They say nothing is a coincidence and while I’m not sure this is always true, I’m pretty sure it’s true most of the time. So here’s the thing. I have rejoined a gym, the YMCA to be exact. I did this just as I am about to revisit the journals I wrote after being shot, during my search and reunion with my birth-mother, the suicide of my adoptive mother and so on.

Right near where I am writing these words now there are three stacks of journals, most of them those black and white marble composition books. While some are a bit dusty, I open them and the words are of a temperament any dust I know would be afraid to go near them. One line reads “I am walking in the space between life and death and the pressure is immense.” I never met a particle of dust, and I’ve met my fair share I can tell you in my 54 years, that would have the moxie to go anywhere near that line.

It makes sense that I would rejoin a gym now. Writing a memoir is an emotional experience in the first place, but, for me, walking back into the journals written during some difficult times can be emotionally overwhelming. Is it any wonder something in me suggested now might be a good time to get myself back into shape? I have long ago learned that the physical self is not, I repeat, not separate from the emotional and spiritual self.

I would like to write more on this and am sure I will. But I don’t have time at the moment. Why, you might ask? I have to go to the gym.


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