Choosing a New Path

I love my therapist.

No -- I didn't say I'm *in* love with my therapist.  I'm in love with Christopher William Land.  It's just that I have a therapist who is not willing to molly-coddle me and has a cognitive Irish right-hook.

Lesson from the first visit (paraphrased):  "People think that if they do good in this world -- good will be their reward.  That is not the purpose of karma.  Karma is doing good because that is what you choose to do -- not looking for results.  Periodically life hands us shit sandwiches -- and that's life."

Lesson from the second visit (also paraphrased):  "I did not get the impression from the first 41 pages of The Truth About Whales that you were trying to educate people about recovery.  I got a message of very distinct self-loathing -- and that is an addiction of sorts in itself.  It is -- sadly -- self-indulgent and needs to stop immediately."

It was a banner day yesterday.

You know -- he was right on both counts.  I came away from the session feeling disoriented and oddly excited.  Mostly because I was ready for the message offered.  I believe in therapy, whole-heartedly, because it gives us time to actually hear what we are saying to ourselves.  The voice inside my head for most of my living has been rather unkind and the biggest realization in the book writing was that I looked at my biggest abuser squarely in the mirror as I brushed my teeth.  In this world of routine, of bills and responsibility -- things need to be shaken up once in a while.  What am I doing here?  What is my purpose?  Who will I vote for in November?

~~ grinning ~~

So this morning, I took my walk along Lake Ramsey and instead of coming back my usual route, I turned right onto Paris Street instead.  It's time to write a happy book.