Another year has ended, along with a relationship and a dream. I am here wallowing once again in the ashes of my life. I flop around in the dust lamenting in the should’ves, could’ves, would’ves, those monkeys in my brain running wild.

I am alone now in Firestation #33, alone for the first time in my life, and I wander her halls of broken dreams and think sad thoughts. But I don’t want sadness here. I want fun and joy and life. So I’m trying to pick myself up, dust myself off and continue into the New Year, destination unknown.

Grief has taught me how to stand up and dust off and how to keep going, no matter how much I really just want to curl into a small ball and hide from the world. It takes vast effort, but the choice is mine and I’m choosing to stand up. Again.

I want to pick a fun route, one that would appeal to the child in me, who seeks playfulness and fun and joy and laughter. On my list of things I want to do this year:

painttravel to Balivisit friends in New Yorkwriteset up a painting studiodance and yogadrink lots of tealaughsimplify

OK, universe. The course it set. 3…2…1!

My first painting in 35 years

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