For usurping Julie's freedom.

I’m thinking. That my depressed and alcoholic friend. Julie. Finds satisfaction. In living in misery and unhappiness. Otherwise, she’d change her ways. Julie loves. Going to the wine. For momentary relief. Knowing full well. That she could get extended, long-term relief. By not drinking any more. But she can’t rally the stamina and commitment to quit. It’s too high a price to pay. She’d rather put up with the miserable life she’s living. If only for momentary relief. Another sign. That Julie is mentally ill. She can’t think rationally any more. I’d have her forced into treatment. But I don’t have the final say. Julie is free. To do as she pleases. Until she harms others. She’s even free to wallow in misery. And to kill herself.  Slowly. But surely.  Am I wrong? For wanting to  usurp Julie’s freedom.---Jim Broede

Focusing. On living the moment.

Don’t know what it means. To deal with one’s mortality. It’s more a case. Of learning how to deal with life. Not only my  own life. But the life teeming all around me. Meanwhile, I’d just as soon not think about death. Particularly, my own death. Better to be preoccupied. With living. And just let death happen. Preferably in a sudden way. Rather than lingering. Much better to think of life. As eternal. In a spiritual realm. I see so many others. My compatriots. Brooding over the concept of death. Rather than focusing. On living the moment. --Jim Broede

I am not a total recluse. Ever.

Sometimes I like to stay put. To not travel. To avoid social engagements. To stay home. Yes, I’m fully capable of acting as a recluse. Without feeling guilty. Because I know it’s good for me. Instead, I read books. And write about life. And go on long walks. All by myself. Might live that way for months. Or for the better part of a year. I suppose it’s my loner nature. Coming to the surface. Of course, I still maintain daily contact. On Skype. With my Italian amore. A sign. That there are some essential things I can’t give up.  Therefore, I am not a total recluse.  Ever. --Jim Broede

Ready for another wonderful day.

When feeling tired. I rarely complain. Because it’s natural to feel tired. Especially at the end of a day. A signal. To get blessed rest. Falling asleep. And having sweet dreams. Can be the most soothing part of my day.  A time to relax. To smile. To dwell on one’s peace of mind. I have all sorts of sleep patterns. Sometimes, I catch cat naps. And wake with rambunctious ideas. Reflections on the goodness of life. Other times, I sleep contentedly. For 10 hours. To enjoy waking. Feeling rejuvenated. And in love. Ready for another wonderful day. --Jim Broede

Making the impossible possible.

Hypnotized. Mesmerized. That's how I want to feel. When I go walking. Imagining. That I'm strolling. Nonchalantly. On a drifting cloud. That's the next best thing. To walking on water. Of course, I've done it. On frozen water. The icy surface of Forest Lake. Yes, I know. That's cheating. But still. There must be a way to make the impossible possible. Yes, mind over matter. Achieved. In a blissful state of being. When one arrives. In the spiritual realm. --Jim Broede

To not be bored with life.

So much has happened to me. In life. That I can't remember it all. I suppose most people have a similar lapse of memory.  Only so much is memorable. The rest forgotten. Almost as if it's never been lived. As if I was merely going through the motions of living. Didn't give it much thought. So very much of life is elusive.  Maybe too routine. Too boring. To take note. But every day. I take time out. To remind me. That I am alive and conscious. That makes me aware. That I exist. And it's a great opportunity. To not be bored with life. --Jim Broede

She can't be forced into happiness.

I’m trying to feel good. As an old coot.  Partly, by not focusing on my age. I’m assuming. That I can make of life. Whatever I want to make of it. In sort of a pretend world. That feels real. I suspect that most of us do that.  We create our own realities.  To some significant degree. I observe friends. Around me. One in particular. Lives in an imaginary world. That she doesn’t remember much of. That is, when she’s completely sober. Which happens on rare occasion. Could be. It’s just as well that she can’t recall yesterday. Or last week. Or maybe even last year. Because when she’s soused, she’s soused.  The sad thing about it. She knows she’s unhappy. But doesn’t seem able to do anything about it. She shuns psychotherapy. I’d volunteer to take her by the hand. And lead her to rehab. Other friends offer help, too.  But she hasn’t yet learned to accept help. From anyone. I’m told by so-called experts. That she has to ‘bottom out’ first and foremost. To become a willing participant. In the quest for recovery and a reasonably happy life. Such a shame, isn’t it? That she can't be forced into happiness. --Jim Broede