Today, my glass of milk is half full rather than half empty. If you had asked me twenty years ago about the status of my life as a person, student, writer, or, God forbid, a worker, I may have remarked that there was no glass to speak of.
I plodded from one day to the next, frantically, anxiously, not knowing what that day would bring. In order to create a false sense of security, I entered a life of mendacity and predictability. And for years everyone appeared to be comforted. My dissatisfaction with this life was buried deep down in my subconscious and only began to be manifested when that old serenity prayer became more necessary than before.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, but the will to do the things that I can. Or words to that effect.
As the millennium turned mercilessly and new catastrophes, all man-made, threatened our once pristine, orderly lives, the new world order was upon us. What became more clearer to me, by the day, was that a sense of purpose had to be created, met and realised.
Now, whether you believe in a higher deity, or not, is besides the point, this is me that is doing the talking (for a change) –God does work in mysterious ways. Those familiar with the God-thing, may also be familiar with the endless empty prayers uttered more out of desperation than faith.
Somehow, things, whether desperate or dull, just remained the same. Now, however slow, or frantic, my day is, one thing I do know is that I have to be the force of the change I want to see in my life and in my surroundings, whether they be the roof over my head, or the loved one’s who dearly do want to me to succeed, not just for my sake, but for theirs too – and that is quite alright too.
Imagine this, my depression is resilient, under control without artificial stimulants, I am productive every waking day, more words make it to the page, and while I train myself in the art of tolerance towards those who blatantly practice evil, the sense of calm grows steadier when I sit down to read a few pages or purposefully practice my craft.
One thing I am able to affirm is that I will have a Bachelor’s degree before this year has vanished. Recent and favourable feedback suggests that I can entertain realistic expectations in regard to another hat filled with distinctions. And from that favourable vantage point would it be presumptuous of me to suggest that while sitting behind my desk (at work, no less) that I will have morphed from a featured, published writer to an award-winning scribe?
God is willing.