It's a jungle out there.

That's my life, a Randy Neuman song. Or is it Newman? Whatever. I watched Monk Friday night, of course. Just love that delightfully neurotic guy. Often, he is just funny with a little bit of angst thrown in; I mean it can't be easy to live with obsessive-compulsive disorder, though it certainly is a lot neater than my life. But this time, it was downright tragic. Dear Monk believed for just a second that his beloved Trudy was still alive, and regressed deeply into his disease. It was a moment that was painful to watch, and made me grateful that Tony Shalub's acting ability is being recognized with an Emmy nomination. Anyway, that moment explained a lot of things about why humans go crazy, in all the myriad ways we have. It all comes down to fear of feelings. And as Randy has but it so succinctly, it really is a jungle out there, full of pitfalls and things that want to take a bite out of you, and consume you, soul and all. Somehow I thought that would change if I did, got sober and stopped being my worst enemy. It didn't. We in AA call it "life on life's terms". Whatever way I look at it, it is just rude. It doesn't work to drink at it, or to lock myself away: in a marriage; in a job; in front of the computer; even in motherhood. The beast just waits for me to go shopping. So I teach those who I am fortunate enough to work with that stuggles (also know as feelings) are not bad, just uncomfortable, the way I am uncomfortable when pushing away at the dreaded sled at the gym. And in the same way, I can build spiritual muscles, so that when the stuggles come up again (and again and again and again), I am strong enough to endure them until they (inevitably) pass. Because it seems that it is necessary to walk the gauntlet every so often, so that I can be really grateful for the times when the path is strewn with flowers. Out there, in the jungle.