It’s been almost a year since I finished my first journey of recovery and discovery. I thought that it had all gone amazingly well and that my life was set for a new and adventurous course that would be fuelled by writing.
I’m still puttng in the fuel , but my life is still in the same place.
Not for me, the meteroric rise to fame. Not for me, that epiphany of discovery. Not for me, that moment in the sun where, for a brief time at least, people begin to sit up and listen. The wheel may have turned, but the tide has not.
“Oh, woe is me.”
Count Your Blessings.
Part of me was going to write something like, this is a lovely idea.
There is always a BUT with me. It’s as if I have a corn or cheese detector governing my responses to totally ordinary sentiments. The rest of the world lives by these sentiments, so why do I so frequently reject them?
“It’s not the number of breaths we take, but the number of moments that take our breath away.”