Category: self-care/self-aware

Over the past week or so the right side and back of my throat have been sore. And not just sore. RIDICULOUSLY sore.

Honestly, it felt like someone had taken a knife and made a single, loooooong cut along its side.

I sucked my way through an entire bag of Ricola. I drank mug upon mug of pineapple juice. I even had lemon-ginger tea infused with cayenne, honey, and the juice of a whole lemon.

All powerful. But very unsuccessful.

Last night it occurred to me that perhaps I didn’t have a sore throat. Maybe it was something more.

I changed “sore” to “strep” in my search for “remedies”, and Googled away.

One site mentioned garlic. Another chamomile.

I scrawled both down, thinking I could last ’til morning.

I was wrong.

In the kitchen, I swirled one mashed garlic clove into a spoon of honey. “Oh man…” I sighed.

I braced myself to swallow it, but something inside urged me to take things up a notch.

I made myself a cup of chamomile, and added my garlic concoction.

This morning my throat felt so good, I thought I was dreaming.

Don’t be too quick to discount the obvious, folks. Ordinary items can yield extraordinary results. 😉

Earlier this evening I was on the phone. I was speaking with a good friend.

Long story short, one of my many illusions about someone that I care about had been shattered. (In spite of my advanced age, I’m still a bit naive. Bear with me.)

One of the things that I love the most about dalia is that she keeps it real. There is no falseness in her. No pretense about her.

We moved on a bit from discussing my latest minor explosion, to discussing life in general. One of the things that we touched on was my lack of one.

Lest you don’t know, after a very brief stint back in Toronto (as of late November 2010), I moved back to my hometown [name removed to preserve my privacy] (earlier this spring). And although I led a relatively quiet life in my urban environment, here, I’m virtually a recluse.

Thankfully I’m not comfortable with the status quo. Something has been stirring inside of me. I’ve taken a long, hard look at how I’ve lived. From the year I first graduated from university, I reckon I have attempted to make a go of things in the city at least half a dozen times. And each time I’ve returned with my tail between my legs.

Yet after this last attempt, I have no burning desire to go back. I feel as though I’ve wound up back where I started so many times, partly because I belong here.

Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have been caught dead admitting that.

However as I grow older I can’t help but believe that there is a life that I was meant to enjoy and experiences that I were meant to have right here, right now, as is.

There’s a little something else that I learned.

If I am to live the life that I was meant to love, I need to get beyond one of my really deep fears.

For you see, Dear Readers, I think there’s something glorious that scares me.

That keeps me indoors, and away from different events, and yet all the while…Longing for change.

The prospect of A Glorious Life.

As I said, tonight dalia and I talked briefly about living. And it’s only in the aftermath of our discussion that something occurred to me.

There’s a significant part of me that doesn’t want to “get a life”. Mainly because I’m afraid that it’s passed me by.