inspiredodyssey daily prompt

Chronicles of a Couch Potato in Recovery

I can never stick to a resolution, so I never make any at the beginning of the year. Why set myself up for failure when I can just… keep things ambiguous and filled with vague hope?

I’ve been working on a book for the past twenty years. Yes, twenty. That’s two decades of “almost had it” and “just one more scene” and “where’s my snack?” And don’t even get me started on this so-called weight loss journey—if we’re being honest, it’s been less of a journey and more of a layover in a food court. I’ve gained 40 pounds in the wrong direction, and my emotional compass is still somewhere between “I should try” and “pass me the big piece of chocolate cake.”

I deeply desire to stick to my goals—but here’s the kicker: I have the discipline of a drunken sailor who just got shore leave and hasn’t seen a woman in a year. I get bored. I get overwhelmed. I spiral in silence and disappear into the vortex of chatrooms, forums, and omg Reddit, yes Reddit, that damn Reddit – and existential dread.

But I do have one incredible, titanium-strength win in my corner: I’ve been sober for five years. That’s not nothing—that’s huge. If I can do that, surely I can manage to shake my ass to a few dance workouts and open a damn Word document without melting into a shame puddle. Right?

Maybe.

We’re gonna find out.

So, here’s my baby-step blueprint—a Two-Week Plan for the Undisciplined, Unruly, and Unapologetically Human—to build new habits, sweat a little (but cutely), and stop collapsing every time life goes radio silent, (when he doesn’t call and my whole world crumbles into shame, guilt and hours of crying, how pathetic).

🔥 Two-Week “Get-It-Together-Lynn” Plan™

⭐️ Week One: The Warm-Up Week

Barely Doing the Thing is Still Doing the Thing.

🕺 MONDAY: The Great Unfurling

  • Goal: Just move. No expectations.
  • Action: One dance video. Literally one. Even if I flail. Especially if I flail.
  • Book Work: Open the doc. Scroll through it. That’s it. I don’t have to write, just reacquaint myself with it like it’s a long-lost ex I’m stalking on Instagram.
  • Mindset Move: Say this out loud: “Discipline isn’t sexy. But I am.”

🍜 TUESDAY: Meal of Queens

  • Goal: Eat one actual vegetable. Not a garnish. Not salsa. A real one.
  • Action: Cook or order something green. Bonus points if it crunches.
  • Dance: One video + freestyle my own silly routine after.
  • Book: Write one paragraph. Doesn’t have to be good. Just has to exist.

💡 WEDNESDAY: Midweek Miracle

  • Goal: Make Mr. California’s silence work for me, not against me.
  • Action: Set a 15-minute timer. Do something focused (book/dance/clean/anything) with no distractions. Then reward myself with the dumbest meme I can find.
  • Book: Write a list: “Scenes I still want to write.” No pressure. Just play.

📦 THURSDAY: Shuffle & Declutter

  • Goal: Clear the chaos just a little.
  • Action: Clean one thing. A drawer. A shelf. A pile. Blast music while I do it.
  • Dance: Put on a song that makes you feel sexy and MOVE.
  • Book: Re-read something I wrote that I like. Bask in my own brilliance.

🌙 FRIDAY: Fancy Friday

  • Goal: Romance myself.
  • Action: Dress cute, even if you’re I’m home. Light a candle. Make my coffee like it’s a $7 café drink.
  • Dance: One routine. Lip sync like I’m auditioning for The Voice.
  • Book: Write a love letter to my main character. Remind them (and me) why they matter.

💤 SATURDAY: Lazy, Not Dead

  • Goal: Gentle motion + gentle kindness.
  • Action: Stretch for 10 minutes. Then nap like a Victorian heroine.
  • Silence Prep: Make a Silent Survival List: stuff I can do when everything feels empty.
  • Book: Set a timer for 10 minutes. Brain dump whatever is in my head.

