It’s raining tonight. Pouring. For the first time this year. After long drought, after what seems like years — it’s pouring. And we’re tucked inside — and away from it all. And it feels so good.
This has been one hell of a year. Not in the good way. A year of transition. The last time such turbulent, decisive transition occured in my life was in 1989. That’s the year I decided to move from Chicago to Los Angeles. 1989. A tough year. Highest highs, lowest lows. It turned out okay. But it was a shift.
Time to light the fire.
The first fire of the year, Woodland Hills.
Twenty years ago. That was the last time I remember having such a year. There was a defining shift. A cataclysm. A decision. And movement. That’s what’s happening now. A child leaves the nest. A professional shift. A physical shift. Lots of change.
Couldn’t it be good? Can it all turn out for the best? The shfit towards the inevitable happiness? Why not decide to see it that way? What the hell?
