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How did I become an expert on women? How can I make them fall in love with me and disappoint them beyond words? I loved her as much as a man could love a woman, but even that most coveted emotion has limits. Being someone’s “everything” holds a power that’s too great for any human being. She wanted me to be her “’til-death-do-us-part” person, and so did I.
But nobody thinks that through.
For richer or poorer. Define poorer.
In sickness and in health. Define sickness.
In good times and in bad. How bad is bad?
Love isn’t everything; context is.
Is the ultimate sacrifice the only kind? Or are there degrees to which one person sacrifices themselves for another? She may never know that I saved her from the worst kind of grief.
I hope I did.
And in the process, I’ve made some valuable progress in my life.
Today, I can touch my toes. When I started this journey, I could barely reach past mid-shin.
Today, I made it twenty minutes with my meditation. I think I get it. For twenty minutes, I rest and exist in the moment. All thoughts and physical sensations drift in and out of my moment. I don’t grab them, nor do I chase them away. I control nothing.
It’s enlightening to realize that controlling nothing is the most empowering feeling in the world.
The sun is out after a spell of rain, and it’s seventy degrees in March.
What are my thoughts on earthing? Do it.
I’ve had some funny looks from the neighbors, but I don’t care. For thirty minutes, I walk barefoot in the yard, feeling like a new person, or at least a renewed person.
“Do you know how often my dog has peed in your yard?” a man in a tweed flat cap, probably in his mid-sixties, says while strolling past my front yard with his white Shih Tzu’s nose to the ground.
I smile, hands in my pockets, gaze affixed to the grass. “Probably not as many times as I’ve pissed in yours.” Glancing up at him, I wink.
He barks a laugh. “Good response. I’m Ed. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“I’m Price. It’s nice to be here.”
“Enjoy it. I’m gonna be out before too long.”
“Where are you going?”
He stops and shrugs while his dog sniffs around the mailbox. “No clue. My wife died last year. She took care of our finances. I don’t know how she made ends meet, but I can’t.” He continues down the sidewalk.
“I’ll be done walking in your dog’s piss in fifteen minutes. Bring me your bills and banking information.”
He chuckles. “Why?”
“I’ll show you how your wife did it. I might even help you do it better.”
“I’m good. But thanks.” He continues onward.
An hour later …
Ed knocks on my door, holding a cardboard box. “Janice had a better filing system.”
I grin, taking the box from him. “I do not doubt that.”
Later that evening,I meet Scottie at the salt room.