☀️ SUNDAY: Soul Reset

  • Goal: Reflect, reset, recommit.
  • Action: Take myself on a solo date (even just to the living room). Journal three things that made me smile this week.
  • Dance: Put on a slow, romantic song. Move like I’m dancing for someone I adore. (Yes, maybe him. Or maybe you.)

💥 WEEK TWO: Gentle Repetition = Real Habit

We’re not being “good”—we’re just being better than yesterday.

This week? I’m just repeating Week One. No fancy upgrades. No overachieving. Just loop it again—with slightly more confidence, slightly more consistency, and the knowledge that I didn’t crumble.

If I miss a day? I start again the next. There is no failing in this plan. There’s only showing up with my messy hair, last night’s mascara, and a desire to not live in chaos forever.

I may completely be undisciplined with procrastination in my bones, but dammit, I won’t let these big challenges break me this year.

Happy 2026!

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt
What are your biggest challenges?
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The One Change – Seeing Myself Through Softer Eyes

We all have it — the little voice that whispers, “not good enough,” “not pretty enough,” “not thin enough.”

I wish, in the deepest part of my heart, that this voice wasn’t so loud for me.

I battle with it every day, especially with a bipolar mind that loves to spiral and exaggerate things until I’m drowning in thoughts that aren’t true. But I am trying — truly trying — to live the best life I can in spite of all that noise.

Keeping that inner critic quiet only comes with action — with putting my life in motion. Getting out there. Meeting people. Spending time with friends. Going to events. Showing up for groups. Working in therapy. Taking action to push back against the thoughts that want to swallow me whole.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that rituals of self-care make the battlefield quieter.

Making my bed every morning.

Eating breakfast even when I’m not hungry.

Forcing myself to shower when my body feels heavy as stone.

These simple acts quiet that inner enemy — that inner bully — who tries to make me feel small in a world that can already be harsh and unforgiving.

But here’s the part I never say out loud:

I have lived through things that should have broken me long before now.
And yet here I am, still rebuilding, still rising, still showing up to my own life.

💔 If I Could Change Anything… It Would Be the Way I See Myself

Because how do you explain to a mind like mine — one that spirals, crashes, grieves, aches — that I am not the girl I used to be?

How do you convince yourself that you are worthy when you’ve survived:

• jail
• homelessness
• addiction
• heartbreak
• humiliation
• the ghost of Giovanni
• and the long road back to yourself?

How do you quiet that voice when your past is loud and your fears feel louder?

You do it by looking at the life you built after everything fell apart.

🔥 I Rebuilt My Life From Ashes

When my ex-husband left and the world felt like it was collapsing, I didn’t just survive — I began again.

I clawed my way out of a life that nearly destroyed me.

I found a home — my home.
I found stability.
I found dignity.
I found a routine that keeps me grounded.

I found sobriety and fought for it with everything in me. Four years is not an accident. It’s work. It’s faith. It’s choosing myself even when my brain tries to convince me I don’t deserve to be chosen.

And I found a purpose.

✝️ I Found My Faith Again

I walked into the Legion of Mary and discovered that God had not abandoned me — He was just waiting for me to come home.

I built a life where I serve others.
Where I bring Communion to the elderly and the disabled.
Where I pray with people who need comfort.
Where my presence actually means something.

That inner critic loves to pretend I am a failure.
But the truth? I am someone’s blessing every week.
I am someone’s comfort.
I am someone’s kindness showing up at their door.

🤝 I Found Love and Friendship That Feels Like Home

My friends — my circle — my people:
My soul sister, my oldest friend, my soulmate and lifelong friend… the ones who answer the late-night calls, who sit with me during spirals, who love me through the storms.
They’re not here by accident.
They’re here because I have a heart worth staying for.

🏡 And Then There Are My Parents

Two people who crossed states just to rescue me.
Two people who gave everything they had to lift me out of darkness.
Two people who still show up, every single day.

Their love is proof that I am not the worthless, unlovable thing my brain sometimes tells me I am.
Their love is evidence of my worth — and a reminder that I come from strength.

