The solitude I’ve sought is at once blistering and blissful. I treasure my own space, and yet in it I am inclined to wallow in the affairs of a healing heart.  Pulling the “choose love” file out the cabinet earlier this week yielded another unexpected relic from my marriage, including the church program, marriage certificate and a couple anniversary cards.  I had thought the entire lot of memorabilia had been sent up in smoke months ago, but alas there’s always something there to remind me.  I’m not sure what the formula, or rule of thumb is for grieving a divorce, but it has been nearly a year since I waved the white flag and it isn’t quite over.  This evening I will burn what I hope to be the final remnants of loved lost in communion with friends gathered here at the beach.

I awoke this morning with a Neil Young tune in my head, Old Man, and upon looking in the mirror was taken aback by the exhaustion evident in my eyes.  While it is something of an urban legend that men age gracefully, it can also seem tragically so in the aftermath of life collapse.  Perhaps I’m a bit too attached to my youth and grasping for what erodes over time can be a recipe for helplessness.  Or I know in my soul that the fountain of youth flows eternally for those who elect to drink from its sweet waters.  I feel sad and alone and defeated.

I’m at once irritated and relieved that I never heard back from the director of the center regarding a recruiter opening.  It irks me that he would simply fail to reply to my emails, and at the same time relieved that perhaps I’d dodged something of a bullet in a stifling work environment.  I recall something Denny shared yesterday on the ride up to Toronto, “I do not thrive on security.”  He was referring to an engineering firm he’d worked for years ago before his business success, specifically the management structure in place cultivating control over innovation.  I could completely relate to that statement in reflecting back upon my employment at the college.

As I peer out the window upon the frosty landscape I feel some tears well up.  I am not very good at crying, although there was a period in my life just over 12 years ago in the wake of a romantic break-up where I’d broken down.  As I recall I cried daily for at least 2 weeks, not just over a girl, but perhaps over everything in my life journey of 28 years at that time.  It was supremely cathartic, although made for excessive added challenge to get through the workday.  I don’t know that my baggage at this juncture is anywhere near what it was then, although there are similarities between then and now in terms of life circumstances.  I’d been writing in a “daily log” at the time, capturing profound insights and excruciating emotional uprisings, much as I am now.  Letting go in gratitude opens the heart to love, and that is aligning our earthly will with that of the heaven within.

In common wealth,