I woke up this morning and lay in bed for a while, suddenly able to somehow put another piece of the puzzle into place. I still cannot make out the design but one piece at a time is all that is required. And we are all working on the same puzzle. The box it came in used to be bright and beautiful.

I forget that working this puzzle is my job; I spend my energy foolishly on worry and fear of what others think of me. Why should I care? They have their own puzzle to put together.

This is an esoteric exercise in futility. I know that I will lose, yet I press on. If a piece of the puzzle doesn’t fit, I keep trying until it fits into its designed place. It is a puzzle with many pieces. I have gotten past the scenes and am now into the abstract design.

I have an inkling that when it is finished, I will just be given another one. The box is now faded and dented, but I am addicted to solving this puzzle, which is “puzzling.” (Insert a giggle.)

I cling to this old box with its many pieces. It is mine.

Sometimes I notice that I have grown tense while trying to fit a piece where it does not belong. My breathing feels anxious for no good reason.

I want to win this puzzle working contest with myself. But which self will then lose?

What is at stake here?

My life is always hard and sometimes unbearably sad and this puzzle is all that I have.

I work on it alone and that feels right to me. Solitude is a beautiful thing.

Ah, I fit another piece into place and it is called self-love.

What is your difficulty in solving the puzzle that we are all given?

Vicki Woodyard