RS: Kudos Me

The reading from the astrologer was not to be believed. All aspects moving full steam ahead toward bliss. She said, "For the next two years, the universe says, 'YES'."

The universe had already begun encouraging over the course of the year. First 10 months post-40 have been better than any 12 month period in the first 39. Behind me now, a divorce cycle, a 7 year square in my house of health, Saturn fucking with everything except my career, and a steady echo of the universe saying not just NO but, "HELL NO".

At the end of the call, she told me she had never given a reading with so much promise and possibility. We were both speechless.

There are potential blips on the map. Every upside has a counter-point. And every opportunity requires action—I have to reverse my instinct to carpe remote control if I am to carpe diem.

First of all, this confluence of rivers majestic could release a flood of emotion. Ten years of competitive swimming notwithstanding, I'd better keep a floatation device handy, she warned. Second of all, without a navigation system, one is left to the whimsy of the current. While she promised fertile ground at any shore, I've spent many an exhausting year making the best of any port in a storm. I might want a plan.

She asked what my goals were. I was dumbstruck. Felt a little foolish that I didn't have a single one to quote. No mantra. No rally cry. No raison d'etre.

Then, it occurred to me. For the first time in my life, my goal was simply to enjoy the moment. Not compare the promise of possibility to the pain of the present. Might that be what has made this 10 months so joyous? God knows, there has been a bountiful supply of delight over the years, but I've not wallowed in it. Didn't want to get any on me. Didn't dare to hope it might last any length of time. More comfortable to languish in anguish.

Without belittling the power of Prozac or the punch of planets aligned, this staying in the moment seems a healthy dose of true self medication. Who knew I could be my own best medicine? Certainly, I can't take all the credit. As she promised last year, there was that moment something clicked in my head or my heart or my biorhythm. Perhaps the feeling good was nothing more than feeling good for the first time in a long time—health having been relentlessly hellacious. Perhaps the double fault lay in the absence of a competitive drive resurrected by tennis, just me and the ball. Perhaps not. Having been defeated humiliatingly by a pirate, a one-armed man, and two senior citizens in the short course of my brief court stint, it doesn't bode well for my ability but does not diminish my passion. Perhaps it is something I will never know. Perhaps, as they say in Texas, it is like the rain, and I should just lay back and enjoy it—especially since I can't control it.

I was speaking with someone the other day. He told me he was envious of the fact that I say flat out that I love my life. Found it refreshing. And unexpected. He wanted to be able to say it about his own life but, frustratingly, couldn't. I know the feeling all too well. Stuck feels safe. There is risk in making a move. But there is risk in staying still. Sometimes life comes barreling at you, and happiness is to be found in nothing less simple than getting the fuck out of the way. I've been rear-ended by life and suffered that whiplash with uncommon chronicity.

So, blips be damned, I'm barreling toward sustained happiness wrapped in joy. I don't have to worry about the other shoe dropping. It fell. I put it on. It fit perfectly. And to my surprise it had a Prada label. And a silver lining.