An interesting week. The first group session of art therapy happened Tuesday, which ended up feeling a little anti-climatic. I didn't feel much, I didn't find much. I'm guessing it's a long game.
I've found literature again, and picked up the 2014 Booker winner The Narrow Road to the Deep North by Richard Flanagan. Reading it is all I have done so far today, which I guess is a testament.
Emotionally I have felt stunted and numb. This isn't a new way of being, I just haven't tried to paper over it with a fake, more vibrant experience. I've let it be. I'm imagining a kind of paradox in that by accepting my lack of feeling, it will ignite passion.
Overall, I'm trying to care less. Not about people, but about striving in life. I am happy with what I have, where I am. I'm only unhappy when the possibilities feel endless.