What, in the end, was I doing all that time?

In the weeks and months since my mother in law passed away, and even more intimately since the great cancer scare with The Triathlete, I’ve become more and more invested in parts of my life that I had allowed to become rather cobwebby and dusty. I neglected so much.

I wasted so much time. It eats at me.

I didn’t mean to. I thought all along that I was following the best and highest path I could; I thought that my priorities were in order and, furthermore, the right ones. I would have said that though I was not as righteous as I would like to be, I was at least making an effort. I was deceived in myself and in my choices. And like waking up in an unknown place, I found myself several months ago having inadvertently landed in a dark wood with beasts and monsters all around.

I am working hard to make it right. I am climbing out of that dark wood, with the help of a guide or two, and the way is arduous. I am ashamed of having gotten there to begin with, and progress is slow. It is small comfort that my intentions were (mostly) honest.