As we approach Thanksgiving, a time traditionally filled with family gatherings, festive meals, and expressions of gratitude, many of us find ourselves grappling with a complex mix of emotions.

Is there any better moment in a writer’s day when the metaphor elevates the entire piece, the contradictory concepts shake hands and agree to become more than their parts, when the perfect vehicle arrives to carry your words to the reader? Bring on the tension, conflict, paradox!

In the transition from a career in K12 education to the "calmer" and “more creative” world of early retirement, I stumbled upon an unsettling revelation: the stress didn’t dissipate magically; it morphed into a self-induced raging poltergeist of stress because ALL OF ME came along for the ride.

After four years of avoiding the plague like the plague, I contracted COVID...right after the start of the new year, right when it's time to get one's ducks in a row, fill in the planner(s,) and finesse everything into tip-top shape. People react differently to the virus, and in my self-imposed physical isolation, I endured an inordinate emotional isolation as well--alleviated only by binge-watching the entire 5 seasons of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel in 10 days.

Even with a diagnosis of treatment-resistant depression, however, I kept thinking that I deserved some happiness, some joy.

Just as T.S. Eliot says that April brings in a mix of “memory and desire,” Autumn triggers a flood of memories for me.

Once, I asked Dave Smith, “How do I change my voice?! It feels too immature and weak.” He replied, “Change your life; that is how you change your voice.” My life had been one heck of an adventure up to that point, but I had not reached a point where I could reflect on it as yet.