🌸 The One Thing I’m Learning to Change

Not my bipolar mind.
Not my spirals.
Not my sensitivity.
Not my softness.
Not even the messiness of loving people too deeply.

The only thing I would change…
is the way I speak to myself.

I want to look in the mirror and see the survivor, not the mistakes.
I want to see the daughter my parents are proud of, the woman my friends love, the Legionary who serves with compassion, the girl who made it out of a life that should have swallowed her.

I want to see the woman who rebuilt everything.

Because I am not the voice in my head.

I am the life I’ve created.
I am the strength I’ve shown.
I am the love I give.
I am the hope I keep reaching for.

And if I could change anything about myself, it would be to finally — finally — see myself the way the people who love me already do.

Daily writing prompt
What is one thing you would change about yourself?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

1996 – The Year I Danced with Brooklyn and Didn’t Look Back

I really lived it up when I was in high school. I rocked a pink beeper on my hip and started my first business selling fake IDs — yes, you read that right. 😂

There was this college guy I met at a party, and in true ’90s fashion, one thing led to another, and suddenly I had access to his college’s computer and a homemade laminator. Before long, I was printing driver’s licenses that could get anyone into a club. Ten bucks a pop, and business was booming. It went great until clubs started scanning IDs at the door — but by then, I’d already retired from my short-lived life of teenage crime.

Late ’90s New York wasn’t gentle. It was loud and electric — a thunderstorm of culture, danger, and dreams. I’d cut class and ride the MTA for hours, Aaliyah crooning through my Discman, Biggie’s flow shaping the beat of my walk. I knew every station like scripture: the B to the D to the F, connecting boroughs and destinies. I’d ride from Brooklyn to Harlem just to feel alive, to feel seen, to feel something.

The city was a living contradiction — bodegas glowing on every corner, incense curling from apartment windows, breakdancers spinning on cardboard outside Union Square. Girls in bamboo earrings licking Mister Softees in front of graffiti-covered stoops. The streets sang their own gospel — of hustlers and prophets, preachers and poets. I watched girls in Jordan jackets laugh in the face of fear. I learned to talk fast, walk faster, and read danger by the glint in a stranger’s eye.

And me? I was just this small girl with big dreams, trying to belong to it all.

I wore my hair straight and my jeans tight, my eyeliner thick and my hopes even thicker. Riding the trains, I imagined I was the heroine of some great unwritten story — half Hollywood, half hood, all heart. I dreamed of love so big it could stop time. I dreamed of careers, fame, escape, salvation. I dreamed of standing on a stage or behind a camera and finally being seen.

Brooklyn was my chaos and my cradle — bullets in the air, drug dealers on the corners, and my own heart beating too fast for a girl so young. I drank to bury it. I raged to survive it. I broke curfews, broke rules, broke hearts. I wore my rebellion like perfume.

At sixteen, I was one of the most popular girls in school — my grades hanging on by a thread, my nights filled with neon and noise. My friends and I were known as the “party girls,” and we earned the title. We’d drug my friend’s dad with Nyquil in his tea so he’d sleep through our 2 a.m. escapes to downtown clubs. We jumped into cars with men twice our age, chasing excitement, never thinking about danger, never thinking about tomorrow.

It was reckless. It was wild.
It was youth.

Those years were chaos wrapped in glitter, and if I could go back — I would. Not to relive the mistakes, but to reclaim the magic before the darkness crept in.

I’d dance again under those same strobe lights, laugh until sunrise, and let that fearless girl run wild one more time. But this time, I’d tell her to put down the drink before it swallows her whole. I’d tell her that the party isn’t worth losing herself for.

It was a time of my life that was the most fun, the most dangerous, and a time I felt the most alive.

I would go back in a second, just for the late night shenanigans alone.

Stay Tuned.

Daily writing prompt
Is there an age or year of your life you would re-live?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

Sobriety, My Own Place, My Own Life

I hung on to my ex-husband longer than I should have. We were both wrong for each other from the beginning. Leaving him was the best thing to ever happen to me, and something I am the proudest of.

