SOUR CHERRIES AND HAPPY FACE

Bad days are like sour cherries. Even in a great batch of fruit, you hit some duds. As you munch, you’re going to get some berries that are overripe, sour, or bitter. You bite into them, make a face, and put them aside. You don’t eat them because they don’t taste good.

Life is like this. Day follows day. Some days suck.

Yesterday sucked. Finding I’d been hacked, that our money was gone. That after being so careful, we were back in the red through no fault of our own. It put me into a lousy mood.

I did not feel a Pollyanna urge to discover a bright side. I was pissed off. Outraged at what happened, doubly so by the cavalier way the bank made me feel marginalized and helpless in the face of their corporate indifference.

me with debbie's camera

I suppose I could have smiled on through, but I didn’t want to, anymore than I feel like eating the sour cherries. I had every right to be angry and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

Was I wrong?

I don’t think so. The people who care about us will understand, cut us some slack. Leave us space to get over what’s bothering us and what’s more, they should. You’d do it for them, wouldn’t you?

The whole “stay positive” thing is out of control. If the proponents of permanent smiles are to be taken seriously, no one will ever frown again. No tears, no sadness, no anger. Ever. There will be one acceptable emotion. Happiness. We will all wear a Happy Face. Happy, happy, happy. No matter what. Has anyone read or seen The Stepford Wives?

So, what’s your problem? Losing your home to foreclosure? Got cancer? Heart Disease? No job? No prospects? Don’t be mad or sad. You’ll be fine. No matter what those doctors are saying, no matter that you don’t have a place to live. Or a life. Or a future.

According to the proponents of Happy Face, no problem is so big it can’t be overcome with a positive attitude and a bright smile. I’m betting most of the people who believe in Happy Face have never confronted an intractable problem. One day, their fake smiles will catch up with them. They will crash and burn. The corners of their mouths will turn down and their faces will shatter on impact.

I’m not suggesting we all walk around sneering, sulking, and grumpy, but we need to be allowed to express what we actually feel. Otherwise, life is a total fake.

JUST AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE

Long Exposure — Among the people you’ve known for a long time, who is the person who’s changed the most over the years? Was the change for the better?


Garry and I at President Clinton's party on Martha's Vineyard

Garry and I at President Clinton’s party on Martha’s Vineyard

All the people I’ve known a long time have changed, me and my husband in particular. Better? For whom?

I am far less sociable and hugely less outgoing. I was quite the party-maker with a wild and crazy social life and now I’m a virtual recluse.

1970

1970

Much of my life centered around work … and I don’t work any more. I’ve gone from being gregarious to being a loner, being work-centric to being survival-centric.

Good? Not good? If I hadn’t changed in response to the realities of life, I’d probably be dead or living on the street. I guess that makes them good, right? I read less, write more.

I keep taking pictures. It’s now more than forty years of photography. That’s consistent, anyhow.

Garry was shy, solitary. He was so driven by career and work he didn’t have time for anything, anyone else. Like making friends, building a personal life. Yet … when I came back into his life, he began to emerge. He started to pull back from work, become more sociable. Now, he couldn’t be paid enough to go back to work.

1990 in Ireland

1990 in Ireland with Author Gordon Winter

He used to be the kind of guy who always looked like he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ. Now, he wears sloppy shorts and old tee shirts or pajama bottoms and sweatshirts.

He remains passionate about sports, but can miss the game and watch a movie without having a crisis.

Both of us eat less, don’t drink at all. Our world centers around each other and a few close friends and family.

You know what? I think it’s good. And appropriate.

I CAN’T REMEMBER THE DETAILS

Back of the Queue — Is there something you’ve always wanted to do, but never got around to starting (an activity, a hobby, or anything else, really)? Tell us about it — and tell us about what’s keeping you from doing it.


I’m totally sure there’s something I planned — intended — to do with my life and didn’t get around to it.  The problem is, I can’t remember what that was.

Did I plan to get famous, write the great American novel? Yeah, that was one thing but you’ll have to forgive me. I think when this was my dream, I was 10, maybe 11. It didn’t even survive into my high school years. I can’t clearly remember If I had anything specific in mine or how I intended to reach my goal. It was a long time ago.

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When I was even younger, I wanted to be the Lone Ranger. Except the job was already taken. I didn’t have a horse, and (minor detail) I was (am) a girl. The details of this “plan” elude me now. I just remember the vague outline. Maybe this plan was never more than a vague outline. I was so young and it was a long time ago.

