Some dreary November days, I feel a pang of depression passing through me. It’s akin to someone walking over my grave. I paid it due attention. I don’t like it. I feel my lips curling up with contempt. How dare it come to disturb me? I let it register itself in my body for a moment. I hate it. I will not let it take residence in me. It has to leave. I show it the door.

Some days I am the master of my mansion. There have been days when I have not. I have not always been the captain of my life. I have been adrift upon the open sea without an anchor. It’s taken me this long to see it but it IS better late than never. Now I can invest in some anchors, a compass to find the true north, a GPS to show me routes to my desired destination. It’s not too late. It’s not over till it’s over.

Getting lost is not the worse thing, the end of the world. I have learned many lessons in my years of floundering in the wilderness. For one thing, I would get lost less often if I had a map and a plan of how I was to get to point A or B. For another, letting lost was exactly the thing for me to do. There was a pot of gold waiting for me along the wrong round about. Maybe all roads do lead to Rome.

To tell the truth, I’ve never been bothered much being lost. I was comfortable and at home with it because I am lost all the time. In the same way, I am not bothered much by regrets. For sure, I moan alot like everybody else, that I wish I had done things differently. But now, here, in this moment, I know that if I could have done something else, I WOULD have. I have done the best I could in every moment of my life. I know that. I am happy with myself and my life. It doesn’t get any better than this.