Two months have passed

since I moved out. The first night I slept in this new apartment, the moon was full. The third moon is rapidly coming — just a few more days.

I am quite pleased and have no regrets. It’s just a bit of impatience that irritates me. Like a child who never got anything for Christmas, and then one year gets five presents — I am nearly overwhelmed and want to play with everything at once!

A friend just called and we were on the phone for a while, as her one-year-old was taking his midday nap. She reminded that me that it takes time to adjust. She said: “How many years were you unhappy?” I answered: “24.” She laughed: “And you expect yourself to be back to normal after two months?!” I had to laugh as well.

It takes time. There are so many hurts and disappointments. There is so much anger and sadness. All of this has been stored up over the years, so that much of it is subconscious. I barely noticed it any more! But I still have all that emotional stuff in storage. And just like in the material world, even if I ignore it, I still have to pay for it. Thus it is time to go there, open up the door, see what’s inside and get rid of as much junk as possible. Maybe there are things for which I will find a new application. Some of it is perhaps still good. But much of it needs to be disposed of in an appropriate way.

That basic heavy feeling is slowly lifting. It is a time for healing, and for discovering this life for which I so yearned, but nearly forgot how to live.

One step at a time. One day at a time. Meanwhile, I finished reading “The Alchemist”. The journey is the goal.