Happy You're Here

"You know what your problem is?" Princess Amy said as I stared at the blank screen this morning, trying to figure out how to say what needed saying.

"I have a feeling you're about to tell me," I replied.

"You're overthinking gratitude. Just say thank you and mean it."

For once, she was absolutely right. So here it is: Thank you.

Thank you for being here for the New Year.  Thank you for coming back, week after week, to visit this little corner of the internet where mood disorders meet mockingbirds, and quantum consciousness debates happen over cappuccinos.

How This All Began
The Circular Journey started in June 2009 as a sort of journal—a way to help me cope with mood disorder. I needed a place to process the chaos, to make sense of the storm. But it almost immediately became something more than that.

I discovered I wanted to spread goodness and light to others, knowing that life comes hard and fast to all of us. If I could brighten someone's day, soften the blows with a hint of insight and a dash of humor, then maybe this blogging thing was worth the effort.

The blog wouldn't be here today if not for you. The Circular Journey isn't just me typing away at a keyboard. It's a cooperative effort involving me, you, and the cast of characters who've become the recurring players in these stories: Ms. Wonder with her infallible judgment, Princess Amy with her calibrated snark, Island Irv and his cosmic consciousness, and Lilly the all-knowing barista.

Your Comments Mean Everything
From time to time, I receive comments that make it clear some readers really "get it." You appreciate not just the stories, but the spirit behind them—the attempt to find humor in the absurd, meaning in the mundane, and connection in the chaos.

I created Princess Amy to transform something abstract and complex—like stormy emotions and intrusive thoughts—into something that could be understood in everyday terms.

Life is best described as better than the alternative. It's coffee shop conversations, traffic mishaps, and debates about whether your head resembles a melon or a cathedral dome. But within those ordinary moments, there's magic if you know how to look for it.

The Cast of Characters
Ms. Wonder deserves special mention. In my stories, she represents clarity, cutting through confusion, the voice of reason when everything else is chaos. She's the person who sees past the fog and reminds you to just be yourself, to live in the moment.

Island Irv brings a cosmic perspective when I'm drowning in the mundane. Lilly knows exactly what I need before I do. And Princess Amy—dear, brilliant but confused, Amy—serves as a reminder that wisdom is sometimes found in the most unlikely places. 

The Journey Continues

I truly enjoy our collaboration and look forward to continuing to work with you. Whether it's another adventure with Ms. Wonder, more chaos with Princess Amy, Island Irv dropping cosmic wisdom over cappuccinos, or something entirely different—I'm ready to dive in.

As Shakespeare might have said, "Gratitude is the heart's memory, and a blog without readers is just shouting into the void." Not really a quote, is it? But I'm confident the Bard would appreciate the sentiment.

One More Thing
If you're new to The Circular Journey, welcome. I hope you'll stick around. Read the archives if you're so inclined—there are hundreds of stories about everything imaginable, and nothing at all. 

If you've been here from the beginning, or anywhere in between, thank you for being part of this cooperative effort. Thank you for keeping The Circular Journey flourishing. Thank you for your comments, your page views, and your silent companionship.

Live The Journey

You know those catchy phrases that get stuck in your brain? Nike's Just Do It instantly comes to mind, as does LG's Life Is Good. These slogans are punchy, memorable, and wonderfully motivational. 

They can be the perfect compass to snap you back on track when you're deep in creative work and wondering why you ever thought it would be easy.

 

In past years, I’ve relied on a personal motto to maintain my own creative mojo. In 2024, it was Leap!—fitting for a leap year and for jumping into new territory. For 2025, I adopted Making Waves! Both phrases reminded me to take action and strive to make a meaningful impact.

My creative juices produced hugely favorable results in 2025, and I attribute much of that success to inspiration coming from Making Waves. With the new year rapidly approaching, I felt the need for a new phrase to keep the creative momentum soaring.

The search has been surprisingly satisfying, and it occurred to me that you might be interested in the method behind the motto. In this post, I’ll share the far from magical process I followed to find the right words to craft my personal tagline.

