I found my funny again. I had lost it for a while. That’s a lie; it was longer than a while, for over six months, I stumbled through life not feeling funny at all. Extracting words from my psyche was painful, even more so because the resulting text was mediocre. Of course I still did absurd things like creating garbage tidal waves next to my house and calling complete strangers to say that I was debating the merits of raising amphibians in my basement, which are in essence amusing at their core. However while writing about those types of events, I didn’t feel funny.

It’s ironic because this particular change of season, from summer to fall usually brings about a kind of slow melancholy in me. By contrast, this year I find myself energized, no longer held down by all of the terrible events and circumstances which bound me for so long. Instead I sit by my kitchen window, smiling at the dying fall light, feeling thankful for all that I have, and finding life endlessly amusing. It’s taken a long time, but I have returned to myself.

It’s funny, in order to come back to myself, I had to let go of who I had hoped I’d be, and my deep sense of loss over who I was instead. In that slow forgiveness and acceptance of my new situation, my mental load lightened and I felt that sense of quirky mischief and joy of being in the world returning. At my core, these are the two qualities that define both my writing and my experience of life.

This wasn’t a path I walked alone; each person to whom I painfully revealed my difficulties helped me. This afternoon, when I bow my head and reflect on all that I’m thankful for it’s these people, who stood alongside me, who cared in their way, that I will remember in my thoughts of silent gratitude.

This post is dedicated to all those who find themselves alone and wandering along a dark and jagged patch of life without shoes. Keep going, there is light and a warm meal waiting for you.