Namaste blog family
I hope your week was filled with love, laughter and all else wonderful.
I returned from Bermuda last night. A man with a sign displaying my name in fat, inky letters waited outside the airport terminal – I don’t think I’ll ever quite get used to that. He drove me home in a tinted-window leather-seat sedan and when we arrived at my building, the doorman grabbed my bag out of the trunk with a, “Welcome back! It’s nice to see you!”
Sometimes when I get into this surreal Manhattan life I’ve constructed since embarking on my via-Australia journey, I’m concerned it will come off fat-headed. But I know that our executive cult affiliates who have followed along since my humble, “Ummm… NYC…writing?” beginnings truly get it.
I can’t believe what I’ve swung. For real.
I worked 17 hour days all week. Regardless of the slave factor, I still found serenity staring at the crystal blue shores of Hamilton from my desk.
In between chief executives scrambling my syllables and sending them back to me for revisions, I daydreamed a lot. I thought about boys a bit, I reformed book chapters in my head.
Two years ago, the idea of skipping four days of blog updates would have made me vomit. I had something to prove back then – to my first husband. While he proceeded to break my heart, I built this webpage. I built a place to overcome the oppression of being abandoned by the first person, past my parents, who I legitimately trusted.
It relieves me to be easier on myself as of times of late. I’ve gotten back to a place of treasured privacy. I used to think expressing myself in these parts would lure my soul mate back to loving me. I’ve learned that, on the contrary, it’s contributed to me accepting that he’s gone.
And that, furthermore – realistically, regardless of our eight-year marriage, he never loved me at all.
Is this update scattered? Perhaps, I might summarize:
“If you’re lost and alone, or you’re sinking like a stone. Carry on. May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground. Carry on.”