Sunday, August 2, 2015
So I have moved since I last wrote in my blog. And tomorrow I will begin my first full week with AmeriCorps. I am finally moving in a very positive and new direction. And I have felt that this new direction could not come a moment too soon. As I become more active and once again demand more of myself (both personally and professionally) I sometimes feel the immense weight of all the time that has passed these last two years. It has been over two years since I began chronicling my journey here online.
I find myself pondering opportunities that might never appear (again) in my life. I am so aware of the precious gift of time. There is so much I wish to experience. And yet I am aware that one of the seemingly inevitable consequences of living for a certain amount of time is my heightened awareness of the finitude of human life. There will be only so many sunrises and sunsets for me to enjoy. I might meet people once and then never meet them again. It seems to me the likelihood that a person will radically and consciously change the direction of his life diminishes as the years pass. We can become comfortable in both our good and bad circumstances. Change can be both scary and exhilarating.
It's been three weeks since I stopped taking sertraline. I still continue to feel quite good. My therapist has also been away on summer vacation. I will see him again this coming week. But the edgy quality of my early work with him is long gone now. The gripping grief is also something that has faded away. I suppose we eventually can adapt to painful loss. We inevitably have to because life goes on and carries us forward to witness another sunrise...and sunset.
The birthday I will celebrate in about six weeks' time will be the first one I celebrate in which the issues of my early life history no longer hold such a strong claim on my psyche. This is wondrous. And I feel quite happy I have achieved this milestone. There is still within me the grief that I did not experience this freedom earlier in my life. Indeed, I have caught myself wondering who I could have been had I discovered EMDR treatment ten or even a mere five years ago. My life might be much better than it is now. But then I often counter such needless rumination by allowing myself to remember that I did (eventually) discover this treatment, that I did go to therapy essentially one hundred consecutive weeks and worked with immense determination to remove the yoke of pain from my early life history and that I did do all this work with essentially no support from my family of origin. This is by no means a minor victory.
I am actually looking forward to tomorrow.
I am actually looking forward to Monday.
I am looking forward to the future of my own life.
So I have moved since I last wrote in my blog. And tomorrow I will begin my first full week with AmeriCorps. I am finally moving in a very positive and new direction. And I have felt that this new direction could not come a moment too soon. As I become more active and once again demand more of myself (both personally and professionally) I sometimes feel the immense weight of all the time that has passed these last two years. It has been over two years since I began chronicling my journey here online.
I find myself pondering opportunities that might never appear (again) in my life. I am so aware of the precious gift of time. There is so much I wish to experience. And yet I am aware that one of the seemingly inevitable consequences of living for a certain amount of time is my heightened awareness of the finitude of human life. There will be only so many sunrises and sunsets for me to enjoy. I might meet people once and then never meet them again. It seems to me the likelihood that a person will radically and consciously change the direction of his life diminishes as the years pass. We can become comfortable in both our good and bad circumstances. Change can be both scary and exhilarating.
It's been three weeks since I stopped taking sertraline. I still continue to feel quite good. My therapist has also been away on summer vacation. I will see him again this coming week. But the edgy quality of my early work with him is long gone now. The gripping grief is also something that has faded away. I suppose we eventually can adapt to painful loss. We inevitably have to because life goes on and carries us forward to witness another sunrise...and sunset.
The birthday I will celebrate in about six weeks' time will be the first one I celebrate in which the issues of my early life history no longer hold such a strong claim on my psyche. This is wondrous. And I feel quite happy I have achieved this milestone. There is still within me the grief that I did not experience this freedom earlier in my life. Indeed, I have caught myself wondering who I could have been had I discovered EMDR treatment ten or even a mere five years ago. My life might be much better than it is now. But then I often counter such needless rumination by allowing myself to remember that I did (eventually) discover this treatment, that I did go to therapy essentially one hundred consecutive weeks and worked with immense determination to remove the yoke of pain from my early life history and that I did do all this work with essentially no support from my family of origin. This is by no means a minor victory.
I am actually looking forward to tomorrow.
I am actually looking forward to Monday.
I am looking forward to the future of my own life.
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I invite you to accompany me as I document my own journey of healing. My blog is designed to offer inspiration and solace to others. If you find it of value I welcome you to share it with others. Aloha!