From the very beginning, we communicated our intended destinations.
You chose to head east, while I set off north without hesitation.
Yet we keep crossing paths, despite our carefully planned intentions.
The programmer must have left a glitch in the Earth's rotation.

My logic understands that it doesn't make sense,  
While my heart keeps offering a jumbled defense.  

I cling to frayed memories from the past,  
Replaying stories that weren't meant to last.  
I yearn for what never reflected my worth,  
Leaving me anxious and dimming my mirth.  

What I need is a box to bury my past,  
To express gratitude for the growth it has brought.  
Then I'll hurl it as far as my arms can cast,  
Feeling the weight lifted, a sense of relief at last.  
I'm ready to release the grief and enjoy life's blast.

What happened?  
When, where, and to whom?  
What caused it?  
Why did it happen under these specific circumstances?
We constantly ask and answer questions.
Before we identify strategies to prevent it from happening again,
All is done applying rigorous science.
The curiosity of being an epidemiologist is both a gift and a curse.
The desire to understand the complete picture is the driving force that propels us forward.    
And, even in retirement, the flame of curiosity, ignited by years of work as an epidemiologist, continues to burn brightly.  
Analyzing the crumbling public health doesn't require sophisticated modeling.
When overwhelmed with the dire answers and their potential consequences
I shut out the media, gather my painting supplies, and escape into the abstract zone,  
Where it's okay for things not to make sense.
It's a place where I can create the make-believe world I wish to live in.

We spend a lifetime tracing our footprints on this shore
Only to have them erased by time, no matter what beauty or allure.
The waves of time move swiftly, sweeping each moment into the ocean.
And we are all destined for the same fate, with very few exceptions.
Time must clear the canvas of life for those following behind,
Our life is a one-time gift; there is no option to PAUSE or REWIND.

Some touches feel like a gentle, steady rain,  
Washing away sorrows and nurturing us to heal.  
Others strike like a sudden gust of wind,  
Knocking you down, leaving you lost, without glancing back.  
Then there’s the enchanting snow, soft and light at first,  
Yet it quickly hardens into spirit-crushing ice.  
I find comfort under a warm, weighted blanket—  
A familiar source of solace, always there when I need it.

Practicing intentional gratitude is how I met the happiness family.
Manifested in many forms, each has a unique charm and beauty.
On days I am mindful and present, I encounter them frequently.

It is a blessing to share morning tea with a spouse who genuinely cares.
A call from my son, excited about art, writing, or life, I love hearing the insights he shares.
Drinking water from the kitchen tap, with no thought of germs, is a stark reminder of privilege.
This old picture of me with bouncy hair takes me back to the time when I was young and full of courage.
I feel elated when happiness comes knocking on my neighbor's door.
It's delightful to celebrate and spread joy, regardless of who it's meant for.
Each moment offers a new perspective that counters the pain I bear.
Instead of continually seeking happiness, I aspire to become a happiness-watcher.

No amount of rain,
A flowing river,
Or even the ocean --
can quench our thirst.
If we can't shed the armor--
We live encased in-- First.