Finding Your Mojo-Inspiring Motto
We all have far too much on our plates already, and the last thing we need is to add "motivational sloganeering" to our list of worries. But here’s the good news: what I'm about to share is genuinely fun.

Most importantly, it’s not just a fun exercise; a good motto does some serious heavy lifting throughout the year. For example: 

When the work gets hard, your motto reminds you why you chose your creative pursuit (and it always gets hard). Your inspiration phrase also serves to keep your decisions aligned with your core values. 

The New Year is already set to become a juggling act for me. I’m currently producing the Happy Cats Wellness podcast, and I'll continue blogging while developing a new podcast called An Artist's Journey. Of course, Princess Amy and I will be up to our necks documenting film and television production here in Hollywood East. Sometimes I wonder how I manage it all, but even if I do it poorly, the motto helps me keep doing it.

Evolution, Not Revolution
I started my recent search for the 2026 mojo-motto, hoping for one of those perfect moments where the ideal phrase leaps fully formed into my mind, like Athena springing from Zeus's head. (Although I preferred to avoid the headache that followed for Zeus!)

That Athena moment didn’t happen.

Instead, I started throwing ideas around. I knew I wanted something short and punchy—two or three words max--and I wanted something full of energy—active, not passive. Whatever I chose had to work for all my various projects and pursuits.

I began by considering phrases that already resonate with me. The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous encourages us to live "happy, joyous, and free.” It's a beautiful sentiment, but nine words is more of a manifesto, rather than a motto. My martial arts tagline, "Fierce Qigong!" is punchy, but it’s tied to that specific context.

The Exploration Phase
The first round of brainstorming produced some interesting candidates that were close, but not quite right:

• Journey On felt natural for my blog and the new podcast. It had forward momentum, but seemed to lack an edge.

• Bold Strokes had appeal, suggesting confidence and strong action. It fit most of my projects, but seemed a stretch for podcasting.

• Create Freedom was closely connected to being "happy, joyous, and free," but it lacked punch.

The Ignition Point
This is where the process got truly interesting. Instead of feeling frustrated, I was drawn to the feelings in some of the imperfect options:

Journey On had the right subject, but the verb was too passive. Bold Strokes had the right energy, but wasn't universal. Create Freedom spoke to my core values, but lacked punch.

I started moving words around just to see what would come out of it: Journey Bold, Journey Fierce, Own the Journey, Journey Alive.

And that’s when it happened—not a literal lightning bolt, but a definite spark. Randomly combining words led me to the phrase that instantly stuck, just like those catchy slogans mentioned at the top of this post:

Live the Journey!

It has everything I was looking for: the active commitment, the edge, and the sense of being fully present and engaged with the entire process.

It works across all my projects. It works as both an invitation to myself and a declaration to the world. And when I say it out loud, something in me simply says, ‘Yes!’.

Living With It
Here’s the thing about finding your perfect motto: you have to 'wear it' for a while, like breaking in a new pair of jeans. I decided to wear Live the Journey for a few days before making a final decision. I wanted to know how it felt while editing a podcast, drafting a blog post, or planning to track a movie production crew.

Your Turn
If you’re thinking about creating your own creative motto for 2026 (or any time, really), here’s the process that worked for me: 

• Start with Brainstorming: Write down everything that comes to mind. There are no bad ideas here. 

• Look for Patterns: What words or ideas keep appearing? 

• Play with Word Order: Take the subject from one option and pair it with the verb from another. Be aware of words or ideas that arise from other words. The word ‘fierce’ in my martial arts slogan, sparked the idea of ‘bold’, which led to ‘Journey Bold.’ 

• Test Variations: Say them out loud. Imagine using them when the work gets difficult. How do they feel? 

• Trust Your Gut: You'll know it when you find it—it will just feel right. 

