This past 4th of July I felt genuine happiness to be alive. I felt whole - more whole than I have in years. I'm light on baggage, it seems. 2018 turned out to be better than the year before. So much so, I now breathe easy at the thoughts of future endeavors. I am not typically this calm. Never been less anxious about the outcome. I know not what to attribute this to.
In the past, my writings dealt with the perception of floating or not being anchored. I didn't have a sense of purpose after my 'great depression' of 2008-2010 - give or take a year or two. I've amped up my writing and increased the volume (so to speak) by making them more public. Poetry became the most useful outlet to get through the worst of it. As my depression eases and I experience more and more days of genuine happiness, I write less poetry and more prose.
In the past 10-months, I have written more meaningful pieces with well thought out ideas and focus on the topics. It feels empowering. It feels energizing. The written word is more sacred than ever before.
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