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WORDS

I have heard people say I have a way with words. Close, but the truth is they have had their way with me all my life. My biggest asset and source for pain, angst, and most things wrong are the net result of what I have thought, said, and written. I am not jejune. I […]

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Where words are transformed
It's called a typewriter

I have heard people say I have a way with words. Close, but the truth is they have had their way with me all my life. My biggest asset and source for pain, angst, and most things wrong are the net result of what I have thought, said, and written.

I am not jejune. I remember when I learned the word jejune. It was in the movie Annie Hall. Diane Keaton’s character accused Alvie of being “so jejune.” I have remembered that scene and looked for a reason to use the word ever since. Bucket list checked. Oh, and it means to be shallow.

The years along the way weren’t so kind to me. The words hurt more than they helped. I would try to silence them with alcohol and sleep. It didn’t work, and over time it just became too exhausting. This life, combined with big jobs and responsibility, was poison. I figured I was doing something worthwhile for my family. I took providing seriously. The truth is I was using work to avoid the things I should have been doing. So I retired and have been home for several years. I can’t make up for lost time or opportunities. All I can use is this time, now, well.

Since I have been hanging around the house, I have found the space between my ears. I also stumbled upon my place in a holistic life, of which I am grateful to be a part. I take each day as it comes, don’t rock the boat, and try to give as much as I can. For the first time in decades, I know what a “good day” is. I sleep like a baby.

There is an editing trick regarding sentences. If a sentence doesn’t advance the story or take the reader somewhere, delete it. You can apply the same principle to living each day. If this day isn’t improving your story, your plan, or whatever it is that gets you out of bed, move on. There are scrap yards of burned days in heaven and hell, which are the encyclopedia Britannica of everything there has ever been. Both continually grow.

Life is an endless list of do-overs repeated daily. Mistakes supply opportunities to try again.

Words are a form of communication that describes underlying things and situations. While many of us can be defined, by or as many things, I would prefer to be identified, by and as, nothing. Being undefined is freedom. If I want I can be the light of a rainbow, my rainbow.

Peace, chris

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