How thin the line, sometimes, between happy and sad, healthy and ill, charging forth and staying in retreat. I was bullish on 2015. Last year was one of the best of my life, rich in writing, travel, meaningful work, family and relationship. I entered this year the way I’d been entering my boardwalk walks after the Camino — on strong legs, ready to climb. But ten days after being felled by the flu, it wasn’t just my health that was flagging. My spirit flagged too. All those imagined walks and poetry submissions and major milestones at the office slipped into the distance. What was I doing with my life? How had I gotten here? All of it seemed like too much. And so a day in bed–cats sitting in the open windows–resting and recovering my strength. It’s a phase, the lowness, just as the highness is a phase too. But I am back to what Sting told us in the 1980s, How fragile we are. How fragile we are.
March 18, 2015