Tag Archives: life

Sunrise from Lookout Point

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When was the last time you sat quietly to watch a day being born?

If you’ve been following this blog, you know that about a year ago, I bought 10 acres of view property sitting on a shelf at the base of some basalt cliffs in Malaga, WA. I’m a view person and its the view that sold me on the land. From the spot where I had my building constructed this summer, I can see all of Malaga and most of East Wenatchee and Wenatchee, including the Columbia River which runs between them. There are grassy, sage-studded hills, small lakes, orchards, snow-covered peaks, and dramatic cliff faces, with a scattering of homes nearby and the more populated Wenatchee area in the distance.

My Bench at Lookout Point
Looking back at my future home from the bench at Lookout Point. See the tiny dog curled up on the right seat?

But a short walk a bit farther to the north, to the point just before my land drops down off a steep hill, takes me to what I’ve begun calling “Lookout Point.” It has a 270° (at least) view that also takes in Mission Ridge and the mouth of Lower Moses Coulee. When I bought a used shed last autumn and found a crude bench in it, the obvious place to put it was at Lookout Point. I fixed it up with a coat of paint and bought new cushions for it. I often sit out there in the evening with a glass of wine to watch the sun set.

The View from Lookout Point
There’s nothing special about the bench; it’s what’s in front of the bench that’s amazing.

I woke up this morning shortly before 5 AM. It was already light out — it gets light very early here in the summer — and rather than turn on the radio and have my coffee at my desk while listening to the news on NPR — as I too often do — I decided to have my coffee out at Lookout Point.

I think it was the sight of the pickers driving into the cherry orchard below me that triggered the idea. Two or three summers ago, when I lived at a friend’s building site in Wenatchee Heights, I used to sit out on his unfinished deck at dawn, watching the pickers getting to work in the orchard across the road. The deck was close enough to the orchard that I could hear the dull clunk of cherries hitting the bottom of the picking buckets as pickers started work.

Anyway, I took my coffee and headed out, leaving the door to my RV open behind me. Penny the Tiny Dog was still asleep on my bed, but I suspected that she’d follow me out if she sensed I was leaving. Sure enough, I was halfway down to the bench when I saw her following on the path behind me. When I sat down, she jumped up onto the seat beside mine, curled up, and went back to sleep.

The sky on the horizon to the northwest was pink; the sun was just touching the tops of distant snow-covered peaks. The valley was still in the shadows.

I sat quietly and listened. I could hear the whine of a sprayer in a nearby orchard. It was a sound you learn to live with here — during the growing season, they start as early as 4 AM and, depending on what they’re spraying and what the weather is like, they could continue all day long. Fortunately, none of the orchards are close enough that the sound becomes a nuisance.

Predawn from Lookout Point
The sun was just kissing the snow-covered peaks when I sat down at the bench.

Golden Basalt
I love the way first light and last light makes the cliffs behind my home glow with a golden light.

Sprayer in Orchard
You can easily see a sprayer from above — the cloud of chemicals is hard to miss. Sometimes, when I’m flying, I’ll see dozens of them at work in orchards all around me.

Sunrise
The sun broke over the horizon at exactly 5:30 AM.

Morning Light
I watched the golden morning light creep down the landscape. Can you see my shadow on the left?

Wenatchee Valley in Shadows
But while I was in full sun, the Wenatchee Valley was still in shadows. The sun wouldn’t hit them for another 30 minutes or so.

Off in the distance, I heard another familiar sound: a spray helicopter. I didn’t see it, but I suspect it was working out to the west, either on Stemilt Hill or Wenatchee Heights. I wondered what the people living in that area thought about helicopters doing extended spray operations near their homes at 5 AM.

Closer, I heard tools clanking where the pickers had gone. Maybe ladders being repositioned? Or bin trailers being hooked up to tractors?

Occasionally, a bird cannon fired. These propane-powered devices emit a sound a bit like a shotgun every few minutes to scare birds off the ripening cherries. Like the sprayers, bird cannons are a seasonal sound that lasts only as long as red cherries are on the trees. By July month-end, the orchards in my area will have been all picked and the bird cannons will be put away until next year.

Across the river, the sound of a motorcycle on route 28 drifted up on a breeze. And then a truck. I can sometimes hear trains on my side of the river, but none seemed to go by.

Birds — I heard them, too. Song birds greeting the day. Robins, magpies, quail.

