I hate whining. I hate oh-poor-me. It hate it in me worst of all.

After a body-blow like yesterday’s, there are two things you discover. One is the love of your friends; that it has a richer, deeper level than–even in your considerable experience of it–you ever expected…a depth and grandness to be regarded with immense gratitude and awe.  The second is a re-learning of how resilient you are–a very painful lesson for a suddenly-battered soul.

I took to my bed at 9 P.M. last night. That healing place. Despite a churning brain, I fell asleep. But I fell asleep looking for answers; opening myself to their possibilities.

Looking at where I am right now–at the story, at the characters I adore, at moments in the plot that stopped my breath–is like looking down a well. No light, there. No way to see the bottom. No way to see anything but an wobbly reflection of yourself.

But here’s the thing: There is never just one answer. To anything. That’s the grace in this tough moment. Perhaps the message in all this is that there is another, more original way into my story–one that someone else hasn’t gotten to first.

For now, I’ll feel what I feel until I don’t have to feel it any longer. I will go back to the wondering place where the ideas go to play. I’ll stare at a lot of walls. I’ll go for meditative walks. I will take into my head the great ideas of my friends (thank you, B-Boy), and take into my heart the love I am offered.

In this hard lesson, I have learned this: The awe I feel at that love pushes back hurt. It makes space for the ideas to come back.

Watch me. I am about to become a No-Whining Zone.