I had been living a nightmare of my own making for most of my life. I had been drinking heavily, in and out of mental institutions, living in a room in my parents’ house with no hope of ever moving out or making anything of my life. I spent nearly a decade online, before OnlyFans was a thing, giving myself freely to men online, not having any kind of respect for myself. Did I really think I could find a husband this way? Did I really think a man could save me from all of this pain?

Then I met my husband. We went through NYC like Bonnie and Clyde, him introducing me to crack by giving me the pipe in my mouth, (I would never touch it), and me drowning more and more in alcohol. Even though we shared a special moment in my favorite church, where God told him to ask me to marry him, it was the last bit of romance that would ever go on in our toxic relationship. From emotional abuse, physical fights over money for drugs, me leaving him a bunch of times and him threatening me with suicide so I took him back, and us committing many crimes in NYC, we fled to North Carolina to start a new life.

But it didn’t end there, it just got worse. He found a new group of people to get drugs from, my alcoholism got worse, and I was so deep in sin, that only thing left for God to do was send us both to jail to stop all the madness. I spent 10 months on the floor of a jail cell, still dreaming of him and sending messages to the officers to give to him for me. I still hung on, even after I got out and became homeless, having to find shelter in a rehab. I was always building for our future, visiting him in the psych ward after jail, trying to make a life with a man that wanted nothing more than look for crack the moment he got out. He tormented me every single day in our new apartment, after I tried to do things the right way and live sober. It all crumbled. He refused medication. His addiction raged. And somehow, by grace alone, I didn’t relapse. The old crack spots were boarded up. The temptation wasn’t there. That was God.

He became incoherent. I watched him dissolve like I once had. My parents, now in North Carolina, put him on a bus back to New York. They saved my life. I owe them everything.

The last time I saw him, my parents drove us to the bus depot. I was quiet the whole ride, watching the North Carolina roads blur into memory. He looked exhausted — thin, worn, not quite tethered to this world anymore — but there was still something in his eyes, those big brown eyes I had fallen in love with in the ward. We stood outside the Greyhound station, under a gray sky that couldn’t make up its mind. He reached for me, and I melted into him, holding on like it could somehow undo the damage. And then came the final kiss — slow, trembling, soaked in goodbye. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize everything: the shape of his mouth, the scent of his skin, the sadness in his breath.

His last words to me were, “We can try and make this work, right?”

And part of me — the part still haunted by our first kiss and that candlelit church — wanted to say yes.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Even after he left, I kept in touch. I loved his mother — she made sure I had support even in jail, wrote me letters, and sent cards. She loved how much I loved her son. But it wasn’t enough.

He kept disappearing in New York, lost in the same cycles, same streets. And one day, I changed my number.

I grieved him like a death. Because I had buried so many parts of myself just to stay with him — my sobriety, my sanity, my dreams. And still, I would have stayed. That’s what heartbreak does to you. It confuses sacrifice with salvation. 

Because for all the chaos, for all the darkness — he loved me in a way no one else ever had. He made me feel beautiful when I had been discarded by so many. He gave me an adventure. He made me feel chosen.

All I ever wanted was to save him. But love is not salvation.

And sometimes, the kindest thing grace can do — is say goodbye.

I think of him still, when the nights are lonely — only because there were nights that he used to hold me when the mania or depression was just too much. He would stroke my forehead and lull me back to sleep. Mostly, it was the mornings when he kissed my forehead while I was still asleep.

If only he could have been what I hoped him to be. But you can’t change someone, you can’t even try. All you can do is pray for them, and hope God takes care of them. I pray for him to this day.

I moved on of course, and fell in love again, but it honestly hurts more than what I went through with my ex-husband. This time, this love showed me what it could be like to be loved completely and without addiction and toxicity – although I still got heartbroken in the end.