One of my bees flew over to the bench and poked around. Maybe she thought my purple tank top was some sort of enormous flower that had blossomed overnight. Penny, bothered by the close buzzing, sat up. It wasn’t until she lunged at the bee that it flew away.

Meanwhile, the earth rotated toward the east and the sky got brighter and brighter. A golden light reached out and touched the basalt cliffs behind me. Then it began creeping down from the mountains and cliffs and hillsides, bathing everything it touched with a golden light.

The new day was born.

Bunch Grass in First Light
Bunch grass in first light.

It’s funny, but when some people watch a sunrise or sunset, they look at the sun. But that’s not where the show is. The show is in the opposite direction, where the changing light makes deep shadows and glowing highlights on the things we see every day.

I watched the light shine on everything around me. I especially liked the way it touched the tips of the bunch grass I’d left long around Lookout Point.

The light spread like a carpet over the earth. Shadows filled in with light. The magic of first light faded quickly at Lookout Point. Too quickly. I wished it could last all day.

Dawn in Malaga
A new day is born.

As I sat there with Penny, savoring the last few minutes of the sunrise, I thought back to sunrises I’d experienced years ago. Back when I was in my early 20s, I’d dated a man who liked sunrises as much as I do. I distinctly remember waking up very early one morning and driving through the darkness to Montauk Point out on Long Island in New York. We found a rock to sit on and sat close together, looking out toward the brightness of the eastern horizon while waves crashed gently on the shore. If I think hard enough, I can remember — or at least imagine — the way the sun’s first light felt warm on my skin and the way his body felt comfortably close to mine. Afterward, we lay back on that big, flat rock and I fell asleep in his arms.

I miss moments like that, long gone and likely forgotten by the man I shared them with. Over the years, he grew and changed. Like so many of us, he forgot about the simple beauty of a sunrise and the wonder of a day being born, caught up instead with chasing the almighty dollar and keeping up appearances for people who really don’t matter. His loss — but he probably doesn’t even realize it.

Are you guilty of that, too? Be honest with yourself. I think I was, at least for a while.

I think that moving here has helped me reconnect with the simple things in life — getting back in tune with nature, stopping to look and listen and experience my surroundings. Gone are the days when I spent too much time commuting between two homes and dealing with the noise and crowds of a city I never really wanted to live in. Last night, I enjoyed squash from my garden; this morning, I ate cherries I picked yesterday with yogurt I made the day before. My chickens will soon be laying eggs; I can’t wait to make my special pound cake with those rich fresh eggs and butter. I’ll fill the hummingbird feeder in a while and check my bee hives for capped honey frames. Maybe I’ll head down into town for lunch with some friends.

Life is what you make it and my life is good.

A New Year, A New Book

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A new project to get my year off to a good start.

2013 was the first year since 1991 that I did not publish a new book.

There are several of reasons for this, none of which I want to get into here. That would make interesting fodder for a future blog post. Don’t worry; I won’t leave you hanging for long.

But it isn’t as if I haven’t been writing — I have been. In addition to this blog, which I’ve tended to quite faithfully since I started it in October 2003, I’ve been working on another book project since late 2012, when I found myself with an outrageous personal story to tell. Unfortunately, I’ve had to put that project aside; I hope to finish it when I know the ending.

Papillon HelicopterToday, however, I started work on the book I’ve been thinking about for the past month or so. Tentatively titled Flying the Canyon: My Season as a Grand Canyon Helicopter Tour Pilot, this book will share my experiences from one of the most interesting summers of my life.

Here, I’ll let the book’s draft introduction tell you more:

In the summer of 2004, I realized one of my dreams: I became a helicopter tour pilot at the Grand Canyon.

I was 42 when I got the job and I worked with a bunch of young people — mostly men — some of whom were young enough to be my kids. I met the challenges of working in a sometimes difficult but usually breathtakingly beautiful flying environment, dealing with the personalities of co-workers and management, and trying to please passengers from all over the world. The work was rewarding, frustrating, and enlightening. The flying experience was something I think every helicopter pilot should have.

I also had a very odd experience on one of my flights — an experience that would leave the lingering scar of PTSD on me for many years to come.

I thoroughly enjoyed the work, but by the end of the summer, the novelty had worn off. Friction inside the company made the job less pleasant than it had been. I realized that I was a square peg in a round hole. My real work as a freelance writer was being neglected and my editors were beginning to lose their patience. I was sad to leave, but it was time.

