Posted between 2018 and 2019.
My father’s passing at 77 in September 2018 has led to my own rebirth in the months since. Today, at 48, as I write my first novel in tribute to my parents, I find myself thankful in many ways for what I have consolidated over this past decade – a writing career, a yoga practice, bonds with a loyal partner, a mother, a sibling, and a plan for the future after so many plot twists in my inner and outer life. I have survived the betrayals of people I thought were dear friends, yet had the courage to trust new ones. I’ve been able to laugh at the material and spiritual dishonesty that engulfs all existence, and yet not abandon my natural instinct to empathize with humanity. I’ve coped with anxiety, insomnia and low self esteem only to understand the importance of kindness in these times of fear, anger, prejudice and fragile collective mental health.
I’m a work-in-progress, but I think my Dad would be proud.