So what am I most proud of? Through all of that I’ve been through, I managed to keep my apartment, my sobriety, and most of all my piece of mind. I live my life alone and in peace, embracing my freedom and independence everytime.

To me that’s priceless.

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt
What are you most proud of in your life?
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inspiredodyssey love

Loving a Man in Chains

Tonight I see it clearly — I am the free one.
I’ve walked through my own prisons: my ex-husband’s control, my addiction, the years of craving love that hurt more than it healed. I earned this freedom drop by drop, tear by tear.

And yet my heart still reaches for a man who lives behind invisible bars. His daughter, his guilt, his fear — all real, all heavy. I can feel how small the world must feel to him, how rare the air of laughter must be when he calls me.

But I will not trade my wings for his chains.
I can love him without locking myself away.
I can ache for his peace and still choose my own.

That is what love in the light looks like — compassion without captivity.

inspiredodyssey daily prompt

Grace in Motion: The Principles That Define How I Live

There are moments in life — after heartbreak, after loss, after the quiet rebuilding — when you realize that your life is shaped not by what happens to you, but by what you choose to stand for.
I’ve learned this the slow way, through ache and grace, through faith and relapse, through learning to begin again and again.

So, what principles define how I live?

✨ Grace Is My First Language

Grace is the way I keep breathing when the ache rises.
It’s how I forgive Mr. California for the silence, and myself for waiting by the phone. I love this man with everything in me, but the complications and distance hurt me, hurt us.
Grace is how I turn pain into prayer instead of poison.

Grace doesn’t erase the past — it redeems it, thread by trembling thread.
It’s what carried me through four years of sobriety,
teaching me that healing is a thousand small surrenders,
each one whispered: “Not my will, but Yours.”

I’ve learned to meet myself where I stumble, not where I wish I was standing.
That’s where God meets me too — in the wreckage, in the real.

💗 Love, Even When It Costs

The Legion of Mary taught me that love isn’t just emotion; it’s mission.
It’s handing out rosaries when your heart is breaking.
It’s comforting the lonely when you wish someone would comfort you.
It’s praying for the one who walked away — not because you’re a saint,
but because you remember what it feels like to be lost.

I still love Mr. California.
Not as an idol, but as a soul I once touched with light.
And loving him now means releasing him gently into God’s keeping.
That, too, is service.

🕯️ Adoration Is My Anchor

The hours I spend before the Blessed Sacrament aren’t penance — they’re medicine.
When I look at that small circle of white, I remember who holds the universe.
I let His silence speak louder than the unanswered calls.

It’s where my heartbeat syncs again with heaven’s rhythm.
I whisper names — all my beloved friends across the distance and miles —
and trust that grace travels where I cannot.

Sometimes I think the monstrance holds not just Christ, but all our waiting.

🌧 Truth, Even When It Trembles

I used to think strength meant composure.
Now I know it’s confession — the willingness to say, “I’m still healing.”

Sometimes I go to Mass with tears still wet on my cheeks.
Sometimes I feel like a saint one moment and a storm the next.

But truth, even messy, is holy.
It’s what keeps me human in a world that rewards pretending.
Sobriety has taught me that honesty — especially about weakness —
isn’t failure. It’s freedom.

🌌 Beauty Is How I Worship

A candle flame, a choir voice, the sky through my new telescope —
they are all hymns in disguise.
I see God in every shimmer, in every constellation He flung across the dark.

When I find beauty, I offer it back.
Because every lovely thing is a reminder: He hasn’t given up on me.
Even the ache is beautiful when I surrender it.

🌿 Becoming Is the Only Rule

Every day I am learning to live slower, holier, truer.
I am learning that waiting doesn’t mean wasting.
That silence can be sacred, not punishment.
That loving without demand is its own vocation.

I am not who I was when he first said, “I see you, Lynn.”
But I hope I am someone who keeps seeing others that way —
through eyes washed in grace.

