I’m trying to learn acceptance. It’s a lifelong challenge but I think I am better at it than I was. Perhaps it is an increasing awareness of my mortality and my smallness. I don’t matter a jot so why should my hopes, my ambitions, my longings and wantings matter either. They do and they don’t. Having a plan feels nice. As does having a path to follow. It’s there, that thing that I want but it maybe it isn’t meant for me. If so, should I have something else in place just in case? Or, does that take some of that energy away from the wanting? It’s a magic thing, that I seem to believe is more likely to make it happen. It doesn’t. I am learning that the most I can do in these circumstances is my best. And then? To just let it be, whatever it needs to be. Some say that there is no real difference between failure and success, that they are just different journeys. Possibly. The latter tends to feel better than the first, but that’s our training, our rearing. Dreams are good, they light a flame inside. All those possibilities for adventure, that will probably never be taken. Like that little house that I hold inside, in readiness for when he goes. It is my solace, my consolation. The rest. Oh, yes, I still long to do good work. Make good work and to touch others, however lightly. And to make peace with her (though how I shall do this I have no idea). And just to love and forgive and make this little corner of the world a little better…