Making It Real
Write your motto where you’ll see it every day—at your desk, on a whiteboard, or on your phone’s background. When making decisions, ask yourself if your choice aligns with the values represented by your motto. 

Share your motto with others or keep it close to your heart. Both ideas are valid. The motto is YOUR personal compass, not a marketing campaign. If at any time, you feel it has lost its mojo, adjust it. The point is to support your work, not constrain it.

Living the Creative Life
For 2026, I’m going to "Live the Journey." I will stay fully present in my creative work, embracing the messiness, and remembering that enjoying the journey is more important than the art.

If you decided to craft a motto for your creative work, share it in the comments. Let's inspire each other as we step into the New Year.

Here’s to 2026. May you find the words that truly move you forward.

Princess Amy: Reality TV Star

It was almost noon by the time I left the thrift store. I'd found one concert t-shirt that would bring enough profit to pay for gas and lunch.

"I don't know why we bother doing this," I told Amy as I maneuvered Wind Horse into traffic. 

"It's just wasted time and energy. I spent the morning looking for profitable items to resell, and I'll need to do it again tomorrow to have a chance to break even for the week."

I got no response, but I didn't expect one because I was talking to Princess Amy, that spoiled little brat of a limbic system in the middle of my brain who gets her kicks by overloading my emotional system. 

"Doesn't it bother you?" I asked.

"Nope," Amy said. "I'm only in it for the money."

"The money?" I said. "I only hope I don't lose money this week."

"Yeah, you're not much of a business person. You should pay more attention to me. I'm an entrepreneur."

"You are not a business person! You're a little almond-shaped cluster of brain cells. You might benefit from the money I make, but you never really profit. It's a foreign concept to you."

"Making money's not the only way to profit." 

"What are you talking about, if anything?" I asked. 

"I'm an entrepreneur," she said. "I get you to do stupid stuff--to generate excitement--and you can be really entertaining sometimes."

“You’re the only one who’s entertained by the kind of excitement you generate, and that never ends well."

"When I'm on a roll," she said, "I can fire you up enough to get bystanders involved, and that's when it really becomes fun. What a riot!"

"You're a menace! You're a danger to the fabric of the universe." 

"I'm an influencer," she said. “I'm not just another pretty face, baby. That's why I have to keep my brain functioning efficiently, and I'm not operating at full power right now because I need a latte and a muffin."

"This is leading up to a stop at Surf & Java, isn't it?" I asked.

"Exactly. I can get some caffeine to stoke my engines while you have an Impossible sandwich for our lunch." 

A few minutes later, we were seated outside the surf shop, and Amy was relatively quiet while I ate. I suppose she was soaking up some nutrients to stoke her engines. I was thinking about going home when she spoke again.

"I need another latte," she said. "You get it, and I'll wait here. I'm gonna look at this magazine. It says on the cover that Keanu Reeves used to surf competitively."

I didn't reply. I was beginning to feel like I was no more than a vehicle to chauffeur my limbic system around town.

"Too bad you can't stay here and have someone else get the coffee," she said. "What if there's a sudden rush of customers and someone gets our table?"

"A rush of customers?" I said.

"It could happen," she said. "Good idea," I said, "I'll stay here to keep someone from taking our table."

"So anyway," Amy said."Did you know that Keanu was a surfer? Maybe we should take up surfing."

I tried to get comfortable in the plastic chair as I overthought Amy's earlier comments about being an entrepreneur. 

"You got a lot of thinking going on," Amy said. "It's getting hot in here with all that thinking you're doing. You're burning too much energy." 

“I'm thinking about what you said earlier,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were capable of doing anything more than mismanaging my emotions.”  

"I'm a complex person," Amy said. "I got a lot going on. You haven't even seen the tip of my iceberg, baby. One of my goals is to be a TV star."

"How's that even possible?" I asked.

"I'm gonna be a reality star like Kyle, Lisa, and Khloé."

"A reality star--you're going to be the next Khloé Kardashian?"

