Lately it seems my life is converging along a few lines—the compartments seem to be broken, and everything spills into everything else. And as messy as that sounds, it feels right. Everything feels right.
I don’t think I have ever been able to say that with a straight face, before. Ever.
My dreams unroll like movie reels, and indeed they feel more like stories inside my head than anything relevant in my subconscious. Maybe because I don’t bury stuff there anymore. I don’t know. Everything is out in the open, taking the air, and my head and heart have been better places for it.
Thinking back on my radio interview with Dr. Dan, he seemed slightly surprised by my upbeat demeanor. When I discussed it with my mom the other night (yes, she *was* verklempt when she left that phone message), she pointed out that there wasn’t any self-pity about me.
That’s where I am totally her kid. She was widowed at 35 with 5 kids under the age of 11, and people quickly resented her for not being more pitiful. I knew she was grieving—hell, I saw it first hand. But that’s not the face she showed everyone else.
I guess I showed a different face for a long time, too. But you fake it until you make it. And I’ve made it, because the radiance I feel is real, and other people feel it, too.
You can’t fake that.
So to what do I owe my joy? Well, certainly not wealth or fame, since I lack both. Hm. Define wealth. If I were to define wealth by the sheer joy that the people around me bring, I’d be the world’s wealthiest person. I am surrounded by good people and whatever I am feeling is divided or multiplied among them. My presence in their lives is making a positive difference—and I can actually SEE it.
The kids can, too. And I know they are watching and learning. In light and love.
Now if only I could get them to pick their stuff up and put it away without asking them 200 times....