🌹 Benediction

If you asked me again what defines how I live,
I would say this:

I live by grace,
by love that costs,
by faith that doesn’t need proof,
by beauty that resurrects,
by truth that trembles,
and by the quiet miracle of becoming.

And when my heart aches for what was lost,
I place it back on the altar, whispering —
You can have this too, Lord. All of it. Even him.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9

Daily writing prompt
What principles define how you live?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

Most of What We Postpone Isn’t Hard — It’s Emotional

I’ve been putting off an honest conversation with Mr. California, sitting my parents down to explain why I don’t want to move to Florida, and completing Step 9 of my AA amends with my two best friends in New York City. The list goes on and on.

And then there’s the usual stuff — cleaning out drawers, doing a deep clean through all my junk, exercising, eating better. That list could stretch to the moon.

So why am I putting so much off?

I’m starting to understand my procrastination more and more these days — and the truth is, about 90% of it is emotional. Facing feelings about people, or having hard conversations, is really hard for me. I catch myself thinking, maybe they’ll just forget, and I can pretend none of it ever happened. But that’s not how life works, and I know it.

If I keep avoiding the truth with Mr. California, I’m only setting myself up to get hurt — because I keep pouring in everything and getting almost nothing back. If I don’t have an honest conversation with my parents about not wanting to go to Florida, I could end up alone here in North Carolina during another manic episode, with no one to help me this time. And as for my friends in New York — they deserve a real amends from the bottom of my heart after all I put them through.

My sponsor and I have even hit a wall. I’ve been stuck on Step 9 for months now, circling the same emotional ground, and it’s keeping me from moving forward in my recovery. I’m nearing five years sober, but lately, that “dry drunk” mentality has been creeping in — all the old thinking, none of the bottles. And truthfully, it’s been far too long since I’ve been to a meeting.

These emotional barriers that keep me from doing what I need to do feel like heavy stones I keep tripping over. But I’m done just staring at them.

I have a plan.

🌹 The Courage Plan

(for the hard, emotional conversations that matter)

1. Recognize: It’s Not Fear of Conflict — It’s Fear of Loss

I’m not afraid of the words. I’m afraid of what those words might do.
I fear losing connection, approval, belonging — or the fantasy that things could stay comfortable.
But silence is never peace; it’s just an ache waiting for a voice.

“Telling the truth may cost me peace in the moment, but silence is costing me my soul.”

2. Name the Truth I’m Trying to Protect

Every difficult conversation guards something sacred.
Ask myself:

“What truth am I honoring by saying this?”

  • With Mr. California, it’s: “I need to feel emotionally safe, not uncertain.”
  • With my parents, it’s: “I need autonomy and to honor my boundaries.”
  • With my NYC friends, it’s: “I want to repair what I broke and meet love with humility.”

“When I finally figure out why I’m speaking, my courage will find its rhythm.“

3. Plan for Peace, Not Perfection

I won’t wait for flawless phrasing. That’s fear dressed as preparation.
I have to make notes, not a script. The heart never sounds polished — it sounds real.

“I’m not here to control how they react — only to speak what’s true, with love.”

4. Choose Timing and Setting with Care

Truth deserves a safe container, my sponsor stresses this a lot.
I can’t ambush anyone mid-stress and I can’t corner myself either.
I need to find the moment that breathes — not the one that breaks.
Maybe I can send a message like “Can I share something that’s been on my heart?” to open the door gently.

But when will I actually do this? NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT. (First message will be sent at the conclusion of this blog post).

5. Practice with Compassion

I think rehearsing out loud will help greatly.
Once with all my tears, then again calmly, then again as if I were comforting my past self.
By the third time, it will feel less like breaking — and more like healing.

6. Hold Space for the Fallout

Even the gentlest truth can land clumsily, I have to be prepared for that.
I have to have my after-care ready: a walk, a prayer, a song, a friend who knows what this will cost me. (definitely texting the bestie).

“Courage shakes the body. I need to treat it like recovery, not failure.“

7. Anchor Back to Love

At their core, these conversations — the ninth-step amends, the “no” to family pressure, the truth I need to tell Mr. California — all rise from love.

