Why do we journal? March 24, 2009

I was talking with a friend on the phone yesterday. He asked me what I was doing. I am writing in my journal, i told him. He doesn’t know me too well so it was the first time he found out that I like to write. Do you write in a book or online? Both, i told him. My journals are more intimate though. I write everything. At least I try to. I also try to be completely honest..no bullshit..details are acceptable and fits of anger, lust, longing and frustration very frequent.

He then told me about a former girlfriend of his. How she also wrote in journals. That she had over 10 books. I asked him if he ever thought of writing himself. “you know, my ex girlfriend told me that the reason I don’t need to write is because I am always happy.” Even she rarely wrote while she was with him. because she too was happy.

I liked that comment. It got me thinking.

My sister in law told me something similar once. Before she met my brother, she used to write in journals all the time. She used to fill pages and pages. She used to be miserable. Then she met my brother and the pages of her journals remained empty and untouched. She was happy. She told me she had no more reason to write.

So what about me? If I write, does it mean that I am not happy? I consider myself a generally happy person. I am in love with life, I love people and I’m pretty content to be me. So what does it mean to be happy? To have no problems? impossible. No uncomfortable situations? Improbable. Life is filled with challenges and questions. And writing is my way of answering these questions. Life is also about challenging my own mind. it’s about growing and changing. And all these challenges and questioning moments are what make me (and every human, for that matter) alive and real.

My journal is the portal to my psyche which in turn attempts to answer these questions. It is my way of communicating with that part of me that needs to be heard, that sometimes falls asleep, that hides in a dark corner, that is dying to break free. That part of me that needs to understand why people do what they do. Why I do what I do. It is a way for me to come closer to my own happiness. Which is understanding. Openness. Love. Joy. Forgiveness. Wild pleasure. Experience. And much much more.

But I agree with my friend that I don’t write as much when i am really happy…or perhaps the word is not happy…perhaps it is: satisfied? not in the mood to challenge myself or life? in love? lazy?

I LOVE the tumultuousness of life (minus the drama)…it is like taking a deep breath that engulfs beauty in every form. This is what inspires me to ask questions and to write pages and pages…and then…then…I experience a different kind of happiness. One that tells me: oh yeah! ok! I get it. I have gotten just one tiny little step closer to a sense of deeper connection and understanding of the mystery that is me…the mystery that is you…the mystery that is life.

I grow. I learn. I listen. I watch. I feel. I write.

Slow and Steady January 18, 2009

photo by Jerry L. on flickr

I subscribe to a blog called Zen Habits. And I’m glad I do. Its author, Leo Babauta (lives on Guam, married, 6 children, runner, vegetarian, writer) writes some pretty good “stuff” about: achieving goals, productivity, being organized, GTD, motivation, eliminating debt, saving, getting a flat stomach, eating healthy, simplifying, living frugal, parenting, happiness, and successfully implementing good habits.

In his latest post, he links to another author, Ian Newby-Clark (Habit Guy) of My Bad Habits who wrote this article about the Power of Gradual. Here is a exerpt:

Try this as an experiment. Make a tap leak ever so slightly—maybe a drop every half minute or so. Put an empty bucket below it. Now, go on with your day. Forget about the tap. Actually, I don’t need to tell you to forget the tap. You just will. Sometime later, stroll by the bucket. Holy heck! There’s a lot of water in there. It might even be overflowing (the author will not be held responsible …). That’s the Power of Gradual. It’s the effect of a small thing happening over and over (and over) again.

read more…

On and off I think about this topic and every time I stop and look back, I have to agree that things typically don’t happen overnight. Sure, sometimes we have to make drastic decisions. Sometimes we DO have to just quit that job from one day to the other because we just have had enough. But when it comes to goals and dreams…the age old “take it one day at a time”, “step by step” is probably one of the most profound suggestions that exists. I used to be a lot less patient. I used to get frustrated with myself (mostly) because I expected semi-instant results. Also, being a chronic procrastinator, I have often accomplished projects in the last minute. I can remember so many times in College when I had final papers to write and of course I’d wait until the day before it was due to work on it. Sure, an all nighter lead to an intensity that surprisingly turned into genuine interest in the subject matter. This, without fail (every time) would frustrate me to no end. Why? Because I’d realize that if I had just started my project earlier and worked on it a little bit every day, I would have written an A+ paper. (sidenote: I have to admit though that I do well under pressure and sometimes come up with my most creative results in that manner)

