This morning I am struggling to focus. I feel merry. Purposeful. Suffused with contentment and joy, even. Yesterday was a good one. Satisfying and for the most part quite pleasant. The latter part of the day found me taking a break, muscles sore from joyful labor. My Traveling Partner joined me. I made salads for dinner. We spent the evening dividing the time between watching videos and love.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

This morning I woke slowly, some little while before my alarm went off. My muscles protest against every demand I make, however ordinary. Ouch. Healthy effort, healthy work – ordinary sore muscles. I’m not even complaining, just reminding myself to take care of this fragile vessel; more manual labor today. Today the Anxious Adventurer loads the moving truck he’ll drive back to Ohio, back to a life he left with purpose and intention. It’s familiar, and familiar is easier. I do understand.

We’re each having our own experience. Each walking our own path. Each finding our own way – or not. Many people find settling into someone else’s way enough for most of a lifetime before ever questioning that choice. I wish the Anxious Adventurer well, whatever path he chooses to walk; he’s as close to a son as I’ll ever get, and I hold no grudges about his time with us. I do find myself wondering what moves him? I let it go. It’s not like he’d know how to answer if I asked.

What moves you? What shakes off your ennui or distractions and fills you with purposeful energy? What gets you up each day to face a few more steps on your path? What gives your life meaning? I sit with those questions and watch the halfmoon setting between the trees.

It’s not a very good picture, but it is a very good metaphor. What will you do with your moment?

I keep my walk short today; there’s real work yet to do later. I walk the mile it takes to wake up and warm up these sore muscles, pausing along the way for a slow gentle attempt at this or that yoga pose. I get back to the car and check on my work team (I’ve taken the day off, but want them to feel supported). I give myself time with my thoughts, time to write, to meditate, to reflect on love. I sit thinking about purpose, and the way we seek meaning, and where I find that – or create it – myself.

The clock is ticking. The path ahead is sufficiently clear. I suppose the only thing left is to begin again…