This book is the story of my season at the Grand Canyon. It begins before the beginning by sharing the stories of when I decided I wanted to learn how to fly and the things that I did to gain the skills I’d need to be a tour pilot. It then goes on to tell about my experiences as a pilot at the Canyon — including the unusual occurrence on June 10, 2004 — and my direct interactions with fellow pilots, management, and passengers. Finally, it shares how my feelings about being a Canyon tour pilot changed as the summer came to a close and the events that affected my decision to leave.

Because I’d blogged many of my experiences soon after they happened, much of what I share in these pages is rich with details. But rather than just restate my blog posts, I’ve filled in the gaps between them with the behind-the-scenes stories that I couldn’t make public at the time.

Ever wonder what it’s like to be a helicopter tour pilot at the Grand Canyon? Here’s what it was like for me.

As I write, I’ll be pulling a lot of my blog posts about those days offline, probably for good. In a way, my blog has acted as a temporary archive for these stories. Once the book is complete and published, the book will be the permanent archive. I hope to do this with much of the contents of my blog.

Captain MariaToday, I churned out over 4,000 words, completing the introduction (which I just shared here), a Prologue, and Chapter 1, which briefly covers my experiences learning to fly and getting my commercial pilot rating. My goal is to have the entire book finished by month-end — a goal I know I can reach if I can stay focused on my work. (With little else do do this winter, it shouldn’t be much of a problem to find time!)

I’ve toyed with the idea of shopping it around to a mainstream publishing house but will likely self-publish under the Flying M Productions “Real-Life Flying” imprint. The book will be available in print and as an ebook in Kindle, Nook, and iBooks formats. I had quite a bit of success with one of my three self-publishing projects back in 2012, so I’m pretty confident I’ll meet or beat that success with this book.

Of course, since I need to work on the book each morning, that might cut into my blogging time. So expect to see fewer posts here over the next month or so as I write, edit, lay out, and publish this book. More information on where to buy it will be available before month-end.

Comments? You know where to put them!

On Luck

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Does it even exist?

“You’re so lucky that you can work at home.”

“You’re so lucky that you can fly for a living.”

“You’re so lucky you can live in such a beautiful place.”

These are things I’ve heard multiple times from people I’ve met in my day-to-day life. They all seem to think that luck plays a major role in my life and lifestyle.

I can’t tell you how much it bothers me when people tell me this. Luck has nothing to do with it.

In my mind, luck is something that comes into play when you win a lottery. That’s pure luck. After all, no skill is required; nothing you can do — other than buy a lottery ticket — can change the odds of winning.

I’ve tried, in the past, to explain this to people without sounding rude. My problem, I guess, is that because I’m a writer I take words very literally. And I really can’t help feeling offended when someone attributes various benefits of my hard work to “luck.”

This past summer, my good friend Cheryl shared something her father used to say:

There’s no such thing as magical “luck.” It’s when preparation meets opportunity.

I’ll take that a step farther. The benefits often attributed to luck happen when opportunity is recognized and acted upon.

So preparation leads to opportunity which leads to benefits.

An Example: My Writing Career

Let’s look at my “luck” in becoming a freelance writer.

Dreams don’t work unless you do.

I prepared by learning to write, which I did by being an avid reader and practicing writing for many years. I saw opportunities: the first being to write an article for a professional organization. Despite the lack of monetary compensation, I took advantage of the opportunity and got my first published clip. That, in turn, was part of my preparation to move forward as a writer.

As opportunities presented themselves, I seized them, kind of like a relay racer seizes the baton and runs with it to hand it off to the next person in the race — or take it over the finish line. Step-by-step, opportunity-by-opportunity, I climbed the ladder of success in a writing career. The benefits — advances, royalties, a smattering of fame, and the flexible lifestyle I’ve enjoyed for the past 23 years — were the rewards of this preparation-opportunity chain.

The preparation was my effort to move forward. Preparing book proposals, contacting editors and publishers, learning new software, spending money on computers and other equipment I needed to get the job done. Seizing the opportunities meant getting the work done as needed by the people who hired me within the time limits they specified.

I don’t see much “luck” here, do you?

Another Example: My Flying Career

Although I never intended to fly for a living, I did prepare for such a career by simply learning to fly. It was a lot of work and even more expense. There’s no luck involved in becoming a pilot.

When I realized that I liked to fly and needed to do it for money to keep doing it at all, I began preparing for a career as a pilot. More training, another certificate, more expense. Practice, practice, practice. Time-building. Applying for a job to get more varied experience. Working that job to meet my employer’s needs.