I was going to travel the world, live in another country, get absorbed in a different culture. Wait … I did that, didn’t I? I remember. A bit fuzzy, but these memories linger long.

I was going to be a working writer. A journalist. Run a newspaper, cover issues and events. Interview important people and see my byline on the front page. It’s coming back to me. I did that, though it was in another country and almost 30 years ago. I’m sure I enjoyed it a great deal, but time has softened the edges. Life does that. I may not remember every detail, but I know it was a great time.

So I’m looking back and I think I lived the life I wanted including pretty much all the stuff I wanted to do. It didn’t always work out exactly as expected, but that’s life. Man plans, God laughs.

Add another old saying: “Too soon old, too late smart.” If I could do it all over again … and believe me, I don’t want to do it again … I’d fine tune my plans a bit and maybe have a more profitable outcome. Because I had a good time. Even the bad times were good. I had fun. I laughed. I worked hard doing things I thought were worth doing. Some of my worst paying jobs were the most fun of all.

So maybe I wouldn’t do it differently after all. Because changing anything might ruin the experiences. The old butterfly effect, you know?

I can’t remember the details anyway, so this is my story. I’m sticking to it.


In real life, you have only two choices. They are fundamental, irrevocable, etched in stone.

You can die young … or you can grow old.

How you grow old — gracefully, grumpily, in good or poor health — isn’t up to you. But these are the only choices. I didn’t die young, so here I am. And I can’t remember a lot of detail, but I remember fun.

Laughter stays with you. I highly recommend not spending a lot of time grieving over what you missed and more time laughing with people you love.

 

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WHEN SH*T HAPPENS, SMILE

After major surgery, the process of healing is long and slow. Progress occurs in leaps rather than steadily. Periodically, you notice a jump in progress. Today I can stretch. Tomorrow I can pick up my dog. Next Monday, I can (slowly) navigate the stairs. Suddenly, I can drive and manage a trip to the grocery store, go out and take a few pictures. It’s all in slow motion, but it’s happening.

Surgical pain decreases. Incisions heal. Then, progress stops. That’s it. The surgical part of your resurrection is accomplished. The rest of life comes rushing back.

Speaking of back, the spine that didn’t work before still doesn’t. I can’t walk any better than I  could pre-surgery. The rest of my chronic problems are back too.

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While I am realizing how much my back hurts, everyone is telling me how great I look. How much better I must feel. I realize that — appearances notwithstanding — I don’t feel all that much better because what was bothering me the most wasn’t what they fixed. If I try to explain that, everyone tells me not to be so negative.

So I shut up. It’s natural, I guess. After all, I just had four different kinds of heart surgery so ergo ipso, my  heart must have been a major component in what was bothering me, right?

Wrong. My heart was failing but I didn’t notice. Impossible you say? Not really. It was a gradual thing which I attributed to asthma and other problems I’ve had for years. The bursitis in my hips bothered me most and my difficulties walking and doing stairs was less heart, more arthritis. My digestion has been a disaster for more than a decade, the result of botched surgery. That didn’t change.

I know the quality of my life is supposed to have improved. I know because everyone tells me so and I do mean everyone, including almost complete strangers. As far as they are concerned, the fact that I am going to (in theory) live much longer than I would have without the surgery signals a major improvement in my quality of life. Never mind that I didn’t actually know I had a problem with my heart and wasn’t concerned with it.

I was (am) more worried about a recurrence of the cancer I had 2-1/2 years ago.

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The reality — which no one wants to hear — is life and its quality have stayed the same. Making me sometimes wonder why I bothered. I want to blame someone, but who? There are no bad guys in my scenario. I can’t even blame myself. Shit happens. A lot of it happened to me.

So I guess I have to keep searching to find the up side to all this beyond (maybe) increased longevity. I need something else. Even if that isn’t what everyone wants to hear.

FIXING TYPOS IN MY LIFE STORY

Worlds Colliding –There’s work you and home you, café you and hospital you, friends you and strangers you. In this week’s writing challenge, tell us about a time when two or more of your “yous” ran into each other.


When I was little, I had imaginary playmates. I talked to them. They followed me around. I was never bored because I had friends who really understood me. After I started school, my shadow friends left, never to return. Instead, I got a narrator who has been my lifetime companion. Whatever has gone wrong in my life, blame it on the narrator. It’s all his fault.

Marilyn and BonnieMy narrator remembers everything. He fills in my back story. I’m in charge — technically — but he never shuts up. He is my third person perspective on life. In real time. I’m so accustomed to the nonstop running commentary, I’m not sure how I’d understand my world if my narrator left.

