One of my New Year's resolutions should have been to stop getting my divine direction in life from those little scraps of paper in my fortune cookies. Or maybe I should just give up Chinese food so that I would never be exposed to another fortune cookie. But since I didn't and I can't, I was faced with this lovely bit of wisdom: Many a false step is made by standing still. On the back was the Chinese word for Post Office if ever I'm in Beijing and need to mail a letter or postcard back home. This is ironic because of my method of dealing with life-changing decisions - I tend to stand at the crossroad until the developers come along and rearrange the scenery. I shall have to ponder this bon mot over a cuppa and maybe it will all make sense.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I thought about deleting all the past posts - none of them have any meaning to anyone but me anyway- but I couldn't do it. Let them sit there, unread and unremembered. There were no posts in 2009. There was nothing positive I could find to say, although there were happy moments mixed with the sad. The sweet mixed with the bitter. The birth of my nephew, the death of my mother, the numbness that followed, and lingers. The start of my journey towards an MBA, the job that no longer inspires me, the purchase of an Airstream to help bring me back to center. That was 2009. This is 2010. It's time to turn and face forward, and soldier on.
Read more
This may be my last post. I don't have time to write since I changed jobs and the last thing I want to do when I get home is sit in front of a computer. I'm also tired of all the "comments" which are nothing more than spam for stuff no one wants, needs, or intends to buy. While I'm blocking them from posting without my consent, it is tiresome to wade through mortgage, weight loss, and "job" posting comments to delete them. As a medium for communication, I'm thinking that blogging is overrated and I no longer feel that I have anything of value to offer.
Read more
Here I stand again, speaking to an empty room. My thoughts aren't worth the cyberspace they would take up if I cared to tweet or post to Facebook, but here I stand anyway. I had no idea how long it had been since my muse had forced me to write. I used to write almost daily, poetry mostly, when I was younger and believed that someone cared what I had to say. I wanted to be e.e. cummings or T.S. Eliot or anyone who seemed to be so comfortable in his own skin to pour out his emotions onto a blank page. It took me a few years to realize that the writers who filled my pantheon of literary deities were not that comfortable after all, but wrote because not writing was more painful than the spilling of emotion. So I think I will take up my keyboard once more, wade out into the battle, and write.
Read more