We All Must Be Here For a Reason

When I was doubled over in agony again this morning, there were two things I kept turning around in my brain:

1. God, what would I do without my husband?
2. I must still be alive for some reason.

As I laid there, playing witness to my body, I kept thinking about how I'm still here. How, despite what's happening right this second, I'm not dead. I'm going to have another day today. And I'm going to have another day because I'm supposed to have another day.

So rather than get sucked into the despair vortex, I've been chewing on that idea for a while. And here I am, exhausted, frustrated, still not feeling great, but I'm at my computer. Writing something.

I showed up.

I think if you're still here to breathe another day, it means you need to try to figure out how this world is using your life. Or, how you can use your life to contribute to the world. I'm not really sure which way it goes, although it sort of sounds the same either way.

So I'll keep continuing to show up, day after day. Even on the days where I have to spend half of that showing up on my couch, resting. Or in my closet, crying (that's my safe spot, it's a long story).

And besides, isn't pain the thing that makes artists great? Supposedly? If that's the case, man I'm going to be a prodigy.