As long as I can remember, my narrator — who remains nameless after all these years — has filled the holes in my story. Adding “he said” and “she said.” Describing action and scenery. “Fictionalizing” reality.

Mr. Narrator is distracting and does not respect “the moment.” No respecter of persons, he can suck the fun out of parties, or if I’m not careful, make me laugh at the worst possible moments.

I’ve also learned from my narrator. Learned to view life as an endless story with chapters, back stories, hilarity, weird characters, strange coincidences, tragedy, romance, hope and despair.

My job is to live and fix the typos. The narrator takes care of the rest.

WHEN YOU STOP HOLDING YOUR STOMACH IN

In every relationship, there comes a moment when you stop holding your stomach in. Remember? What a relief.

live-and-let-live

The day you give up trying to remodel family and friends is like that. One day, you have this huge revelation. Other people aren’t projects! You can’t fix them. Moreover, they don’t want to be fixed because they don’t consider themselves broken.

Talk about relief. Phew.

The world keeps spinning. Turns out, we never had any control over anyone but ourselves — and not much control over ourselves, either.

Welcome to live and let live.

MYTHICAL GRANDFATHER SPEAKS WISELY

Powerful Suggestion

What’s the single piece of advice you wish someone had given you a year — or five, or ten —  years ago?


“Fasten your seat-belts. It’s going to be an exceptionally bumpy ride. Actually, you might also want to wear body armor and a helmet.

“I think there are guys with high-powered rifles out there getting ready to shoot. Oh … one more thing. You might want to consider moving to someplace warm and cheap. Just saying.”

Thanks oh mythical Grandfather for your wise counsel. I’ll get right on it!

LEARNING FROM THE PAST

Baggage Check

We all have complicated histories. When was the last time your past experiences informed a major decision you made?


You may call it baggage, as if it’s unnecessary junk. But we are who we are because of what we’ve done. Where we’ve been. What we’ve learned — or failed to learn.

ThePathNotTaken

It shapes us, gives us character and makes us interesting. Experience is life.

A better question would have been when have past experiences not influenced major decisions? Presumably the point of experience is to apply it and avoid past mistakes. Use it to make better choices as we trudge along our paths.

If not that, life is just random chance. I’d prefer to think our experience make us smarter. Better able to deal with whatever life throws at us.

We don’t have to haul all our angst with us, but we ought to learn from it. At the very least.

 

Audio

LESS IS MORE – THIS WEEK

Great Expectations: Weekly Writing Challenge

I used to have expectations. Now, I expect little, but am grateful for anything that falls my way. If I wake up and am not in severe pain … if I can breathe in and out without coughing and choking. Finding Garry breathing softly beside me.

The future will have to take care of itself. Being alive and being with those I love is the center of the world. Given one thing and another, most of the things I used to want or expect seem trivial. Even nonsensical. Certainly meaningless.

Being alive, being loved, breathing air and having a future as a living person? That’s meaningful. The rest is commentary.

And that’s how I feel today. Ask me the same question again in a few weeks or months — and I know you will — and maybe I’ll feel entirely different. It’s magic!

 

TOSSING THE DICE OF LIFE

Take a Chance on Me

What’s the biggest chance you ever took? Did it work out? Do tell!

- – – – -

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My life has been so full of chances taken, some of which worked out very well indeed … and others which left me digging my way out of the smoldering wreckage of my life. They all had one thing in common: they seemed like a good idea at the time.

And maybe they all were. That’s the thing about risk-taking. You don’t know whether it will work out. That’s what makes it risky. If it were a sure thing (Question: Is anything in life a sure thing? If so, what might it be?), there would be no risk, no chance.

Life itself is chancy. Full of risk. Every single decision, every little choice can ultimately leave you wondering “what if?”

The biggest chance with the most risk I ever took was being born. Since then, it’s just been one thing after another.

I call it life, but you can call it Harry, if you prefer.

I’M SHARING MY WORLD – BUT ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO COME?

CEE’S Share Your World – 2014 Week 14

If you had to describe your day as a traffic sign, what would it be?

Expect-Delays-sign

Is your hair short (total neck and ear showing), medium (covering ears and neck), long (below shoulders), extra long (at least halfway down your back) or bald?

Long, but falling out. Not far to go to achieve balding. It has something to do with anesthesia, surgery and stuff. It’s happened before. Maybe it’ll grow back. Meanwhile, I need a cute cap. I look good in caps.

