Yesterday I felt really discouraged and downright sad regarding my aspiration of becoming a published writer. It was so bad, that when I returned home from the evil day job, I cried. Not a soft, quiet cry. An ugly, red-nose, can’t breathe sobfest. I’m not a patient person by nature. I’ve worked hard to make my dreams come true and they are so close, yet seem so far away. They are also (at this point in time) not within my control, which is hard for an OCD, type A personality. I went to bed feeling dejected and lost.
I woke up this morning dreading work, knowing it will be “hell day.” The day job is a necessary evil if I want to subsist on more than “beans and taters.” As I staggered to the coffeemaker, the hubby followed me, having spent a restless night in the recliner with his chronic back pain. And then I remembered this morning was the lunar eclipse. Together we stumbled outside, coffee in hand and three cats swarming underfoot. Witnessing the blood moon lunar eclipse with my Devoted Hubby holding my hand grounded me. His support has always been there, even when he felt my writing was “just a hobby.” When I gaze up at the night sky, I am always amazed. I never tire of looking into the heavens and seeing the possibilities. I grew up in the age of space exploration, after all. This morning I realized my dreams are close, they aren’t dead. They’re merely eclipsed in darkness for a short while, but the light will return. And with it, the promises of my happily ever after.