Buying a larger helicopter. Working with the FAA to get Part 135 certification. Advertising, marketing. Answering the phone and learning which jobs would move me forward. Being open to weird suggestions — like spending the summer in Washington state to hover over cherry trees after it rains. Expanding on that seized opportunity to grow my client base.

Do you see any “luck” here?

You Make Your Own Luck

Your life is a result of the choices you make.
If you don’t like your life, it’s time to start making better choices.

I’ve often heard wise people say, “You make your own luck.” This is what these people are talking about: preparation and seizing the resulting opportunities.

There’s no reward without risk. That’s something I’ve learned.

My writing career never would have gotten off the ground if I didn’t take the risk of leaving my full-time job in corporate America to write a 4-1/2 day course about using computers for auditing. And I never would have gone beyond that first big project if I hadn’t worked hard to prepare for other opportunities.

My flying career never would have taken off (pun intended) if I didn’t take the risk of spending all that money on flight training or spending even more money on a helicopter that would help me prepare for opportunities. Or take the risk of leaving my home for a few months each summer to seize an opportunity that made my business thrive.

The only thing standing between you and your goal is the bullshit story you keep telling yourself as to why you can’t achieve it.

Too many people don’t understand this. Too many people seem to think that they can achieve success through luck or wishful thinking. It doesn’t happen. And then, when they don’t move forward in the direction they want to go, they make excuses for why they don’t. Bad luck.

Bullshit.

You are in charge of your destiny.

A smart man once told me that if you want something in life you need to make it happen. That man’s gone now, dead and buried. But even today, his words are the ones that drive me to move forward in my life.

What’s driving you?

Life Goes On

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Setbacks are bound to happen, but they should never stop you from moving forward with your life.

Over the past two days, I spent a bunch of time with some friends of mine from Wickenburg. These folks were incredibly supportive last autumn, winter, and spring, while I lived in the house I’d previously shared with my husband (when he was around), waiting for him to get reasonable and settle out of court so we could move forward with our lives apart. It was a long wait. I finally left the house at the end of May, right after the second of two court dates. He never did get reasonable and the judge made the settlement decisions for us in late July.

These friends saw me at my very worst, including one of the two times that I came close to what might have been a nervous breakdown. All through those months, these friends gave me some of the moral support I needed and assured me, over and over, that I’d be fine and that I was better off without him.

Oddly, it was also these two friends who, just yesterday, voiced their amazement at just how well I’ve been doing since those dark days.

Because it’s true: I have been doing incredibly well. My business had a very profitable summer and I was able to replenish all of the savings spent on a too-lengthy legal battle — and then some. After the long wait for the judge’s decision, I was finally able to move forward and buy the land I’d wanted for nearly a year. And because I didn’t have to wait for another party’s input on my decision-making processes, I was able to immediately move forward to get the water turned on, install and activate the temporary power pole that brings electrical power to my lot, and even get a septic system installed and approved by the county. I did all of this in just 40 days.

The Problem with the Last Land Purchase

I think back on the last raw land purchase I made. It was 40 acres of “ranch land” in northern Arizona, an escape from the oppressive heat of summers in Wickenburg. I’d been part of a “team” back then, partnered with a man who researched everything to death before making a decision. Often, he’d spend so much time researching an option that the option was no longer available when he’d finally decided. Although we got a fence installed relatively quickly — my accounting records show that it was installed within 6 months of the property purchase — it was two years before the septic system was installed and six years before he finally agreed to put some sort of building on the land. The building was especially frustrating for me. We blew $800 on plans with one builder and $400 on plans with an architect and looked at more than a handful of prefabricated buildings before he grudgingly agreed to the “camping shed” we wound up with. Although we managed to turn it into a year-round cabin and spent several holidays up there — including Thanksgiving and Christmas — he apparently hated it there, later referring to it as “Maria’s white elephant” to his friends. Of course, he never said anything like that to me.

And that was part of the problem. He’d agree to something he didn’t believe in — like the purchase of this land — and then get bitter about it. Or he’d like something one day and hate it a month or year or more later. But throughout this process, he never communicated what he really thought or felt. He just went along with the general idea, but stalled when it came to moving forward with anything of substance. And he never communicated what he was really thinking — or he waited until we’d come too far down a path to go back.

He created dead ends.

