a hobo punk longer than Derrick. I think he had hit the road around 16 or 17, whereas she had been on the road from the time she was 13 or 14.

 

Originally from Louisiana, she said her mother and sister worried sick about her, and often begged her to come home, which she would never do no matter how dangerous life on the streets was.

 

“I remember one time me and a couple friends found a squat (an abandoned, empty building) as a place to crash. One night, these older homeless bums came in and saw us. We overheard them talking about how they were going to kill us to claim the space.”

 

Kylie shuddered as she remembered, and shook her head.

 

“We were so scared.”

 

Kylie and Derrick met through the network of hobo punks that hit the road. Both had a lot to say about the network of homeless youth on the road, how they managed with no money and very few resources beyond each other.

 

Safety happens in numbers. Hobo punks know this.

 

They talked about connecting with the Rainbow family, the nomadic tribe that travels from National Park to National Forest year round, when they needed more resources or the security that comes with a group.

 

They talked about hitchhiking and hopping trains, as the hobos of the Great Depression did to get around. They talked about living in squats, sleeping in encampments, panhandling, and receiving money and food from kind-hearted strangers.

 

“It gets harder as you get older,” Derrick said.

 

They also talked about the excessive alcohol and drug use that goes hand-in-glove with that lifestyle.

 

They talked about Punksgiving, celebrated at the same time as conventional Thanksgiving, and that people traveled from all over to come to it. In fact, I’m pretty sure, it was at a Punksgiving that Kylie and Derrick met.

 

Image by Ryan McGuire From Pixabay

They showed me a group photo of an early Punksgiving before they married. Everybody in the picture hammed it up. Kylie had her ginger hair in a Mohawk and wore brown overalls, Derrick had his hair slicked back, and I recognized the guy I found in Seward who told me where to find them.

 

Once they settled down in Anchorage, they’ve been the hosts for Punksgiving. And it was no easy feat for those hobo punks to get to Anchorage from the lower 48 (the rest of the United States, except Hawaii).

 

That was becoming problematic for them.

 

Although it was part of their tribal values to open their homes to their hobo punk family, then they’d have far too many people in their house expecting to be able to stay. They’d drink all day, not help with the bills, housework, look for a job, or anything.

 

And they were in Anchorage in late November, where winter was always well under way.

 

This honest, humble working class family were especially conscious of the difficulty of this. They were torn between the past and the present and the needs for their future, especially because they had a four-year-old son and Kylie was pregnant again.

 

“It’s gotten harder as we’ve gotten older,” Derrick said. “It just doesn’t work to keep partying like that and not doing anything.”

 

“Derrick became a journeyman at his job this year,” Kylie continued. “And things have just changed for us. We don’t know how much longer we can continue to host Punksgiving because it causes a lot of problems.”

 

I asked them if they missed their former way of life. They both nodded.

 

“Yeah,” Kylie said. “But it was just getting too hard. People don’t want to help you out so much when you’re not so young and cute anymore. It’s harder to get rides and money and food and stuff that you just need.”

 

Both of them were only 24-25 years of age at the time of my interview.

 

In the long run, Derrick and Kylie were the fortunate ones.

 

Life on the road is hard, especially the way they lived it. It’s a way of life that the young and restless still engage in. Several years ago, I met a young woman who had lost her leg in an injury where she was hopping a train.

 

Image by lannyboy89 From Pixabay

Derrick and Kylie stopped before life on the road ate them alive.

 

It’s a real shame that I didn’t buckle down and write that article right after I interviewed them. I recorded the conversation but lost that tape – yes, tape as in cassette tape – years ago.

 

If I could recall this much 14 years later, how vivid would that article have been if I had written fresh and inspired?

 

I wonder if Derrick and Kylie still miss the freedom of those rough and ready days as hobo punks.

 

I imagine that they take road trips whenever they can, and I bet they are usually willing to give a hitchhiker a ride.

If you’d like to read the On the Road blog which preceded this one, click here.

Time to Get Back to Work

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

The Victorians had some rigid and bizarre rituals for mourning.

 

Widows had to embody mourning for at least 2 years, wearing nothing but black before being able to mute to gray, then mauve, and white.

 

But never mind the fashions, their absence at anything remotely social was ruthlessly expected. Anything less than total isolation was not acceptable.

 

That must have been torture, no matter how much the women loved their husbands.

Image by Anna Veronika from Pixabay

 By the way, I’m not a recent widow and nobody close to me has died. My engagement ended this past summer when I left my fiancée. So perhaps this beginning hints of melodrama.

 

That said, modern times do not have adequate rituals for grieving, much less the elaborate ones nobody can afford through time or money.

 

Even if I had invested in a dream that would never come true – and would have been a nightmare if I had stayed, this breakup is the death of an imagined future. Even if I wasn’t happy, I was counting on this future, as you can see from this blog here, posted not even 5 months ago.

 

Oh! Bitter, bitter irony!

 

There is a grieving process in breakups that suspends sociability and productivity.

 

I was in a really bizarre space emotionally right after I left. I could only handle spending time with people I knew well.

 

Any time I was in a social situation that entailed mingling with others for the first time, I couldn’t connect with anybody. It was as if I existed just outside my body.

Image by Grae Dickason from Pixabay

 But besides sociability, my writing momentum came to a screeching halt.

 

Before I left, I had been working with a very talented illustrator for a children’s fairy tale, “Why Roses Have Thorns.” See previous blogs about Natalya here and here.

 

She had just finished all the illustrations, and had set me up with an editor friend who was working on the manuscript.

 

I still need to go back and look over those edits to go for a final polish, because I haven’t done shit since the break up.

 

Needless to say, that second draft of “The Shepherd and the Courtesan” that I was so proud of? I’ve only touched it once since last July. 

 

Thank Goddess that I had enough blogs scheduled for about a month because that kept me consistent.

 

Since then, many blogs in the last two months are excerpts from my novel and my work-in-progress, as well as journal entries from my DIY booktour/roadtrip in 2005-2006.

 

I even dug up a couple of blogs from a year ago and re-posted when I was truly desperate and couldn’t think of anything to write about.

 

I post 3x/week. So out of 3 months; that makes at least 36 blogs. Out of those 36, only 6 (including this one) are fresh pieces.

Image by Karolina Grabowska from Pixabay

This does not include the writing prompts. I’ve made 6 sets of 6 writing prompts since early September. I guess I went a little nuts on those because they don’t require my concentration, and that is the beauty of them.

 

I don’t need to stick to an overarching theme as I do a reflective article. I only have to put a pithy description or chunk of dialogue. Then whoever is grabbed by one prompt or the other runs with it, and comes up with their own themes.

 

Today is the 3-month mark of the day I left my fiancée. We were together almost 4 years. In the grand scheme of relationships, that’s not very long.

 

In the scheme of toxic relationships, which had we been the last 2 years we were together, I consider myself lucky that this only lasted 4 years. So many people stay much longer when they should have left much sooner.

 

That said, I’m still smarting over the lost time, even if I learned a lot and grew a lot.

 

A friend told me her measuring stick for processing the end of a relationship was 1 month for every year together and then it’s time to get back on track. She said it took her about a year to recover from the end of a 12-year relationship.

 

In about 22 days, I will hit that benchmark.

 

I can feel myself thawing out of the numbness that had consumed me until I went to a Tantra Festival (I’ll write about that later. I promise) at the end of August. Ideas are flowing and I’m getting restless.

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

Natalya even got in touch a couple of days ago with an offer of her marketing services.

 

Things are warming up.

 

It’s time to get back to work.