Can’t think of words. Did this instead.
I am looking for a gap between clouds, a piece of sky to hope with.
Pushed myself hard for deadlines over the weekend, and something I submitted for an anthology didn’t make the cut. I know that I will pass out from exhaustion by mid-week, but I remind myself:
The work I do helps people, one way or another. My piece may not have made the cut, but it was shortlisted and the editors gave me lovely, wonderful encouragement.
And the Pilot parallel pen (2.4 mm), which I bought from my friend Dana, made my usually sloppy handwriting look good.
So I’m tired. I can foresee myself getting sick. I feel a little sad about not making the cut (though I understand why). But I will keep on carrying on.
Because most days, the work I do is good enough to help people. Most days, I’m good enough.
Most days, I know the choices I’ve made over the last few months are worth it.
Thank the universe for that. ❤