"It's only a matter of time," she said. "I got a plan worked out, and I'm about to start shooting a demo reel. That's how you get into the finals, you gotta shoot a demo reel." 

"What's your plan? And how are you going to film anything?"

"First," she said, "it's a concept show that I call Wearing Underwear in Public, or WUP for short.”

"I already don't like it," I said.

"You don't like it, but you're really good at it," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean. I'm not going to be part of anything called Wearing Underwear in Public."

“WUP,” she said. “You’re already part of it, silly. Remember those dreams you had last week? That was the pilot for the show. Now it's time to record the first episodes."

"You little brat!" I said. "Those dreams are caused by you! I thought we had an understanding. You and I are not different people, Amy. We're the same person. What I experience, you experience. Why do you do these things?"

"It gets boring in here," she said. "I need a creative outlet, and I'm competing for a Dreamy award. With a concept like WUP, I think I could be a contender."

"Awards? How would that even work? Am I going to dream that you get an award?"

"No, dummy," she said. "There's a whole dream universe filled with all kinds of stuff for imaginary people like me. What do you think dreams are for, anyway? They aren't just entertainment for you, you know." 

I was overwhelmed. I needed some time alone, and that's not easy to find when you're trying to get away from your own thoughts. 

"Uh oh," I said, "look at the time. It seems we don't need to be concerned about a customer rush. I need to check on my mom and then stop at the hardware store. I've got to patch the lanai screens where the squirrels gnawed through them."

"Your mom is living with the stars, Genome," Amy said.

"Yeah, but I still check in with her daily."

"Well, if I were you," Amy said, "I'd get home in time for a nap so you can keep up with me tonight. We got a demo to record."

"I won't forget about that," I said, but I said it without any real chirpiness.

Scones and Stranger Things

It was a cool, damp, and windy evening with leaves blowing around and that peculiar electric feeling you get when magic is in the air. I wasted no time in moving the empty garbage can from the curb and toward the darkness of our backyard. That darkness gave me an uneasy feeling for some reason.

I paused halfway around the house to allow my eyes to adjust, the better to see the ghouls waiting for me behind a bush. Glancing overhead, I saw an almost full moon, making an appearance through edgy, fretted clouds. It may sound like a beautiful sight, but its beauty was lost on me. Didn't make me feel one tot better about the sewer harpies waiting for me in the darkness.

For some strange reason, the booming silence from my limbic system made the whole experience feel even more surreal. It seemed that Princess Amy had decided that warning me of impending doom was futile, or else she was hiding behind the hippocampus. *Footnote

The deeper I crept into that darkness, the more I became like that little boy from Shady Grove that I once was. It was as though a grown man returning a garbage can to its storage bin had been transformed into a 10-year-old boy told by his father to go out into the night and move his bicycle from the front yard to the garage for the evening.

Exactly why my brain works this way is not fully understood. Some say it has something to do with serotonin reuptake inhibitors, but I expect it has more to do with a Creator who became bored with the usual routine of evolutionary improvement and decided to have a bit of fun for a change, and, unfortunately, I was next in line.

It's on nights like these that I remember my Great-aunt Nanny McFarland teaching me to see fairies. That's the night she taught me about magic. According to her, it was magic that kept all my personal bits and all the bits making up the entire world from flying off into space. And who can say? The Egyptians believed that magic held the world together and kept everything working smoothly. Maybe Aunt Nanny was right.

But I'm leading you away from the way in which you should go, as the expression has it. Back to the garbage can in the dark, then. The cool, damp air was full of whispers, I remember thinking.

Looking in the direction of the whispers, I thought I could see three stooped figures gathered around the embers of a small fire that gleamed like the madness in a weasel's eye. There was a far-off rumble as if a thunderstorm approached, and I thought I heard a voice say, "When shall we three meet again?" It could have been my imagination.

The point I'm trying to make is that now it's October and we're on our way to Halloween--that time of year when the curtain grows thin between the reality we make up in our head and the reality that's the actual basis of the world we live in. I love this time of year because it makes me feel really alive.