When you are with your friends, do your interactions include much touching—for example, hugging, kissing, rough housing, rubbing backs? Would you like to have more of this? (Note: the answers may vary depending on where you live on this wonderful planet.)

Everyone is afraid to touch me right now. I’m afraid to touch myself. I think I’ll get over this eventually.

What do you feel is the most enjoyable way to spend $100?

Books (audio or Kindle) or something cool for the camera.

Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

I made it through another one! It’s 2 weeks out of surgery and I’m almost human. Almost. Getting closer! I hope by the end of next week, I will be able to laugh without pain and sneeze without fear!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GARRY ARMSTRONG!

Kind of a sucky day for your celebration. Even though I bought your present before I went into the hospital, I don’t feel like I’m doing enough, saying enough to tell you what you mean to me, which is everything. You’ve saved my life, literally and every other way. I wish there were enough words. Or at least more and better words.

happy birthday from google

You’ve earned, at the very least, a medal for grace under fire. Now, it’s your birthday. You deserve a lot more and better than I can give you right now. Maybe ever.

Happy birthday Baby. You should have traded me in for a model that actually works while I was still under warranty.

As each day wears on and everything starts to hurt, I know I have to struggle through another night and then one more day. Even though each day is a bit better than the previous one … it’s hard. If I was tired before the surgery; I’m depleted since. You have kept me alive, kept me going, put up with all my crap.

You look tired.

You deserve much better. I hope knowing how much I love you and appreciate you will partly compensate for this nightmare I’ve put you through.

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WAKE UP SLEEPY HEAD

Today marks a week back from the hospital. I’m not sure what I expected, but I’m pretty sure this wasn’t it. So much didn’t go the way I expected. A friend said it was like taking your car in for an oil change only to discover you need a new tranny. I needed a new tranny, timing chain, rear axle and electrical system.

How could I have failed to notice that the central system of my body wasn’t working? How did I miss that? I was short of breath, true. I had been gradually limiting my activities. I stopped driving. I passed on activities that involved more than very minimal walking … skipping stuff that required I go up and down my own stairs. Gradually, I chipped away at life until my “outside appearances” were few and far between.

I was tired. Not sleepy-tired. Weary. I attributed each lifestyle change to something. Asthma. Bursitis in my hips, arthritis in my back. Blow-back from cancer a couple of years ago. And, of course, the all-time best bucket explanation for anything and everything — getting older.

When I was first informed that my EKG showed “issues,” though the doctors didn’t seem to feel I needed to know exactly what the issues were (did they know?) — when finally all the cards were laid out, I felt blindsided. I had been keeping track of my heart, getting an evaluation and EKG every year. Suddenly, from “no problem” to “big problem”? Heart problems don’t usually just pop up out of the blue. I still don’t know and probably never will if this was a case of misdiagnosis or some weird medical event that went unnoticed amidst the myriad other health crises which have punctuated my last decade and a bit.

Do I blame my doctors? To a degree. For failing to promptly and clearly inform me of what was happening and for giving me terrible, medically unsound advice. If I had followed it, I’d be dead.

Expect-Delays-sign

What I expected

Cardiomyectomy (shaving down the overgrown muscle in the left ventricle that was stopping the flow of blood through the aortic valve, causing the mitral valve to work double-time. There was hope the mitral valve would self-repair if the aortic valve was unblocked. Surely, at most, the mitral valve would need repair, not replacement. (Ha!)

What I got

A cardiac catheterization, a totally disgusting, intrusive horrible test that requires you be awake — the absolutely last thing you want to be. Not like you get a choice.

The next day, the aforementioned cardiomyectomy, a bypass and a mitral valve replacement made from bovine tissue (thank you Bossy, wherever you may be).

Three-for-one. Woo hoo!!

But that’s not all, no-sirree. After another few days, when my heart refused to beat on its own (stubborn to the last), it was back to surgery for a pacemaker. Now everything in my world runs on batteries, including me. Sure hope those batteries keep going and going and going.

Waking up – Let the games commence!

Round one: They tried arousing me, but I woke up fighting, struggling. Apparently tried to deck the recovery nurse. I do not remember this, but I have no reason to doubt it. Under the circumstances I’m sure I wanted to deck someone. They put me back under for another 24 hours. They were protecting me and/or the nurse.

“Tough customer,” they said.

Round two: I heard Katy, my new recovery nurse calling me.

“Marilyn, wake up. You’ve had your heart surgery.”

