Today is Thanksgiving and although I miss Zoe, and I never, in any of my fantasies, could have imagined my life looking the way it does now - I couldn't be more grateful for all the blessings in my life. My little dog Lola is lying on a small throw rug at my feet. My loftmate Abigail is in the kitchen, making herself some breakfast, no doubt Lucy is sitting nearby. I'm about to go to the gym for a run on the treadmill. I am working again. I've moved through a year and a half of the most difficult time I've ever experienced. A staged reading of my play is scheduled for February, with a new and much more satisfying ending.
And I just read this in my latest, favorite book "Fearless" by Steve Chandler.
"In my life, crawling out of the cave of despair, one book led to another. Where would I find courage? How would I make a living? How could I succeed at anything after having been such a failure at everything? Do I try to remember what my two alcoholic parents taught me.
Books were the answer. Books taught me everything. You're not going to find it in books? Maybe you aren't, but I did."
That has been true for me, particularly over this past year and a half. It wasn't entirely books - but all the spiritual work and research and my own writing was often stimulated by something I read, or by someone sharing something they'd learned from a book or a spiritual teacher.
So thanks for all the lessons learned - wherever they came from, no matter how painful, they all contributed to a transformational time.