a sunken track.

What ever does one do when one finds oneself stuck in a rut? One wallows in the mud like a pig for a while until one is quite finished feeling sorry for oneself. Then, carefully, one small step at a time, one finds one's footing and climbs on out.

It occasionally happens that two poor souls find themselves trapped in the same deep rut. This usually pertains to two poor married souls and of the types of ruts one can find oneself in, this is by far the more dangerous of the two.

Why so dangerous? You see, while a great deal of time might be wasted wallowing at what once was by oneself, two poor married souls spend twice the time blaming the other for getting them into the mess in the first place, which only digs the rut deeper and the walls steeper.

What ever can they do when stuck in a rut as two? Firstly, both must stop digging and abandon their shovels all together. Secondly, both must stop writhing and fuming and pacing about lest the unstable earth beneath them give way like quicksand. Thirdly, and most importantly, both must kiss each other with their eyes closed. (Sometimes, upon opening their eyes after this last step, if the kiss was especially tender and passionate, both might find themselves out of the rut and far down the road, though this is quite rare.) Next, they must construct together a series of hand- and foot-holds that both can use, separately, on their own and at their own pace to, carefully, one small step at a time, find one's footing and climb on out.

Once the first has crossed the threshold (pay close attention, for this is of utmost importance), one must not let one's excitement carry them too far from the edge of the rut, lest the second lose their way and turn up on the contrary - should this arise the two will undoubtedly part ways for all eternity. Instead, the first must stay near enough to the trodden track to hear the other should they need assistance, and should often peak one's head over the edge to offer words of encouragement.

Upon safe arrival of both parties to the crest, both must kiss each other once again (though this time their eyes may be either open or closed with no adverse effect on the outcome, provided they are far enough from the edge of the opening, of course).

Occasionally, when a rut is especially deep or steep or dark or otherwise precarious, both must construct their own separate paths and ascend independently. In this instance, the aforementioned step pertaining to patience is all the more crucial to the perseverance of both (though the resulting kiss in these rare cases is so resoundingly passionate that it inspires the greatest of composers and poets and scribes to write works so devastatingly moving as to leave everyone wracked with tears and forever changed).

I suppose a wiser way would be to watch carefully where one walks in the first place, though I must admit to never having followed my own advice. If you must know, I'm still down here wallowing in this dank dark place, but surely someday soon enough I'll be quite finished feeling sorry for ourselves and will mindfully make my own way out.

the old woman and the sea.

Sometimes life gets really, really hard. You wait and you wait and you wait for life to give you a break, but it just seems to get harder. You feel like you are swimming across an ocean with no land anywhere in sight. Most days it's all you can do to keep your head above water. There are days when you swim as fast as you can in one direction with purpose; there are days when you come to terms with the fact that you have no idea if there is even anything waiting for you in any direction and so you float on your back and stare at the sky.

I've been lost at sea for a long time. At first I was in denial. I pretended that I knew where I was swimming to, that I didn't need anyone to help guide me, and so I kept staring straight ahead for so long that by the time I let go of my pride and looked back, the shore behind me had disappeared entirely.

I was embarrassed. I still am. But it's time to move on. It's time to open my eyes and realize I am not alone. There are others swimming in the same ocean. Sometimes I can see them; sometimes they are too far away or too far under the surface or the ocean is too agitated for me to make out their tiny shapes, but they are there and I can feel their presence. Sometimes just knowing they are somewhere out there is enough to keep me afloat.

I tried charting the stars and mapping the currents and listening to the tides; yet here I am, still lost at sea. I'm done trying to think my way out. I'm letting go. I'm here, I'm not going to stop swimming, but I'm not going to lose sleep over where I may or may not be going. You've got to start somewhere. One stroke at a time. May the waves take me where I need to be.