I have enjoyed blogging at least as much as I have enjoyed Paris. Writing brings me joy. It is occurring to me, slowly but surely, that happiness isn’t something I can find, it is rather something I experience. Which explains why the harder I looked outside of myself for happiness, the more I set myself up for disappointment.
The key I think is figuring out what I love to do, which is not the same as who I love, or where I love. And recognizing that what I love may or may not change over time. And recognizing that it is ok if I don’t even know what it is I love.
One day in French class, I had an epiphany. Madame asked me my profession. I answered (in French): I was a lawyer, but now I am a writer. It just sort of came out. I wasn't planning on making any such announcement to anyone, even if perhaps deep in my heart I would like to think of myself someday as a writer. Madame questioned the word I used for writer. Are you writing for work, or for pleasure, she asked. For pleasure, I answered. Madame smiled, and instructed me: "Then you say: 'I was a lawyer, but now I write.'"
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