The Buddhist idea of the middle way is simple: you cannot force yourself to let go of more than you’re ready to.
Part of me is still a science fiction writer yearning for recognition. Part of me is still a displaced Tommy who just wants to go home.
I cannot deny that nature, and so I make small concessions.
This year, I decided to buy a Christmas pudding to share with my fiance. It’s certainly no surrogate for the life I lost nearly a century ago but it’s a piece of that identity that is still firmly within my reach and doesn’t cost a great deal.
I’ve paid online and I’ll go to pick it up at a Scottish shop in Southeast this coming week. Somehow, it just feels right.
Long live the middle way.