“NO,” I said. Liar liar pants on fire. They were saying it was Friday, but I knew it was only Thursday. What’s more, I was in the middle of a word game and the letter “U” was missing. I could not wake up until I found it.

“Marilyn, you have to wake up.”

“NO I DON’T,” I said.

“Would you like to see your husband? Your friend?”

“NO.”

“You have to wake up. It’s time to wake up.”

“NO.”

Ultimately, I realized the letter “U” was a permanent loss and they were just going to keep annoying me until I stopped saying NO. So I opened my eyes. Instantly knew why I hadn’t wanted to wake up.

Question: How much pain can you be in and still live?

Answer: A lot.

Thus I reentered the world. Screaming in anger, pain, outrage and helplessness. I’m still screaming. Silently.

SUBLIME TO RIDICULOUS IN ONE EASY STEP

Daily Prompt: Linger

Right now, my entire life is one long linger. I am waiting for the other shoe, figuratively speaking, to drop. Waiting to be repaired. To be hurt, then to recover. I may not show the stress such waiting causes in any outward display (other than bad temper), but my dreams tell a story. Anxious dreams, wake-up-screaming dreams. All have one theme in common — events that are out-of-control.

Clearly, I read too much fantasy. The other night, I dreamed my real self was murdered by killing my shadow wraith which was roaming somewhere far distant from my flesh and blood self. I remember being surprised: I didn’t know you could shoot a wraith and have the attached body die. Dream and learn, eh? That isn’t Freudian — that’s literary.

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Last night was more mundane, closer to home. A friend of my daughter’s who seemed to have moved in (her friends never want to go home) realized her clothing was dirty, so she decided to wash it. By hand. Then leave the piles of soggy garments all over the house.

I was in the process of trying to corral the wet laundry before it destroyed the floors … and I woke up realizing, hey, it’s laundry day again.

Laundry

Caught as I am between chapters of my life, I find myself making strange (hilarious?) discoveries. Apparently when the plastic surgeon rebuilt my breasts (implants) following the double mastectomy a couple of years back, she used muscles as part of the construction. Factory-original breasts have no muscles. There are muscles on the chest wall and off to the sides, but real breasts are not designed for men to ogle but to feed babies. Milk production. Way back in the long-lost past, I had (for a few months) “working breasts.”

That was more than 45 years ago. Last night I discovered I can make my breasts do all kinds of things. I discovered those newly arranged muscles! Together and independently, the muscles work and since I’m healed from that surgery (finally, just in time for the next one), I can control them. Cool.

Fake breasts

This was a startling discovery. I stood in front of my mirror making my breasts dance and salute for quite a while. Then I came out of the bedroom and showed Garry who laughed, but for some reason, did not think making a video to post on YouTube (it might go viral!) of my new talent was a good idea. Spoil sport.

This is what happens when you are on a long intermission between life and life. You linger.

Of course, I’d make every attempt to linger anyhow. The single thing I really don’t want to end is my life. I want to live. Life is the ultimate event and I want to keep it going.

I’m lingering with enthusiasm and verve.

More Lingering:

  1. My pre-game Pre-Game | The Bohemian Rock Star’s “Untitled Project”
  2. Daily prompt: Linger | The Wandering Poet
  3. A Love Affair With Southern Italy | AS I PLEASE
  4. Home Sweet Home | Views Splash!
  5. Step by step | Le Drake Noir
  6. Daily Prompt: Linger | tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice
  7. Linger Longer… | Hope* the happy hugger
  8. Never fly solo | Perspectives on life, universe and everything
  9. If ever | Perspectives on life, universe and everything
  10. Love for lingering, drumming | Journey of a Culture Carrier
  11. Lingering longer | Sue’s Trifles
  12. The Trouble with Lingering | Wise Woman in Training
  13. Daily Prompt: Linger « cognitive reflection
  14. I see stars | littlegirlstory
  15. Linger At The Beach | Lisa’s Kansa Muse
  16. Lingering, all day today | sixty, single and surviving
  17. Linger | forgottenmeadows
  18. Not Wanting this Moment to End. Daily Prompt | Angela McCauley
  19. Linger | The Library Lady and Rosie Bear
  20. Daily Prompt: Linger | CHRONICLES OF AN ANGLO SWISS

UPDATE! ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER DELAY

There are two classic ways to jinx yourself:

  1. Announce what you will never, ever do.
  2. Ask “What else could possibly go wrong?”

Of all the things I said I would never do, I never moved back home. Given the nature of my relationship with my father, this should be no surprise. My mother died more than 30 years ago and she was home. I think I would have slept in a doorway before staying with my father.

