The Winter of My Discontent?

In the seasons of my writing career, this appears to be the winter. I don’t feel like writing.

Seeing patients? Yes. Hanging out with the kids? Yes please! Singing? Very much so.

So why don’t I want to write? I could. There are innumerable topics I could write about.

But I don’t want to, much like my 5 year-old stamping her feet.

And I don’t want to because, on some level at least, I am starting to feel that it’s all been written.

Every book I open, old or new, is merely a different perspective on what is. And ultimately, it keeps boiling down to the same thing: accept where you are and get on with it.

There’s no umming and ahhing about changing a situation; there’s no disgruntled face at what has, or what is, happening. There is simply acceptance.

It’s the same message that keeps coming back to me.

Acceptance of what is, whether it’s a person, a situation, a place, or a thing.

In a talk by BK Shivani, she talked about how we are so ready to say “love you!” at the end of a call to our loved ones. She reasons that perhaps what we should be saying is “I accept you.”

It made me think of all the things I accept:

I accept that I live in Kenya.

I accept I’m not a trapeze artist.

I accept that I eat a lot of sandwiches.

I accept that it’s raining more.

And what if I then did the opposite, and changed them to “I love”?

I love that I live in Kenya.

I love I’m not a trapeze artist.

I love that I eat a lot of sandwiches.

I love that it’s raining more.

Because, since everything we accept is a choice, we can choose to love it too.

I accept that my harmonium is second-hand.

I love that my harmonium is second-hand.

In fact, it is very strongly the latter.

I love that my harmonium is second-hand, because of who owned it before me. Yes, it's always about the "why".

And I can do that with every single thing that I accept in my life.

And suddenly, with one fell swoop, I am really, really, really, loving my life.