Had a doozy of a nightmare last night. Sat in bed for almost an hour trying to sort out my feelings and untangle reality from dreamstuff. Put on a brave face at work, imbibed lots of coffee to compensate for poor sleep, and was surprisingly quite productive. Going to the gym felt good, a much-needed way to burn off any residual gunk. But as soon as I walked in my front door, the mean reds kicked in. Finally alone, I didn’t have to keep a mask on anymore, not even for myself.

So, now I’m trying to figure out, what is my Tiffany’s? What is the place that makes it all better, even for a little while? I think, in essence, it’s really the life I’m trying to build for myself, brick by brick. I know I’m making progress. But right now, it feels all too slow.

Being exquisitely human doesn’t mean putting on a happy face all the time. It is, in part, about living authentically. And that means acknowledging when something hurts.

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