I started this blog just over a year ago when I first moved to the Village. A friend of mine had suggested I start one as a sort of stress relief project. Years ago I had written in a journal for just that reason so it seemed like a good idea to me. At the time I had no idea that a year later I would be writing my 240th post. In fact if somebody would have told me that I would be I would have sworn they were as insane as I am. Still here I am doing just that.
So much has changed in the past year. In my life, the lives of my friends, my family, and the world I live in. Not the least of which is the fact that a year ago I was a very secretive person who held her emotions tight. Now, if you have been reading, you know as much about me as but few did a year ago. Always the enigma I do loath change yet I seem to thrive on it. I'm a creature of habit but also a person that is never truly satisfied and I constantly seem to be looking for something even if I'm not quite sure what it is.
Psykhe was the ancient Greek goddess of the soul whose story the saying 'wandering soul' is loosely derived from. In the end that might be the perfect description of me. I might be happy in the moment, and right now how could I not be, but deep down I am a wanderer. Time marches forever onward and with it my soul seems to wander on ahead always tugging me on to the next stop, wherever that might be. But I have a pretty good idea.
Bonne et heureuse nouvelle année à tous!
John Lennon - Imagine
This blog has been more fun than I ever dreamed it would be. In a perfect world somebody out there has enjoyed it as much as I have but truthfully I wouldn't know why. Yet if you have enjoyed it thanks so much for reading. Hopefully year two, another year of change, will be just as much fun as the last.
"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle.
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28