And so lately I have been reminding myself more and more to do a bit every day of whatever I want to achieve. If it’s cleaning my apartment: instead of spending an entire day cleaning every corner of the apt and usually never finishing because I am SO exhausted (oh, and distracted)…clean the living room one day, the bathroom the next day, the kitchen…
If it’s posting on my blog, preparing photos to upload to flickr, posting on facebook, keeping in touch with friends…a bit every day/other day will get me to where I want to be.
With my desire to become a better writer (oh yes!): write every morning…a page, two pages…but WRITE! As a friend of mine writes to me in encouragement: THE VOICE will come…
And especially with my long term goals…again and again I come to the same conclusion: don’t expect instant gratification. Be patient and stick with it. And I find that it does work. The key (at least for me) is consistency. Especially if they are more abstract goals (such as “becoming a better writer”)…you just gotta keep at it…but in a gentle and underwhelming way.

I am not a parent, but I know that many parents have the desire to “be a better parent”. This is a huge topic…and yet so simple. I believe that nowadays too many parents think they have to do “big” things with their kids to make them happy or prove to themselves that they are good parents. Wrong. I find that the best parents are those who spend a bit of quality time every day with their children, who stop every once in a while and just listen, who watch a movie with their kids, who sit and have a meal as a family (an endangered species)…just little things here and there, simple, nothing extravagant…that to me is what makes a parent rock.

As I was searching for something else on google, I also came across this article, The Oak Tree vs. the Microwave, on a blog called Succcess.org. And sure enough, it talks about the same subject of instant gratification, the need for patience, the nurturing of dreams, ideals and goals.
Here is an excerpt:

There are many young adults today completely lost. Totally disillusioned and frustrated.

So many fine young men and women in their 20s, 30s, and even 40’s who’ve lost touch with the natural maturation process of personal development and personal success. These individuals seek instant gratification. They want success, and they want it now! The phrase, “paying your dues” unfortunately, doesn’t register or doesn’t apply to them . . . or so they think.

Why? I’m thinking you can go ahead and blame it on the microwave oven. Yes, the microwave oven. Think about it, these same “kids” are now adults and they’ve only known one thing — instant gratification! Need a quick meal? Pop it in the microwave. How about some leftovers – throw it in the microwave. The trusty microwave has now made the concept of “waiting” obsolete.

read more…
And so it is with everything. Even finding these articles and blogs. The beauty of the internet is that we can find (if we search) all sorts of interesting things that help us take these slow steps. Every day a little bit and eventually our bucket of life WILL fill with clear, refreshing and tasty water…

Friday Ramblings January 9, 2009

I’m beginning to come back to the world. Yesterday I had my first one-hour physical Therapy session, which was pretty fun. What I liked best was that so far each doctor or physical therapist I have seen has been amazed at how fast I am recovering. The fracture is practically healed and now I have to deal with the rehabilitation process: get the ligaments, muscles, nerves (I guess) back “on track”. That, I am told, takes a few months, and all in all it will take about a year for me to feel COMPLETELY normal again. (I can’t help but laugh at this thought…if only that was true about everything). Yesterday, my physical therapist Jenny told me: wow! You are a superwoman! You’ve healed really fast. I didn’t show that, but imagine how I felt inside (and every time one of them gave me that kind of compliment ~ yes! It’s a compliment to ME). There was this “big me” giving “little me” a few taps on the shoulder saying: see? That’s what happens when you take good care of yourself and follow orders! You heal fast and make everyone, including me, not only proud of you but in awe of you!

Haha! Yeah! Like I said…sometimes it takes so little to give me the boost I need…I just have to be careful not to take it too far and flaunt it…that would look silly!

But I am walking…on a funny looking oversized boot (you’ve seen those…you always feel a bit sorry for the dude who has to walk around in these…well, I’m one of those dudes right now…so don’t laugh!). And soon, next week, I don’t even have to wear that one anymore.

And so I am beginning to feel like I am part of the world again. I also went to work yesterday for the first time in about a month. It was not an official workday (that starts on Monday), but a totally-clean-my-new-half-office day. Yes. What used to be a pretty spacious office of mine is now cut in half, shared with a new woman who was hired a few months ago. At first I was not too thrilled by the idea…but yesterday, after I managed to empty most of the boxes I had with “junk” and put papers and stuff wherever I thought they belonged, I didn’t think it looked that bad. Just a little tighter. My office has always been the social gathering place (EVERY job I have had!) for students and teachers. I hardly ever get work done…but even my supervisor (bless her heart) admires the way I make students feel “comfortable” and that being social is part of my job! Wow! Ok! Then I won’t feel so guilty about chattin’ it up with students at every break.

