Pleasure.

I’m learning. To get pleasure. From everything. From work, for instance.  Suddenly, work turns to pleasure. Even when I was a care-giver for my dear sweet Jeanne. On her 13-year journey into the depths of Alzheimer’s. Care-giving became a pleasure. Odd as that may seem. In the end, it became one of the most pleasurable experiences of my life. Made me happy. Fulfilled. Doing the right thing. For the right reasons. When I’m doing household chores, I get great pleasure. When I cook. Again, immense pleasure. When I walk 10 miles. Bliss. When I think about anything. Ecstasy. When I write. Joy. Even when I feel physically or mentally tired. Yes, pulsating pleasure.  Some of my dearest friends don’t believe me. They assume I’m crazy. That I’m fooling myself. Living in a fantasy realm. Perhaps that’s so. But doesn’t matter.  I still feel pleasure. Real pleasure. –Jim Broede