I stopped writing.

Ground to a halt in some areas while I marshalled all I had to push forward in others. That sounds overly dramatic. To be honest, it felt dramatic, albeit in an oddly quiet and seemingly invisible way.

I was overwhelmed by grief and struggle, and then I wasn’t. Afterwards I felt bereft of purpose. More grief followed. A torrent of anger accompanied it, which is now subsiding.

On the 1st, I started re-reading ‘The Daily Stoic’, which offers a small piece of timeless wisdom each morning. Yesterday, I picked up ‘Man’s Search for Meaning’ to re-read. Today, a friend offered some thoughts on acceptance and commitment. Just now, a colleague shared a path they’ve trodden toward their personal goal.

By fortuitous accident, a sense of purpose is returning.

Purpose drives progress.