Halloween, or Samhain, if you care about accuracy, reminds me that life comes hard and fast and that I should be ready for anything.

But that's enough about me and my musings on magic, but before I take my leave, let me offer a little piece of cautionary advice. If you're walking the dog after dark between now and Halloween, especially if you live in Woodcroft, Parkwood, or anywhere there have been rumors of magic, do beware. If your dog whimpers at unseen things along the path, turn back home. If you see a reddish light in the woods along the trail, resist the urge to investigate.

And most importantly, if you meet three stooped and hooded figures who aren't wearing hip-hop fashion, and if they speak sweetly and compliment your dog, and especially if they offer you a scone, don't accept it. Take it from someone who speaks from experience: That is NOT A SCONE!

Have a Fun and Happy Halloween!

*Footnote: You may need to Google it.

How Can I Be Sure?

It may have been Aunt Cynthia who used to say something about a glorious morning that flatters the mountaintops and kisses the meadows. That's all well and good, of course, but have you ever noticed how things can suddenly take a nasty turn?

If you follow these little musings of mine, then you're probably aware that I insist on living happy, joyous, and free, as the saying goes. But damn, if it doesn't often seem that the odds for happy days are slim. It requires constant vigilance and hard work.

Sooner or later, right in the middle of telling your best dinner story to a rapt audience, someone at the head of the table will interrupt to tell you that you've gotten your elbow in the butter dish again.

Take this morning, for instance. It got off to a bracing start, and my heart was filled with birdsong. I expected nothing but happy endings for everyone. And yet, though immersed in the sunshine, I found the mood was mixed--not feeling this way or that. Sort of a dumb, numb mood. And I'll tell you why.

I was faced with a difficult choice. I had to make up my mind. I had to pick one and leave the other behind. You see my predicament? I didn't know which way to turn. It's not an easy task as I'm sure you agree if you've ever had to make a decision of your own.

My predicament is this: It seems that, for some reason, and your guess is as good as mine, Ms. Wonder and I have done magazine work for several years. I know! I mean, what drives people to do such things? And yet, there it is.

So with the slowdown in film production in the old metrop of Wilmington, I'm considering writing an article or two and submitting them to local magazines. The focus would be on the film industry and the current succes of shows like Outer Banks, The Summer I Turned Pretty, The Runarounds, The Waterfront, and all ther others.

I expect journalism of this type, immersed in local industry and popular culture, will be well received, and most of my advisors agree. You may be asking, if it's so hot, what's the struggle about? It's a fair question, and I'll tell you my answer to that, too.

You surely remember Princess Amy--that little almond-shaped cluster of brain cells that bears a striking resemblance to the Red Queen of Wonderland. She's taking my inventory recently, and she thinks as much of me publishing an article in local media as Moses thought of the Children of Israel when he walked in on them worshipping the golden calf.

My defenses are weak when it comes to Amy's work. My weakness goes all the way back to childhood, but there's no need to explain the whole sad story--the lack of moral support as a child, the feeling of loneliness growing up in Shady Grove, etc.

I'm afraid there's no way around it; I'm going to have to finally decide. It's the only way out of my predicament. I'm going to need to submit that article or trash it.

The recommended procedure for dealing with situations like this one is to abandon oneself to the universe. Live life on life's terms and all that rot. But there's the rub; I'm tired of all that abandoning. I want action. I want miracles or magic and I don't care which. I need something that's going to point to absolute answers; I want asurance!

My story is an old one, really. Shakespeare told us that a lack of resolve is understandable when, as he put it, "Between acting on a dreadful thing and the first motion...blah, blah, blah...man...suffers the nature of an insurrection." His words, not mine.

So, here I go again. I have my marching orders. It's a plan that I can follow. I don't want to, but I will because it's the next step, and that's all anyone can do. Is there any more to life than that?

