I've had a book that a friend loaned me for several months now. I procrastinated reading it for reasons unknown to me, and had decided to return it to her unread. A couple of days ago I made a lunch date with her and intended to return the book, but left it at home. You would think that I would recognize synchronicity as it's happening now, but I didn't.
I've been busy...very busy. Too busy. I have three major projects that are long-term goals, and I have this feeling that all of them need to be given my full focus all the time. Anything that distracts me from them makes me feel as if I am behind schedule, as though they had deadlines.
Conversations in several forums--including Linda Miller's where I am constantly reminded that my time expands to fit my needs, and Linda Caroll's where Gary asked me if I was afraid to not be busy--have been occuring regularly. Today, I'm supposed to be posting a newsletter associated with my website and making phone calls to agents that I need to hire.
I'm doing this instead of either of those things because I finally picked up that book and started to read it. It is "Real Moments" by Barbara DeAngelis. I'm not finished with it yet, and I don't yet know what else I will learn. But I now know why I couldn't return it unread.
As I read through Section One, I kept thinking of Art and conversations we've had in this forum and elsewhere, especially when the author quoted Carl Jung:
There are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year's course. Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness.
The premise of this book is that happiness is not a state of being, but a series of what the author calls 'real moments', those in which we are fully in the moment, not distracted by something in the past or the future. Whether those moments are joyful or sad, pleasant or unpleasant, experiencing them fully is the key to a fulfilling life.
I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the book. I suspect I'll continue to think of Art, and the lessons his friendship has offered me, as I do.
Art, thank you.
Cheri
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