[ad_1]
I have wrestled and wrangled my way to write a different story than Mom’s with a million “healthy” choices on every imaginable spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical level to try and stave off the inevitable. But knowing there are no guarantees, I’ve been quietly terrified I’d never see this day. And yet, I keep hearing myself say that I could die happy anytime lately.
I said it when Beautiful Writers was published.
I said it when the audiobook recently dropped.
After finally listening to the book (after getting triggered by the print version two years ago and dropping it), I said it when my son called me his hero.
Most recently, I said it after posting a trailer video for my Carmel retreats, where the images and social media comments showed me that my legacy is so much richer than I ever could have hoped for or imagined.
Of course, all I have to do is look at my people and animals to know I’d fight with the force of twelve hurricanes, not to leave them uncared for. That’s the biggest blessing of my life, something I didn’t know when I was young. My greatest joy has been being of service.
May I offer a bit of a book writer’s confessional?
For the past decade, from 50 (even earlier) to recently, I thought the most important thing I could do was finish the book I was writing. But something happened when I looked up from the page at the rest of my life. I took it all in and thought, “Holy smokes. I love my life!” As in everything other than writing.
Everything I already had. All the things I’d been missing that were waiting for me all along. That’s not to say I can separate my joy from finishing those soul-contract projects. I can’t. They’re part of my heart forever.
[ad_2]
Source link