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I’m rethinking everything.

Well, not everything. Not my marriage or the fact that I want to be a writer or that I’m in love with England. Those are absolutes.

Let me rephrase that. I’m rethinking everything else. My entire approach to happiness…as a writer…as a woman…as a human being with a finite amount of time. I can’t clearly put into words right now what is formulating in my heart and head, but I will soon.

Today, I spent three glorious hours cleaning the house. Something I hadn’t done in ages. And I felt like exercising. And I ate better. And I sat on the living room floor and talked with my husband about getting back to work on our ol’ fixer-upper and what we want to do in our old age.

All I can say right now is that a hint of what real happiness, in the here and now, without chasing anything or achieving something or becoming somebody, is just on the periphery of my consciousness. It started to come into focus ever so slightly last Sunday, when the well had dried up. And then again this week when my husband said these words to me: “Woman, forget about everything else and just write your novel.” That’s taken out of context, and his meaning was less about the novel, specifically, and more about doing what I want to, rather than what I constantly think I should be doing. Ah, the infamous “should”…

So yes, I’m rethinking everything…

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