Hello, dear reader, how are you? Won't you take a minute to exchange pleasantries? Perhaps tell me something about your day?
My head has been filled lately with thoughts about my thoughts--how I think, how my thoughts affect my perception of the world around me, and how changing my relationship with my thoughts (a phrase borrowed from a textbook) changes the way I experience reality. I've been thinking about language, too--how the words I use to describe events can heighten or allay anxiety, how a turn of a phrase can ameliorate or worsen what is actually going on. I don't know if I've bothered to mention it here or if I've just assumed you can telepathically read my mind, but I'm pursuing a graduate degree in counseling and it has added a whole new dimension of awareness, curiosity, empathy and concern about the importance of mental health and my hope to one day have something of substance to offer people who struggle with these issues.
That's all of us at some point, by the way.
October has been beautiful, dear reader. I haven't been out to the desert once during this beloved month and season, a less than ideal circumstance, but I hope to remedy the situation soon. My snakes are doing well. My grubs are robust and content. My children have a slightly more complicated existence, but I accept the fuller range of experience that comes with being human. It's not always easy, but it keeps me in a constant state of wonder and awe. And occasional shock.
I've slowed down my thinking lately, or perhaps I've become more selective in the thoughts I entertain--trying to be aware, trying to be more connected to myself spiritually, trying to listen more deeply than before. It's had an interesting effect, because while life hasn't altered its busy pace and troubles haven't gone away, I feel steadier in my step.
I'm always wishing you the best, dear reader. Even though this place is something akin to being abandoned, I still feel its magic. Words are magical to me. They're like chimes in the wind, and deep, resounding bells. Perhaps because I come here less often the magic holds deeper sway, like stepping into an old, distant dream, half-familiar yet filled with the unknown.
It's November now, and I don't want that to get away from me. I want to wear sweaters and drink tea, I want to pretend I'm curled up with a mesmerizing book that will actually be a textbook, I want my family to be well, and I want to take walks with our little white dog who refuses to sit on my lap.