And that’s why I’m so much better off without him. I don’t have to deal with his indecision or stalling tactics or change of heart. I can just look at a situation, think about it for as long (or short) as I like, and make a decision. I can act — immediately if I like — and get the benefits of the results as soon as possible.

A Sad Flashback

Yesterday, I was feeling melancholy. It was the 29 year anniversary of the day my ex-husband proposed to me.

I remember the moment perfectly. We were in our bedroom at our Bayside apartment. It was after work. He’d gone to New York to pick up the ring that afternoon. It was the 10th of the month — back in those days we celebrated the 10th of every month to mark the anniversary of the day we met (July 10, 1983).

Engagement Ring
My engagement ring.

I knew it was coming; I’d gone with him a few days before to pick out the diamond. After being spooked by the diamond sellers on 47th Street, we’d would up at his mother’s jeweler on 57th Street. The diamond was beautiful — a one-caret solitaire, white with just a tiny “feather” imperfection. It cost him $3,000, which was a lot of money in those days — but then again, he made a lot of money back then. The setting would be a simple four prongs. It wasn’t as large as the diamonds my friends at work had been getting, but it was infinitely more beautiful, almost perfect.

On the afternoon of September 10, 1984, he got down on one knee in front of me, showed me the ring, and asked me to marry him. I said yes.

I later changed my mind.

Months ago, when I was packing up my things, I found an old journal that dated from 1991. In it, I found numerous entries that reminded me of the problems we were having, even back then. Him belittling me in front of my friends and family members — which he never stopped doing, even after we were finally married. Him putting me down, telling me that I’d never accomplish various things I set out to do. Him basically making me feel like crap — the exact feeling I shouldn’t get from a future husband.

So I didn’t marry him. For a while, I even stopped wearing the ring. The only reason I started wearing it again was because I was getting tired of creepy guys hitting on me.

And then, after 23 years together and an unfortunate sequence of events, when I thought we really were “life partners,” I married him.

Out of all the mistakes I’ve made in my life, that was, by far, the worst.

I had legally tied myself to the man I’d later refer to as my ball and chain — a man who held me back from so many things I wanted to do with my life, a man who made promises he broke, a man who made excuses rather than take action, a man who attempted to communicate his constant disapproval of my actions with sour looks instead of words.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved him. I still do — although the man I loved is long gone, dead to this world.

It frustrated me to no end that a man who had once been strong and ambitious had turned into a weak old man, afraid to communicate his true thoughts and feelings to both his mother and wife, more likely to make excuses about why he couldn’t do something than just step away from the television and do it. The frustration turned to sadness when he gave up on our relationship. It turned to pity when I saw what he’d replaced me with: a desperate old woman who sold herself online, a mommy who would lead him by the hand through our divorce proceedings, feeding him bad advice all along the way and costing him tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees.

How could I not pity him?

Although the pain of his betrayal is still sharp a year later, I do have to thank him for cutting our marriage short. Yes, I was tired of waiting for him to get his act together and start living life. But I would not have left him. I loved him too much.

By leaving me, he set me free. He put me back on track for a good and fulfilling life.

And while it’s sad that I have to move forward without the man I loved, that old man is dead and gone for good. Fortunately, there are other stronger men out there. Men who know how to have fun and make the most of life. Those are the men I’m meeting now. One of them will surely take that man’s place in my life — possibly a lot sooner than I expected.

Life Goes On

“You can’t move forward when you’re looking back.” Another friend of mine gave me that priceless piece of advice sometime within the past year or so. He was right.

So I’m moving forward — and I’m doing it at my typical fast pace. Life’s short — why wait to achieve the things you want?

The divorce proceedings were a time-consuming, costly setback, but nothing more. It was as if I took a year off from life. I’m back now and moving full speed ahead.

Thanks, honey, for setting me free and making me a stronger person.

Atychiphobia

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The fear of failure.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why some people — including someone who was once very close to me — don’t achieve the things they purportedly want to in life. I’m talking about people who have dreams or goals and don’t work toward reaching them.

As anyone who knows me or reads my blog knows, I’m not like this. I’ve been called an “overachiever” (meant as an insult, if you can believe that) and a “Renaissance woman” (which I assume wasn’t referring to my Renaissance painting full figure). I set a goal and do what’s necessary to achieve it. Sometimes I fail but, more often, I don’t. The point is, I do what it takes — or at least try to — to make things happen.

