Choreographing Celebration

Amorous Ammunition, Photo by BradensEye

Situation can be on our side. Lingering in the slumps of our down-in-the-dumpiness lay a jamboree of joys. These are the manner for us ringing in the cheer of a year. Even when life-threatening turns try to dampen your tune. The idea of picking our perspective isn’t such a novel notion. However, the range of complex emotions we usually endure before basking in any sentimental summit vista is fairly insane. I’m inclined toward emphaticness that pouring enough loving energy into our activities will account for increased loyalty with things going our way. Just because your present voyage may be bruising instead of cruising in your favor is no reason to keep pouting or spouting abominable external blame. I humbly challenge that anyone is capable of choreographing celebration every day. Learning how to smack scornful overwhelm on its arse is a superb use of our humanity.

Promise me you will not spend so much time treading water and trying to keep your head above the waves that you forget, truly forget, how much you have always loved to swim. ~Tyler Knott Gregson

Lately, my months seem to have cornered the market on the occupation of struggle. It’s felt as if I inversely unpacked my prior career of expert problem-solving into a prom for pain unleashing its wrath upon myself. I let myself chew on an excess of troubling issues all at once unresolved. I’ve found myself mastering mouthfuls of concern about concern itself. The myth of a man and marriage unforeseen to me. The fable of a fabulous job valuing me highly. The saga of a sweet home filled by those I adore. My romance failing regular use. My car stalled in Los Angeles, yet the payments still draining. Adjuvant therapy for my August melanoma urged through clinical trials nowhere near the holiness of my current Hawai’i. A depletion of my paradise vibes kept vacillating. What was required was the rekindling of the ceremony of titration. Obnoxious obsessions ask for festive fixings. Evil’s nemesis is your epicness.

Little by petite piddles of minutes I reintroduced the soundtrack of a happy theme to myself. I rearranged my concept of waking to test enabling my brain to stir on its best cycle. My conscious breathing began with my eyes silently closed while masturbating to the private intimacy of whoever crossed my mind that date. I would wear bikinis for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I wanted, so be it! I placed alarm setting reminders on my phone to move my body every couple of hours if not outdoors already. Sometimes the burlesque of my laptop typing modified to a hip-hop evening groove. I lit a fragrant candle in the night to hypnotize the bleak to boring streaks that could creep up. Allowing ourselves to become saturated in shadows merely offers light the chance to dive deeper through its expanse of creativity. The more we can seek addressing advantage inside of any fluster is endlessly worth mustering.

… you learn to live again
… you give and give again
… you learn to love again
… time and time again ~
Foo Fighters, Times Like These

Often, I’d rather be tripping (as in my historic hallucinogenic mambo) than dipping into a cesspool of sadness. Most of those ecstatic days were like one long party that lasted a decade. I might be loose, heartfelt, saucy, profound, grounded, or erotically sound. Doing drugs with my friends was an artistic distortion to my glossy professionalism. But, for many years, I was to work what alcohol is to the alcoholic. Except that in my case, being the fuel plus the fire same, I was bound to combust intensely. Tweaking in terms of life support point-of-view adjustments fondness ought not be confused with the tweaking the recreational or dependently dosed community gives fame to. We’re crafting the past every moment. Much of the magic we need rests with our memoirs. You may listen to the drag of your demons or choose the method of dancing a mode of majestic meaning into everything.

Somebody somewhere is gonna be infected with euphoria if I’m dejected. Let’s dub it the balance of ebullience. Therefore, it’s as handy as the ballgown in a ballroom or the oranges are to eating in lieu of rotting on the tree to remember there’s eternal contrast in the ballet of existence. Divorcing anything or anyone can be an ugly scene. Although it doesn’t have to be so exact. On a comically milder strain, my sis and I are prone to mocking a family messages thread for its barrage of gifs to gab. That we even have a family which itches to be in contact with one another, stays connected through the thick of polarized partisan politics and the thin of economics conserving our plane travels togetherness for every single occasion imaginable is carefully sobering (the thought that is, not all of the people). We dare to poke jokes as an antique tradition of bouncing off steam. Staging a routine of applause for all of our causes to effects is vital.

May you find the power for prancing about all sorts of angles of your personal opus.

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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