Like A Russian Doll

Yesterday was one of those days you want to take home to meet Mom. And when I say yesterday, I mean the whole long day. It began with a bright sky and mockingbirds singing, not just one of their Billboard Top 10 tunes, but an entire album of deep tracks.

Bean Trader's Family

That may not seem like a big deal to you, but it's a rarity for me. I told Ms. Wonder about it this morning over coffee at Port City Cafe. No real point in telling her; she already knows all there is to know about the Genome. Still...

"Let's hope today is the same," she said with her usual optimism. She's a gem, that one, with her positive outlook and her moxie. I wonder why the Universe allowed me to get ensconced in her life. It seems too good to be true, and yet there I am, ensconced like a Russian doll.

The whole thing seems wondrous to me even after all these years. You've probably read the previous post about getting trapped by the safety belt in my car on the first date with her. If you haven't read it, look it up now. You can always come back to this post when you're up-to-date with current events.

If you're one of the regulars who hang onto every word I write, then you'll understand why, after that first date, on the very next visit to her office with the corporate rent check (it's something we did back in the day), she told me that she knew I loved her and that I wanted her for my own and that she would--and she made it perfectly clear--that she would be my wife.

I was surprised, considering I'd demonstrated that my mechanical abilities fell short of using a seat belt. Also, it wasn't what I expected when delivering the specie to the landlady. But what could I do? She had stated in no uncertain terms that she would walk the aisle with me while the organ played "The Voice That Breathed O'er Eden." 

I did what any parfit gentil knight would do. "Oh, that's settled then," I said. "Do you prefer a large or small wedding?"

Unfortunately, that particular wedding wasn't to be; not right away, at least. A hurricane was spotted loitering in the Gulf of Mexico, right off the coast of Houston, and we made hasty plans to hightail it to Arkansas. Hot Springs, it was, as I recall. The nuptials came about a year later.

But as I was saying earlier, on this fine day, she offered her blessings for the day to remain in statu quo, and I was grateful as always. She and the Universe share a special bond, being best friends since they first met on this side of the veil. Still, I was a teeny bit doubtful, and I told her so.

"I'm not expecting the day to turn out so pleasant," I said. "The feeling I have is like the one I felt on the day I entered Doyle Jaynes's apartment in Crystal Cove and found every flat surface covered in pizza boxes and the floor strewn with soda cans."

"I'm sorry," she said. "Maybe another cappuccino?"

"The worst part is that the air is heavy with the stench of stale tobacco and Frank Sinatra is singing something about round and round, down and down.”

"What are you talking about?" she said, looking as though I'd just admitted to keeping ferrets. "Stale tobacco? Sinatra?"

"Oh, sorry," I said. "What I mean is that the air in my mind smells of tobacco, etc."

She nodded and then stirred her cappuccino thoughtfully. "Can I ask you something?" she said.

“Of course," I said.

"Are you ever happy? Really happy, I mean?"

We looked at each other for a long moment while I searched the data banks for the most recent spot of happiness.

"I was happy when Port City made me the customer-of-the-month for April," I said.

"Yes, but that was fleeting. Do you ever have extended periods of happiness?"

"We had this discussion just recently," I said. "Remember, the dogs in the park, sniffing butts, carrying sticks, and chasing balls?"

She gave me a look like the one she wore when her best girlfriend decided to quit her job in Houston to go wait tables in an ice house in Bandera.

"Where can I go but to the Lord?" she said, and I thought it must be a rhetorical question and so I left it lying there. My tai chi master used to say, 'If it don't belong to you, don't pick it up.'

And so, there we were, Ms. Wonder stirring her cappuccino thoughtfully while I fumbled through my mental filing cabinet for evidence of sustained joy—a search that yielded little more than a customer-of-the-month certificate and some dubious philosophy about dogs and butt-sniffing. 

It's a peculiar thing, really: the Universe saw fit to ensconce me in the life of a woman who shares a first-name basis with cosmic forces, who announced our marriage before I'd even mastered the seat belt, and who weathered a Gulf Coast hurricane just to eventually say "I do." 

