It’s been two years, give or take, since I began to actually live again. I can’t put a time or date on it, it was subtle, gradual, but it was almost certainly around this time, two years ago, when I stopped coasting along and started to meaningfully look forward again.
I’ve made friends, I knew I needed them but didn’t know where to find them, of course some of them were there all along, but others are new and interesting, and they are there. Some of them are near and some of them are far away, but they are there.
I’ve changed things at home, I don’t think I’ve destroyed them, I think I’ve made them more honest. There are things that I need now, it’s no longer a wish or a want, that genie has been well and truly set free.
I wonder what the future will bring, I’m not young anymore, I have obligations and chains that tie me in place.
I still worry, I am by my very nature this way; two men in particular have shown remarkable patience and resilience in the face of my lack of patience and resilience, excitement and longing. I try to learn from it, I do try to learn from it.
I hope that I have found something fulfilling, something robust, something to surrender to, only time will tell.