I was thinking today about how I used to believe that I only wrote well when I was sad.  Not just a little sad; desperately, deep depression sad.  As though the sadness somehow tapped into whatever potential existed within me.

Spending some time this year re-reading old blog posts, I’ve realized that my writing is good when it’s good … and sometimes my life is good at the same time.  Depression and sadness aren’t my muse.

It’s funny when something we believe so strongly is suddenly disproved.  John and I spent last night having one of our more intense conversations — difficult, sad, devastating.  There were moments when I know I made him think about things in ways he’d never contemplated before.  And it was uncomfortable for him.

I find that when I am caught in those moments – the really uncomfortable, I’d rather be anywhere else thinking about anything else moments – my initial reaction is denial.  I try to find any way to maintain the status quo, to disprove the information that caused the discomfort in the first place.

Sometimes that lasts for hours.  Or days. Or weeks.  Sometimes it only lasts for moments.  The more I practice it, the easier it becomes to let go of all my pre-conceived notions, all the things I’d believed for as long as I’d believed.  But it doesn’t make it more fun.  It doesn’t change the devastation that comes when our perfect glass houses come crashing down.

You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube.  No matter how hard you try.  Some things just cannot be unknown.

Xoxo, g