And here I am, decades later, still explaining why my internal weather forecast calls for stale tobacco and Sinatra when the morning mockingbirds are performing their entire catalog. 

Perhaps that's what happens when you're a Russian doll ensconced in the life of someone too good to be true—you become acutely aware that you're nested in grace you probably don't deserve, which makes the whole business feel wonderfully impossible and faintly terrifying, like being trapped in a seat belt on your way to forever.

Two-Tumble Tuesday

"Look at me!" I said to Ms. Wonder as we sat on the lanai, basking in a Tuesday afternoon so beautiful that recommending any sort of self-improvement program would have felt offensive. 

The sky was that special hue that we in the islands call Carolina Blue. The clouds were white, puffy, and towering, just the way I like them. The breeze was light, the humidity low, and the bluebirds filled the air with mood-lifting tunes. In short, it was a typical day in County Brunswick.

"What about you?" she said, but she didn't ask it with any real pizazz. I wisely decided to allow it because she, like the Pope, possesses a higher level of wisdom, and unlike Princess Amy, she doesn't share my internal emotional world. Still, while I had the floor, I continued with my presentation.

"I'm living a new life, Wonder. "I'm taking it one day at a time, as recommended in the book, and I'm living in paradise."

"Oh, really?" she replied.

"Don't do that," I said gently.

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean," I said. "Don't use that tone of voice that says you've heard it all before. This time is different for me. I've had five full days of normalcy, and it's all thanks to a new attitude."

"You do seem a bit chipper," she said, "but I've seen this before. What makes you think this is a new beginning?"

"Because I've got Princess Amy on board," I said.

"Get out!" she exclaimed with full incandescence, and just for emphasis, I assume, she placed her hands on my chest and pushed.

Of course, not expecting it from her, my defense shields were down, and  I fell base over apex across the potted palm, causing Sagi, the caramel-colored tabby, to fix me with a wide-eyed stare similar to the one that Hamlet must have given his father's ghost.

Once I picked myself up and dusted myself off, I raised myself to full height and stared down with bruised dignity. I saw in her eyes that she felt somewhat responsible for my tumble, even though it was clearly unintentional. This, I reasoned, gave me the high ground.

"I'm feeling good about it," I said, returning the palm to its upright position.

"Of course," she replied gently. "You should feel good about it." 

"Yes, I'm feeling good from my head to my shoes," I added, revealing my uncertainty about what to say next.

She gave me a knowing look. "I think I know where this is going," she said in a manner that hinted at her Pope-like wisdom.

"Yes," I said, "it was a difficult lesson, but now the wires are uncrossed and life is finally going my way."

"Any worries?" she asked.

"Very few," I said.

"Just be ready," she said. "You know that dark skies and rain will come."

"Life comes hard and fast," I said. "The only thing that's changed is me, not the world around me. Tears may fall, but what do I care as long as I have you?"

I was on a roll now, and it felt great, so I continued, "I think I've been given a new life," I said. "I've got a brand new attitude. Obstacles may come, but we'll get through them, as long as we have each other."

With that, she gave me a playful punch on the arm with far less emphasis than the earlier push. Unfortunately, Sagi startled me by leaping from the ottoman to the sofa, causing me to lose balance and take another tumble.

Ms. Wonder's first reaction was a gasp, her expression a mix of surprise and concern as she reflexively reached out to help. Still, despite her worry, she couldn't hold back a laugh that sounded like a paper bag exploding.

After two surprising tumbles, I'd learned another important life lesson. Walking through Paradise can be like trodding the cobblestone streets of Charleston. Sometimes the footing is uneven and unordered, but it's never dull. The real beauty of dealing with life one day at a time is that you get to count your falls as character-building exercises. 

The uneven footing tends to keep one in the moment, which provides a certain degree of safety, but as our post titled, Mission to Mohs, taught us, it's a good idea to have Anxiety continue running preventive diagnostics, just in case.