The other thing

I always thought if you enjoy what you do for a living, you need to find at least one more thing that makes you feel good. Or look good. Something you lean on to when the chips are down. Something you could derive comfort from without even indulging in it. Something that just by the virtue of existence brings you peace.

I always thought I had a few of those. Memories from road trips. A motorcycle. Bose SoundDock. Jeep. Respect and love for alcohol. Apple products. House with a view.

Everything very palpable.

Companionship.

Commitment.

Now those two had been sensitive exceptions. I was always running. I was escaping. I was living a very accelerated life, hopping over from one day to the next. I could not be grounded. Not by family. Not by women. Not by joy. Not by grief. I was one of the insurgent millenials.

Until I found the girl I married about two months back. And everything flipped.

I have never been more disciplined yet thrilled.

Calm yet wild.

Impatient yet complete.

Sharing your life with someone opens up frozen pores of intimacy. It’s like living with a scary but beautiful mirror that talks. There’s a silent surge of shocking self-revelation every day. And it’s amazing simply because it took another person to help you find you.

I had one more thing.

I used to like words. Consuming some. Producing some.

That love fizzled out while trudging along life’s brisk rut. Perhaps this new found extraordinary amity with myself will be the reuniting force that glues me right back to sewing words together.

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