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Showing posts from April, 2012

Writers of our own demise

Somewhere after toys and make-believe friends (Do people ever stop pretending in private?), we all become writers of our own demise. "But I'm not a writer," you might say. In a sense, we all are.

We all create the stories of our lives. As events unfold before us, it is up to each one of us to make a choice and take one of the paths that open up to us. The more choices we make, the more colourful our lives become until soon we may become overwhelmed by everything we wanted - or thought we wanted at the time. Good, bad or ugly.

In taking on too many activities, too many jobs, too many hobbies, we start to feel like a boat with no oars bobbing on the water. Out of control and heading toward the waterfall.

If anyone had told me 20 years ago that at 43 I'd be juggling three kids, a husband, a job, a house, a writing career, a writing group and trying to keep fit and sane, I would have offered to buy the next round of drinks.
Yet, here I am.

Do I regret any of it?
Not f…