So I cleaned my office and saw PEOPLE! I think during this hibernation period I have seen perhaps 5 people. So when I ran into this person and that person…talking, asking, sharing…I constantly had this background thought saying to myself: wow! you’re doing ok…yeah yeah…keep going…
I guess you don’t really forget how to be social after all. I thought I’d be a little rusty…but I was wrong. I slid right back into the old me: friendly, inquisitive, expressive…sarcastic at times, serious when needed and smiling most of the time. Check.

But in the last few days (at home) I have been a bit too obsessed perhaps with reading blogs. You know how it is…you like someone’s blog…then you go to the blogs THEY like…then you subscribe to a few of those…and on and on. I love checking every few hours if someone has posted something new on their blog. I use flock and with flock there’s a sidebar that automatically refreshes and lets you know (with a little number next to the blog) if anyone has posted anything. So once I see 1 or 2 or 4…I get all excited and immediately go to the blog and read. And read…and read…I know you know how hours can go by this way. Well, thank God for NOW I don’t have anything real urgent I need to do..and let’s not forget! I still have to keep that foot up…doctor’s orders.

The blogs I have been following recently have something different about them. You know how I can get all melodramatic and clouded at times…as social as I am, I can also be completely disconnected and “in a mood”…a real hermit. But the new blogs I have been reading in the last few days/weeks are pretty light and funny. And I think that lightness and funniness is influencing me. Even THIS post of mine today feels pretty light, doesn’t it? No heavy shit today! Yoohoo!
So, because I love to share…here they are…the latest blogs I am reading:

My good friend N. finally started her own blog called Milk Teeth. She is a super smart and funny girl. She’s an MFA student at SF State and in my opinion writes really really well…this blog is not so much about her writing (although just her little descriptions about why she likes what she posted are fun to read) but about things she likes. Very random things. I didn’t know she was into fashion, but I love her quirkiness and choice of interests. I will be seeing her this afternoon and I KNOW our conversation is going to be non-stop and LOUD! Hahaha

And so of course I checked out what SHE follows..and one of them really stood out for me. I had never before heard of “street style photo blogs”, but there is a whole movement out there of fashion conscious people taking photos of people they randomly see on the streets that have interesting fashion statements. This article here talks about the movement and has links to such blogs, which I checked out, but really not being much into fashion, I’m not that attracted to a blog that just has photos of beautiful and fashionable people (without much writing). Except for one: this is a blog that my friend N. follows and now I do too.

Garance Doré has a really cool blog. She’s a Parisian fashion illustrator and takes photos of people in the streets of Paris that catch her eye. What I like about her blog is that she also writes really fun and interesting posts. They are light. And again…this is not typically something I would search out, but having come across it by clicking on this and that link…I am glad I have. By the way, here is her blog in French: Garance Doré en francais.

Then there’s Stella’s blog. Under her blog name Stella’s mid-life crisis she writes: A 42 year old woman’s search for what it’s all about. LOVE IT! Clear and concise. To the point. And of course I can relate. And there’s LOTS of writing and interesting topics.

The last blog I have subscribed to is Chambre avec Vue (Room with a view). It belongs to an old school friend (although we were not really “friends” in school because he was a year or two above me, but I do remember him). His blog is in French. He posts a mix of quotes, scenes from movies, thoughts and photos. He just recently went on a trip to Malaysia and took, in my opinion, superb photos! I wish he posted more cause I really enjoy what he put up…but hey! I don’t post often enough either…maybe I should make that one of my new year’s resolutions! Forget it! Another thing I like about blogs (such as this one) is that you get to know these people and in his case, we are becoming friends. Love that!

Oh, but I do have to still re-metion my favorite blog: Deonne Kahler’s Life on the High Wire. I still LOVE her posts! I write “re-mention” because I talked about her in a previous post…I just want to let you know that I still follow her blog with a passion.

Ok…that’s it for today. WOW! Could this be one of my longest posts so far? I guess going out yesterday and reacquainting myself with “civilization” has truly released some much-needed expressive air!

