An old friend called Wednesday evening. It had been a year to the day since we last talked, and though he was generally aware of my situation, we had lots of catching up to do.
We go back a long way, over 50 years. Our bond is strong and runs deep. Any lapse in contact, which often is considerable, never affects our ability to reconnect quickly, genuinely.
And so we talked — for 90 minutes. There was no shortage of good-natured banter. I brought him up-to-date on my life, and at one point, after I’d matter-of-factly recounted a timeline of legal matters, he made an observation.
“Well, that had to be frustrating.”
I opened my mouth to respond but stopped before saying anything. What followed must’ve been quite the pregnant pause, too, because he spoke again.
“You still there?”
I confessed that my silence was the result of trying to remember the last time I’d felt frustrated — by anything. It took me a while to realize that I couldn’t recall when that might’ve been.
Frustration hasn’t been part of my world in well over a year. Somehow, in the process of reclaiming life and self, I’ve been cleansed of toxins that were slowly killing me.
The utter absence of frustration isn’t something I’d thought about before. I couldn’t’ve predicted it, either, but now it makes perfect sense.
Wrong has been supplanted by right. In place of frustration, peace.
And that’s what’s on my mind today. Life is good.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable