A graveyard of dreams

    

Recent events in my life have led me to ponder over whether we can reverse some of the choices we make in life, long after we’ve made them, or if we are doomed to live with the consequences of things we invested in heavily at a time when we truly did not know any better. Is fate really as petty as to keep the score even when the universe knows we’ve suffered enough?

Yesterday, we decided the weather was cool enough to start unpacking our winter wear. In doing so, I ended up opening a bag which was a mixture of sweaters and my husband’s books. Among the books, he reached out to Jamaica Kincaid’s Lucy, which he recommended quite highly. So now I have my next novel to read, which I like very much so far. I’ve decided for now that I’d like to keep reading as much fiction as I want to. White-washed non-fiction isn’t turning out to be my cup of cake.

You know how a post goes stale if you leave it as a draft for more than two days? That’s kind of happening right now. But I want to write about so many things. So many new things I’ve seen and done recently, and so much that still needs to be done. It’s so easy, for me personally, to forget all the great things I’ve done in my life thus far and feel like my years on this planet have amounted to very little. It’s not true, I say to myself, and start creating a mental list of all the little and big successes that led me to where I am today, even if it’s not a noteworthy or remarkable place. One day I will write about everything — it’s been nearly seven years since I’ve been saying that. But one day.

This is a practice post just to keep the writing juices flowing.