My Eyes January 6, 2009

Correspondences in space and time with strangers who become familiar beyond the daily societal habits of one’s life. We become each others’ confidantes and audiences with eyes wide open and dreams of poetry. Attracted to a way of writing, to an intensity of the soul that we somehow are not afraid to expose. There is an element of time that exceeds all boundaries of awkwardness and expectations. Silence which allows each of us to be genuine, to “think before you speak”, to dig just a few steps deeper into the hallways of our inner world. Opening doors that lie invisible in the rushed daylight.

In the peaceful darkness of contemplation, however, I peak over to the right, take a few steps, place my hand on the rusty knob of a redwood door and open it as though it had always been there. I don’t know that I had never seen it before. It opens slowly and I have to push it harder — the loud squeek almost frightens me as I look around to make sure I don’t rattle too many neighbors. I expect to find total darkness, spiderwebs and dust. I enter and my heart beats too loud. The moment I let go of the knob the room begins to brighten as though someone had placed a rising sun inside it. Reds and oranges and yellows taint the high-ceilinged walls of this now bright and happy room. I take one more step and the heavy door slams shut behind me. I am no longer frightened. A calm rushes over me and as I stand in the middle of the room, I can no longer move my body. My arms are heavy and try as I may, I can not lift them.

It is my eyes. All my senses gather in my eyes. And their abilities are multiplied…I am transfixed…almost floating.

I think I must be dreaming but it is daytime and I am awake. And I am writing.

Colors dance around and through me. Images appear and disappear on the walls and ceilings. Words shoot through my throat, my knee, my abdomen. Ancient history and universal infinity discuss the meaning of the word “path” with Buddhist philosophy near the window. I hear mumblings of multiple conversations around me and I catch words here and there. My eyes listen — they feel — they taste — they touch — they smell. I close them. I take a deep breath. I smile and open them again. I am on my couch, listening to the hissing of the heater and the bells of the cable car. I close my eyes, hoping to return to the happy room. I don’t. I open my eyes and I am here. I am writing. And the only word I can end this sentence with is: POTENTIAL

An unusual dream December 26, 2008

I do dream. Last night for instance I dreamt that I was trying to get to my apartment on Polk Street. It was very dark in the street and I had a very bad back ache. I struggled to walk and couldn’t immediately find the place. Eventually I did.

These are the kinds of dreams I have. Snippets. I hardly EVER have dreams that feel like more of a story, even a fairy tale kind of story. So, I will share my dream with you. It happened on December 20th. I’ve sat with this one and tried to understand what it is saying. My therapist (yes, I have a therapist!) has given me some interesting insight into it. If anyone gets any “visions”, please share:

I am with a family by a pool. Even though I don’t have a complete swimsuit (bottom only of a bikini) I still decide to go swim. There is a blue rectangular box out of wood, open on one side. I use it to swim and cover my breasts. I am self -conscious and don’t want anyone to see my breasts. I swim from one pool and get out with Jutka (this is my ex-sister in law) to walk over to another pool. We walk through rooms and hallways that have old wooden US military-type furniture. I tell her that this is also the kinds of desks we have a City College. We return to the original pool and I keep swimming but am conscious that some people are looking at me and trying to see my breasts. I look up to my family and it looks like we are leaving. I swim over to a man who knows me. He seems to like me, but he is not the one who I like. He has defined muscles and tanned skin. I can feel that he wants me but I don’t want him. I finally tell him that I am leaving and go to give him a kiss on the cheek. He wants a kiss on the lips and I do but then I regret it because I feel that he wants more. I get away from him. I look up and see another younger man walking by the side of the pool. There is something about him that is not completely normal. But he is the one I am in love with. I look up at him and motion that I am leaving. He seems very sad. I get out of the water and have to leave with the family.

