Whatever *else* it is that’s still existentially 'blank' in my life – a Big Blank, it feels like – that will not go away when my son comes. I’ll probably be able to forget about this lack in my soul a lot, because I am … well … busy. But forgetfulness is not a solution to such a feeling.
It is remarkable that - aside from a purposeful, hopeful vision of how to contribute to the world - the simple act of telling a moving story makes me feel alive again. No veggies or weight-lifting required.
I’m not a zealot, but isn’t it ridiculous that for so long I insist on my coffee x 4 per day even though I know and feel how it is too much? How it unhinges my mind? That’s the power of addiction. And it hides and excuses itself and infects in all sorts of clandestine ways.