“I live my life the way I want to live it.”

Ending

My grandmother taught me both fundamental values and quite trivial things. Among other things — to read books from the end. You open the last few pages and know if you should read it, if it will be an investment or a waste of time.

This secret has kept me from many disappointments — and deprived me of intrigue. I’m all for transparency.

The phrase “I Live As I Wish” is not only a silent witness to other people’s fates, pierced with self-irony and completely authentic, but also an invitation into the behind-the-scenes healing of the soul, refracted through the lens of social acceptability. It is a real journey to and in itself, a life stream — with its energy, tempo, pulsation, repetition, cycles, crossroads, breaks and pauses. With questions without answers. With answers before questions. With multidimensionality. They are notes in the margins, hastily scribbled in illegible handwriting. Yet so sincere and valuable, as if something depends on them.

Handshake

One-touch acquaintance. A handshake. Like the first scene that decides everything and in which every detail counts: what weather is outside the window, what time of year and day. Whether the patient is on time, in a hurry, waiting, or late. We hold out our hand to each other.

You have just picked up my book. I welcome you. Let’s get to know ourselves and each other.
The hand is as cold as a fish.
Or wet with excitement.
My hand is barely touched out of respect.
Or hesitantly holding out my hand.
My hand is shaken to show strength.
They shake my hand but don’t look me in the eye.
My hand is withheld from me out of shame.
They make me wait with my hand outstretched.
They shake my hand and look at the ring and ask, “Married?”
They give me my left hand with the words, “I’m post-op.”
A clear, strong and trained handshake.
My hand is shaken.
My hand is held beyond the bounds of etiquette and not released.
My hand is gently touched.
My hand is kissed with the words, “That’s how we do it, you’re a Woman.”
They squeamishly and quickly let go of my hand.
They shake my hand and say, “What well-groomed hands you have.”
They shake my hand with both hands.
They hold my hand and look directly into my eyes.
My hand is scrutinized.
My hand is ignored and winked at.
My hand as the main diagnostic tool. Therapy has just begun. With a handshake.

Support by buying me coffee

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/FragilePeople/for-lease-california