Change of scene. I am walking on a dirt road in a field. It is a hot summer day. I am only wearing a long orange dress, no shoulder straps. I have reddish blonde hair in high pigtails. I walk fast. I am going towards a village. I am confident, but a quiet, mysterious type woman. People pass me on bikes. No one pays attention to me even though I am a bit nervous about being alone there. It is a bit isolated. I feel a sense of danger. I enter the village. I am looking for him. I see the other man (the one in the pool) walking down the road and I hide. The angle of the camera changes and suddenly I am looking down on the scene of this woman. The first guy doesn’t see me. He walks towards a car that is parked behind me. An old 50s type light green and white car. There are 2 men in it. He enters the car; they all laugh. He puts his arms around the shoulders of the driver…they all seem gay. They drive. Suddenly they think they saw me. I turn back and run to find a place to hide. I really don’t want them to see me. I enter a courtyard. This is an old kind of village, like in France, with old stone buildings. I see a tunnel where a group of people with children is riding out of with their bikes. In the meantime the 3 guys are out of their cars, walking down the street with the guy that I do like…they are looking for me. His face is serious because he wants to see me and is worried about me.
I go through the tunnel and there are steps going down, then a larger step that I have to jump down from to get to the lower level. I stand at the top of that step. An old woman is on the path below looking up at me with a smile. She is talking to me in a nice way, trying to get me to come down to her. There are many cats. I don’t know it, but I am in danger. The one watching the scene, the “camera”, knows it but can’t say anything. I go down…but then I feel the danger. I see dead cats on sticks. She now looks like a mean old woman, a witch. Suddenly a lion comes running towards the girl (I am no longer the girl but the onlooker, the camera) and attacks her. I, the dreamer, can’t believe this is happening. The woman is motionless on the ground and being bitten and eaten. The flesh is being pulled off. Two men, farmers, come and one of them is yelling at the old woman. He is angry at her (could be his mother). He yells things, saying something like: this is such a beautiful young woman…you can’t do that! And he drives his bulldozer over to the body and lion and pushes the lion away. Then he takes the body into the hands of the bulldozer. It is not clear if the woman is still alive, but even if she was, she is badly damaged. I was no longer the woman. I was the dreamer watching the scene.
I wake up.

Hermann Hesse ~ Stufen December 18, 2008

Stufen

Wie jede Blüte welkt und jede Jugend
Dem Alter weicht, blüht jede Lebensstufe,
Blüht jede Weisheit auch und jede Tugend
Zu ihrer Zeit und darf nicht ewig dauern.
Es muß das Herz bei jedem Lebensrufe
Bereit zum Abschied sein und Neubeginne,
Um sich in Tapferkeit und ohne Trauern
In andre, neue Bindungen zu geben.
Und jedem Anfang wohnt ein Zauber inne,
Der uns beschützt und der uns hilft, zu leben.

Wir sollen heiter Raum um Raum durchschreiten,
An keinem wie an einer Heimat hängen,
Der Weltgeist will nicht fesseln uns und engen,
Er will uns Stuf’ um Stufe heben, weiten.
Kaum sind wir heimisch einem Lebenskreise
Und traulich eingewohnt, so droht Erschlaffen,
Nur wer bereit zu Aufbruch ist und Reise,
Mag lähmender Gewöhnung sich entraffen.

Es wird vielleicht auch noch die Todesstunde
Uns neuen Räumen jung entgegen senden,
Des Lebens Ruf an uns wird niemals enden…
Wohlan denn, Herz, nimm Abschied und gesunde!

I have always liked this poem.  Hermann Hesse has been one of my favorite writers ever since I read him back in College.  I can remember times when I wrote to him in my journal asking him to give me answers.  Asking him to guide me and also wishing I could write just a bit like him.  I have always admired the way he could fictionally personify an inner struggle or feeling.

I reread Steppenwolf a few years ago but haven’t read any of his works since.  I have been thinking more about Narziss und Goldmund recently and might pick that one up and reread it.

Here is a translation of Stufen (Steps) that I found online:

As every blossom wilts and every youth yield to age
blooms every step of life, and every wisdom and every virtue
in its time and shall not last.
At every step in life must the heart
be prepared for loss and new beginnings,
with courage and without sorrow
in others, to offer new attachments/bonds.
And in every beginning there is a magic,
that protects us and helps us to live.
We should cheerfully stride from place to place
without attachment to any one or nation.
The world’s spirit shall not make us captive,
but will lift us from step to step, onwards.
Scarcely as we are come into life
and are finally at home, then threatens loss of vigor.
Only those who are ready to depart and travel,
may be comfortable with this.
It will perhaps that the hour of our death
will show us yet new possibilities.
Life’s call shall not end.
Therefore, my heart, grasp both the farewell and with it be well.

Found at this site: http://www.bachlund.org/Stufen.htm

The many faces of Communication December 3, 2008

Lately I have been thinking more and more about the difference between communicating with people via letters/email/chats versus verbal communication. I don’t think anyone would ever consider me a poor verbal communicator, but even I find a huge gap between the two. In the past year or so, I have been communicating a lot more via emails with people who have a lot to contribute intellectually, spiritually, artistically…these people live far away from me. At times I imagine what it would be like if I sat across a table with these same people and we “talked” about the same things we write about. When I do that, I get a cramp in the depths of my belly. I get scared. I look at myself and think I may be a fraud.

Why? Because I don’t think I can go to the same depths as I do on paper. or at least I haven’t in a very long time and I’m afraid I may have unlearned it.

So is written communication just different? and that’s ok? When I write I lower my inhibitions. Sort of like when I have, say, two full glasses of wine. I say more of what I think. I don’t fear intimacy. Not physical intimacy, but mental/emotional/spiritual intimacy. I “go there”. I am more poetic. And so are they/you.

If I talk to someone, it takes a lot longer for me to feel comfortable enough to “go there”. It’s all that damn non-verbal communication. The way a person speaks, the voice, the intonation, the looks, the way they move their hands, the way I move my hands, the gaps of silence and how desperate I/we are to fill them…all that crap makes me a bit nervous and distracts me from everything I can achieve when i am by myself at my computer responding to an email.

Perhaps I am just not used to it anymore.

The free-flow of inner language gets stuck somewhere. It’s like a facade that makes us say stupid things, that makes us laugh nervously…we sometimes feel like real idiots.

But maybe it isn’t really like that. Maybe it would be just as free-flowing as it is on paper. I don’t know. I will need to find out eventually.

And perhaps that is why it is easier to find like-minded people online. Most of these people I communicate with I know in person. We just live far from each other. A few I have never met but we have clearly found a common thread which is usually artistic/life affirming and questioning/spiritual/poetic….I also have not really found such people here, where I physically live. Therein probably lies the real clue.

I will keep thinking about this topic and will eventually test it out.

I’d love to hear what others think of this.

Résister October 22, 2008

J’aime bien ce verbe résister.

Résister, à ce qui nous emprisonne, aux préjugés, aux jugements hatifs …résister à tout ce qui est mauvais en nous et ne demande qu’à s’exprimer … résister à l’envie d’abandonner, au besoin de se faire plaindre, au besoin de parler de soi au détriment de l’autre … résister aux modes, aux ambitions malsaines, au désarroi ambiant.

Résister, et … sourire.

Emma Dancourt … Préface du livre de Marc Levy “Les enfants de la liberté”

(merci Gerald)

How to deal with anger… September 20, 2008

from The New Yorker, August 2008 edition.

Choices we make August 26, 2008

Written while sitting, as usual, at my favorite cafe (Trieste) one evening. It has been a few weeks since I have written in my blog and this does not promise to be uplifting and positive. It is how I have been feeling lately, for the most part. But being that I am quite the optimistic, positive, life-affirming being (you wouldn’t think that from reading this, would you?)…it is just me sharing all sides of…ME. Trying to be real:

I should be feeling the waves of passion rushing through my veins. But I don’t. I am a bit warm from the wine. So it is “fake” of some sorts. It’s a beginning. A bumpy beginning. A zigzagonal beginning. A rebirth. A dying. I am beginning to shed the old layer of my worn out self. I don’t rush it. I haven’t until now, so it’s not the time to start changing these ways of mine.

People sit — busying themselves with their own egotistical life moments. We are all ego-driven, self-centered narcissists. We choose partners, friends, children who will feed our needs. Our needs to be heard, to be paid attention to. To compensate or perhaps even maintain the level of attention we’ve received as infants: really the only time our true needs are met voluntarily. Our entire life we spend searching for partners who satisfy this longing — ideally it is a perfect balance — a match between the actor and the audience. Ideally, this partnership is interchangeable. When it is, we live in peace. We float in the illusion of having found happiness. For a while. And if we are strong and true to ourselves, we look in the mirror at some point and weigh the odds. And we ask ourselves the question: am I really happy? Can I continue on this path for the rest of my existence?

It is always a risk to ask this question. We may dislike even the act of having to look deeper into the answer. But once we do we must be willing to jump off the high cliff — down into the fog of uncertainty and fall into the muddy waters of loneliness…and freedom…and authenticity. Or we make a choice to stay in what we convince ourselves to be the best we can or want to do. And we choose to work at it — we look at each other and say: you are worth it. But we choose to stay because it is the lesser of two evils.