|Sometimes making a decision can be edgy.|
"Where do I go from here? What do I do with the rest of my life?"
It's been awhile since I posted on BookOrBust.
Sometimes I am lazy as a slug. Sometimes I have nothing to say. Sometimes I let life get in my way.
Recently I drove more than one hundred miles north from where I live, *sorry, I won't reveal the route. Some things are private. It was some two hours later I came to a rugged rural farming town. There was a reservoir covered in snow depicting one of the prettiest landscapes I have seen since my last visit to Lake Placid.
Sometimes it's important for me to take a step back from the maddening crowd, to slip away from city life, get out from under the shadows of tall buildings and allow my mind's eye to wander free. Sometimes it is necessary for me to nurture my muse.
For a lot of miles I drove around a vast half-frozen body of water. I passed a covered wooden bridge painted in what I lovingly call Betsy Ross red. I gasped at acres of tall forever green fir trees. Before I knew it I was pulling into a driveway leading to a two hundred year old house high on a hilltop that I'd come to lovingly know on a shared page on the internet where two friendly dogs, one sweet cat, one good woman, and a man cousin I hadn't seen in more than twenty-five years lived.
It was good to see P. We visited for more than two hours trying to catch up on life's events while I got the grand tour of a place I'd never been. We both had a lot to say and we kept going off on tangents. I still can't get over how relaxed I was with P. And how many secrets I shared.
I confess I let my guard down, and shared a great deal of my private self.
I even snapped a few photos. I wish I'd snapped more.
But seeing my cousin; catching up on family history, and getting reacquainted after all these years, was a blessed tonic.
And as Martha Stewart says, "That's a good thing."
A little about P.
He is an awesome guy.
He is much younger than I.
And he is filled with wisdom beyond his young years.
After a time I shared with P a haunting question that I have been asking myself since my husband died, it's going on eleven years.
I said, "P, I keep asking myself where do I go? What do I do? With the rest of my life?"
I said, "I didn't expect to live this long. " I reminded P my mom, his Aunt G, died at age 52. I am sixty-(hand over mouth) years old.
I said, "I keep asking myself this same question, P. And it's driving me crazy."
P doesn't mince words.
He is straight arrow, straight forward, and straight up.
And what P said was a revelation. They seemed to float like a feather through the air. And in an instant, I felt a tremendous burden lifted off my shoulders. His words turned all the lights on in my brain.
Today I share what P said:
"It's the unanswerable question, Linda. Don't waste time trying to figure it out. Time is too precious. We have so little of it."
That night I slept better than I'd slept in years. Better news is I awakened the following morning refreshed, ready to make a pending decision and prepared to move forward with a pending personal decision, full steam ahead.
How does one write words of thank you when words of thank you just aren't enough.
See you in print,
Linda Della Donna
"...And sometime when I wasn't looking, I got a new life."
P. S. Now I got a new question: Why didn't I think of that? I'll be sure to ask P next time I see him
Writing Tip and Writing Quote:
Nurture your muse.
And of course, don't waste time.
As my cousin P said, "We have so little of it to waste."
|The house on the hilltop.|
|The house I adore.|
|The nearby church.|
|The logs. Lots of logs.|
|The road to somewhere.|