As
I approach each day with trepidation lately, I wonder what the future truly
holds. I can’t think far enough in advance for long-range plans or goals.
People in recovery from drugs and alcohol refer to the idiom “One day at a
time”. Each day can be chewed off in little pieces, not concerning yourself too
far into the future. If they can get through this present day, they have
succeeded. It continues on in chanting repetition like a mantra until it
becomes a new habit, or new way of life.
A simple day, only
24 hours, seems like an eternity when I’m facing sadness in the early hours or haunting
isolation late at night. Getting through that day is overwhelming at times. But
one minute, sixty seconds of time, may be doable. Every minute I can survive,
I’m closer to getting through. Moment to moment I continue on, making mental
slash marks on my prison wall. One day the marks will be too numerous to count
and seem less and less important. That is when I can combine them into hours
and days, then weeks and months. From a very humble start I will fly
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