Being like this puts me at a disadvantage when trying to understand people who aren’t like this. People who claim to have dreams and goals but then do very little or even nothing to make them happen. It’s almost as if they believe that just telling others what they want to achieve is enough. They don’t follow through — and they often don’t seem to have a problem with it. Or, worse yet, they blame others for holding them back — when, in reality, the only person holding them back is themselves.

Learned Helplessness

I was talking to a friend about this yesterday and how it relates specifically to a certain person no longer in my life. This friend was also in a relationship with a man like this — a man who never managed to achieve anything he supposedly wanted to achieve. Instead, her guy relied on her to help him through life, like an emotional and financial crutch. She said the condition he suffered from was learned helplessness and suggested that my guy had the same problem.

I looked it up on Wikipedia:

Learned helplessness is the condition of a human or animal that has learned to behave helplessly, failing to respond even though there are opportunities for it to help itself by avoiding unpleasant circumstances or by gaining positive rewards. Learned helplessness theory is the view that clinical depression and related mental illnesses may result from a perceived absence of control over the outcome of a situation.

This didn’t sound right to me. The person I was trying to understand did fail to help himself when there were opportunities to do so, but the rest of the description just didn’t fit. I thought for a while longer about what was likely holding him back and I realized that it was probably a fear of failure.

Fear of Failure

Wikipedia has an entry for that, too. It’s called Atychiphobia:

Atychiphobia (from the Greek phóbos, meaning “fear” or “morbid fear” and atyches meaning “unfortunate”) is the abnormal, unwarranted, and persistent fear of failure. As with many phobias, atychiphobia often leads to a constricted lifestyle, and is particularly devastating for its effects on a person’s willingness to attempt certain activities.

A person afflicted with atychiphobia considers the possibility of failure so intense that they choose not to take the risk. Often this person will subconsciously undermine their own efforts so that they no longer have to continue to try. Because effort is proportionate to the achievement of personal goals and fulfillment, this unwillingness to try that arises from the perceived inequality between the possibilities of success and failure holds the atychiphobic back from a life of meaning and the realization of potential.

By definition, the anxiety of any particular phobia is understood to be disproportionate to reality, and the victim is typically aware that the fear is irrational, making the problem a largely subconscious one.

This describes the problem perfectly: constricted lifestyle, unwillingness to attempt certain activities, unwillingness to take risks, unwillingness to try to succeed. The sad result is indeed that the sufferer is held “back from a life of meaning and the realization of potential.”

I think a lot of people suffer from this in varying degrees. But it really depends on the person’s imagination. Someone who lacks the imagination to come up with goals worth pursuing and does not pursue goals can’t be said to suffer from atychiphobia because they simply don’t have anything to potentially fail at. But someone who does have the imagination to come up with achievable goals and doesn’t pursue them — well, what can be holding them back if it isn’t a fear of failure?

You Can Only Blame Yourself

Failure is a part of life. While no one likes to fail, there’s no reason why a fear of failure should hold someone back.

If a goal is achievable and a good plan is made to work toward that goal, why not give it a try? By weighing risks and rewards — and the potential for each — a person should be able to make the decisions necessary to move toward any achievable goal. And by measuring levels of success, failure, and risk along the way, a person should be able to determine, on a day-by-day basis, how he’s doing and whether he’s likely to succeed.

The person I’m trying to understand shared many dreams and goals with me throughout his life. I was as supportive as I could be, actually helping him with brainstorming, writing, designing, and doing web work in a few instances when he began attempts to achieve some of these goals. But in the end, he simply stopped trying, abandoning file folders of incomplete notes in favor of “unwinding” in front of a television.

Being blamed for holding him back was particularly painful for me, especially since I was working so hard to build my business so it would support both of us. I wanted badly for him to achieve the kind of self-satisfaction that I achieved throughout my life. I wanted to see him free from financial burdens so he could have the time to chase down one of his dreams and make it a reality.

Unfortunately, I would never get to see that happen.

Move Forward

Meanwhile, I’ll continue formulating goals, evaluating them, and either discarding them or chasing them down. I’m looking forward to rebooting my life in a beautiful place that I love, surrounded by friends with plenty of work to keep me busy. I’m facing the challenge of designing and building a new home that exactly meets my needs. I’m building my apiary with solid plans for producing comb honey and other bee products by next summer. I’m forging new friendships and new relationships to take me forward in my life.

I’m not afraid to fail so I’ll throw everything I have at every goal I want to achieve.

How about you? What’s holding you back?