Happy

Having a good day. Feeling at ease with myself, feeling sure about the things I do and even the things I decide not to do. Feeling a calmness within, a lightness in my step. Like my, ever so strict, inner critic is taking the day off to harass someone else for a change and finally left me to sort out life for myself.
A good day. A day that smells like espresso, sounds like a ‘Weepies’ song. A day that feels like spring is only a heartbeat away, merely hiding behind the thick, snowfilled clouds, which can’t bring me down. Not today.
And have I done more than I normally do? No, but it’s fine. Because tomorrow there will be another day; new chances and new opportunities to start something new.
And have I taken a major step forwards, have I leaped into the future in some miraculous way? No, but it’s okay. It doesn’t seem to matter all that much. Because today is a good day. I like it and I dare to like myself; the person I am and person I am planning to be.

I’m writing this as an imperfectionist. Writing for the sake of writing, creating something which might be beautiful or might not. And it’s scary, believe me, even on a good day like this. But I do have faith that it will get me somewhere. That, in order to get the bottom of my seemly impenetrable writer’s block, I need to do things that feel uncomfortable at first, but which might just help me out in the long run. Writing for the sake of writing, writing, writing…
But more than anything, I am writing this because I want you to know that I’m happy.
Today.
And most days.
Almost all days.
Hope you’re happy too

 

 

 

 

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3 thoughts on “Happy

  1. I am happy that you are happy. And this will make you even more happy…………….I am going to book our holiday today. Imagine warm summer days, endless miles ahead of us and nothing else to do but covering those miles. See you in Kall, Germany.

  2. Happy almost all days, keep on writing, because I like your blogs a lot!
    To make you even more happy, a ‘maybe’ tip for your writersblock:This week I was reading in a newspaper that a writer was facing ‘black- pages moments’ while writing her second book. Nothing worked out the way she liked.
    After 80 pages she started all over again and only just one character survived.

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