I am not the bravest of people. However, I act when I need to, and sometimes step outside my comfort zone when something excites me or, maybe more so, when desperate for change in my life. I have "fallen" many times, fallen meaning "failed." And here I'll be transparent to an extent. I've had writing jobs and projects land in the "G" file, sometimes no matter how hard I try I can't keep away from any food that could cause another heart attack and adds to my mid-section spare tire, and my finances tend to "slinky" no matter where collected -- balances up and down according to my bill paying, saving and spending, topsy--turvy and constantly in motion. Sound familiar...maybe? Still, I wake each morning, trudge downstairs four feet below ground to my writing desk, and pray, read scripture, and write in my prayer journal, ready to begin a new day. I've gotten up again. That word, "failure," seems so acidic, doesn't it? Maybe I should eliminate it entirely, replace it with..."fallen." To fail seems so absolute; to fall means that, soon, I'll be on my feet again. I'll liken it to our current season. Outside, the leaves of our beautiful crepe myrtle bushes are turning red; a sign of the fall. Soon, the thin branches will be devoid of leaves, all having "fallen" to the ground, soon the be raked by me or my daughter or blown a distance by the seasonal winds. However, come spring -- March\April -- greenery will once again sprout along the myrtle limbs, life anew. Like me, every morning, after every completed project or unsuccessful attempt. I live another day, am granted more opportunity. I'm back on my feet. Steve
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Steve Sears is a New Jersey based freelance writer
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