“I’m doing this because I love you, and because I’m learning to love myself too.”

That single line can soften any storm.

We don’t postpone hard things — we postpone feeling things.

But when we finally face them, we reclaim power we didn’t know we’d lost.

Courage is rarely loud. Sometimes it’s a trembling voice saying,

“This is who I am now.”

And that, right there, is the beginning of peace.

Stay Tuned.

Daily writing prompt
What have you been putting off doing? Why?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

A Weekend Without Technology

I once did a No-Internet Challenge when I first made this blog. I went an entire weekend without any internet, and I suppose it’s the same thing as imagining life without a computer. I know in this day and age, with everyone working from home, not having a computer would impact on your income. I guess for the gamers it would be difficult, PC gaming is still a thing, and of course us bloggers would be lost without it.

Do you think you could go an entire day without using a computer? A whole day without apps, and all the technology? Could you imagine going outside, being with friends, writing with an actual pen and paper in a journal, reading an entire book, or just spending time with God? Could you go an entire weekend without it?

Here’s what happened when I spent an entire weekend without the internet on August 20, 2019:

The “No-Internet Challenge,” What I Did For a Weekend Without The Internet

So I did it! And what a weekend it was! I can honestly say, it was the best weekend of my life, and the best one I’ve had in a really long time. This meant no phone apps, no streaming, and an absolute zero online presence. The computers and laptops were off, and I watched a lot of TV and listened to the radio, (today is National Radio Day, by the way). I did a lot of the things we tend to neglect, like going to a class to reduce your car insurance, drawing, and coloring and reading a book you have been carrying around for a very long time.

I read a book called “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibran, on Sunday, that I have been carrying around with me for about 20 years and I never read. An ex-boyfriend of mine gave it to me and said it would change my life, and it absolutely did.

There was one thing in particular that stood out to me of what I read; it was a passage about houses:

Your house is your larger body, what do you have in these houses? And what is it you guard with fastened doors? Have you peace, remembrances, and beauty in your houses? Or have you only comfort, the stealthy thing that enters the house as a guest, and then becomes a host, and then your master? Ay, then soon it becomes a tamer with a hook and scourge which makes puppets out of your desires. Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks away grinning at the funeral. You shall be free when your days are without a care nor your nights without a want and grief – and when they girdle your life, you will find freedom when you rise above them naked and unbound.

To me, that encapsulates what the internet as a whole has done to us, and what we must free ourselves from. I have never been more free in my life, and when I wake up now, I feel nothing but joy in my heart. Through all the pain and sorrow of my younger days, I am approaching 40 without alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, gaming, Netflix, my cell phone and everything else most of the world are slaves to. This is a new era, a new day, and tomorrow will be an even better one.

And in regards to friendships, Mr. Gibran shared this:

Let your best, be for your friend. For what is your friend that you seek with hours to kill? Seek them always with hours to live. For it is theirs to fill your need, not your emptiness. For the dew of the little things that the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

Try it for yourself. Do all your work, write all your emails, put an away message on your phone, and plan to take a “vacation” from the internet. Maybe go hang out with friends, see a movie, or just do what I did and stay at home with your TV and with yourself. I can’t tell you how alive I feel after those three days.

Oh and one more thing: even though I am writing this in this blog, Mr. Gibran shared this with me, to remind me to always stay humble:

A good deed that calls itself tender names becomes the parent to a curse.

I shall remember that, Mr. Gibran.

I remember that weekend all too well – who knows, I may see if I can repeat it again.

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt
Your life without a computer: what does it look like?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

If it Were My Last Day

I don’t do enough of living my life to the fullest. Too much worry, stress, bills, relationship woes, drama, doom-scrolling — you name it.

But have you ever stopped to think: what if today was your last day on Earth?

That’s my #1 priority tomorrow.