As for all the other things I was sure I would never do? I paid the high prices I said I’d never pay. I’ve had the surgeries I said I’d refuse. I’ve put up with behavior from loved ones I said I’d never tolerate, but they’ve put up with a large amount of crap from me. Fair is fair.

WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG

These days, I modify all those “never” statements with “I hope I never have to …” because whenever I use the “never” word, I wind up feeling like a complete fool when I do exactly the thing I said I’d never do.

Words taste fine on the way out, but somehow, eating them is not so yummy. Moreover, saying “never” is daring Fate to nail your butt.

It’s the same as saying “What else could go wrong?” The very instant those words pass your lips, you can be sure you are going to get an answer to that question. And you are not going to like it.

So now, let’s move on to the news of the day. This is getting a bit repetitive and mildly embarrassing.

My surgery has been postponed again. Why? Because Beth Israel has a brilliant cardiac unit. And I guess March is heart failure month. They are backed up with emergencies. They have patients coming in on Medivac flights from California and other points south and west. Big emergencies that require multiple surgeons and take all day. And all the operating rooms are booked.

Expect-Delays-sign

I have been promised that I am “on” for Wednesday March 19th for the catheterization and Thursday March 20th for surgery. My surgeon personally promised I wouldn’t get bumped again. Except I know that if there are more emergencies they will take the emergencies and bump me again. And if I were one of those emergencies, I would want them to bump someone else and save my life. That’s what these guys do and that’s what they should do. It’s the price one pays for going to the premier cardiac hospital in the country. They take the cases no one else can handle.

So I’m back on hold. It’s a total pain in the butt and I can’t complain. But I want to complain. So okay. I’m complaining. I can’t make plans. I can’t go anywhere or do anything. All I can do is wait.

Funny about that because the one thing I have never been good at is waiting. I am impatient, permanently in a hurry. Perhaps this too is Karmic payback. I am learning that sometimes, I have to wait, whether I like it or not.

I’ll tell you one of the more interesting changes resulting from all this delay? Instead of dreading the surgery, I’m eager to get it done. Just so it’ll be over and I can start the business of recovery. I never would have expected this … but never say never, right?

RELATED POST (And where I got the idea how to write this post):

Never Say Never | Rosie Smartie Pants

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COLORS AT THE CROSSROAD

Daily Prompt: If You Leave

Photographers, artists, poets: show us CROSSROADS.

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At the crossroad, the intersection, you have to wait for the lights.

Red. Yellow. Green.

Yellow, the in-between look-both-ways color. Yellow is the color to make you wait then proceed cautiously.

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Red is stop. Don’t go. Dangers lie ahead. Wait until the light changes. If you go when the light is red, who knows what might happen? Will you wait? Or will you dash into traffic, heedless of the outcome?

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Green tells you it’s okay, that you are safe. But, are you safe? Just because the light is green and says you can continue on your way, it doesn’t tell you how your journey will turn out or warn you of other hazards.

Green is for going … but life is for living.

There are no colored lights along the road of life. Nothing to warn you of upcoming challenges. You’ll have to make your way on courage and faith.

Other entries:

  1. Daily Prompt & The Button (short story) | The Jittery Goat
  2. Dp Daily Prompt: If You Leave | Sabethville
  3. of last straws | Anawnimiss
  4. dulu dan nanti | The Frozen Tears
  5. Leaving | Attempted Human Relations and Self
  6. I’ve Had Enough of This Utah Place
  7. Daily Prompt: Break Ups | Cabernet In The Dark
  8. I’m a Writer, Yes I Am
  9. Beyond the horizon | MC’s Whispers
  10. Who Really DECIDES? | I’m a Writer, Yes I Am
  11. Harry Potter, Famous Dads and Stoke Newington | AS I PLEASE
  12. Dear John: a fictional letter | ALIEN AURA’S BlOG: IT’LL BLOW YOUR MIND!
  13. Daily Prompt: Leave an old and start a new! Can I ? | seikaiha’s blah-blah-blah
  14. Selbstständigkeit versus Festanstellung | Zeitarbeiterin
  15. when love appeared in a yellow brick road | kaleidoscope sparks of defiance
  16. DP: Leaving – Autumn by Ruswa Fatehpuri | aliabbasali
  17. We Gathered Yesterday | Exploratorius
  18. Daily Prompt: If You Leave « Mama Bear Musings
  19. Crossroads | Inks and Scribbles