I’ve spent far too long agonizing over Mr. California. He tries, he reaches out when he can. That’s that. Yesterday, my homeless friend reminded me of this. He said, “He may disappear, he may get quiet, but he always comes back. That’s just who he is.” My friend has so much wisdom, so much strength, and considering his situation, he’s surprisingly upbeat. He lives like every day might be his last — and there’s something holy in that.

Meanwhile, I’m a glutton for punishment. I let thoughts of Mr. California swirl around my brain like an addiction. Obsession. Codependency run amok. I need to stop. Starting tomorrow, I’m seeing this situation for what it is and living my life to the fullest.

When my ex-husband left, I was distraught. My world collapsed. It took everything in me just to change my phone number so he would finally leave me alone. When I found peace again, along came Mr. California. He showered me with love and affection like I’d never known. I fell so fast, so hard. Now things are different, and I’m holding on to the memory of that love — because I know that man is still in there, beneath all the guilt, burdens, and shame of his complicated life.

So where do I stand now? At the edge of something new. A precipice. Unfamiliar territory. A place where I finally have to deal with myself and rewrite my life’s language in terms of self-love, self-care, and living the way I’m meant to live.

I am excited about tomorrow.

No more drowning in sorrows.

If it were my last day, I wouldn’t want to spend it waiting for someone else to choose me. I’d want to live wide open.

And that’s where I’m going.

Stay tuned.

Daily writing prompt
What’s your #1 priority tomorrow?
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inspiredodyssey daily prompt

More Sleep and Definitely More Self-Care

Every day I deny myself something, more sleep, more time for myself, more love for myself. I admit I walk around with this self-hatred chip on my shoulder, one I have always had. I am not accepting of myself, and I definitely don’t love myself enough. I am working on that though, as the obsessions and the addictions I carry are slowly subsiding.

Mr. California hasn’t called me in two days. Tragic, life altering, earth-shattering to me a few months ago, but today, I am handling it in stride. I am spending more time with my best friend from NYC and just trying my best to not obsess and let my addiction get a hold of me. I am the first one to admit that I have traded my alcoholic mentality to a fixation on Mr. California: that transference is very real and prominent in my life. But as my best friend says, “if he calls, he calls, if he doesn’t, he doesn’t” – probably the wisest and simplest truth I have heard today.

I joined the NextDoor app again. Last time, I met a girl on there who was so crazy, I deleted the app and vowed not to go back, however, last night I opened it up again just to see what was new. They’ve changed the app, it looks much cleaner, and I actually found a cool Dell Wireless mouse for $5 that I am going to give my dad on Sunday. She wanted to meet at the library for the transaction, which felt kinda sketchy, but she turned out to be really nice. I wanted to ask her to coffee, but I decided against it, it felt too weird. She welcomed me to the neighborhood, and off I went with my new mouse, lol. I made a coffee date with another girl I met on there for Friday morning, so we will see how that turns out. All evidence of me trying to put myself out there, make more friends and not be so obsessed with Mr. California.

I am really sitting here worried I won’t get to talk to him for a third night in a row. I really hope this doesn’t become a habit. But I can’t let fear and doubt rule my life. My life has to go on because he’s 3,000 miles away and isn’t my boyfriend anymore – a hard truth that I really have to swallow. He loved me once, oh man, did he ever. He loved me so much, my heart used to burst with his love every night. But what I need to do more of is, I need to love myself more and stop pouring so much into him – into a dead relationship I keep trying to resurrect. He has a history of unhealthy relationships, so I should have known better. Did he get tired of me? Is he over me? Is he talking to someone else? So many spiraling questions swirling around in my head.

What I need to do is refocus. I need to enjoy tonight like I did last night. My life cannot be dependent on someone else’s actions, motives, or feelings for me. I learned that lesson with my husband, and Mr. California is teaching me, pushing me, and making me love myself and dedicate more time to myself as much as I am trying so hard to fight it.

Tonight is for me. And tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

Stay Tuned.

Daily writing prompt
What could you do more of?
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