How Are You

The poet David Whyte once said, "The soul would rather fail at its life than succeed at somebody else's.

Below is an image of a woman unsure of how to make her life and soul feel like her own

How Are You

How are you? the email reads. Still in my pajamas, I sit in the chair-and-a-half in the corner of the dining room, my gaze shifting back and forth from the computer screen to the four black eyes staring up at me.

Peyton is sprawled out in such a way, that if he were a person rather than a yellow lab, I would have assumed he was stoned. Peyton has removed every toy from is toy box. His gray squirrel lies under his right paw, and he looks as if he is hugging it the same way a three-year-old would hug her blanky. Winnie, fluffy and white, is a quarter of Peyton's size and is the Alfa in the mix. She sits at my feet vacillating between begging to be picked up and begging to be put back down on the floor.

I turn 48 this month and lately I have been fantasizing about leading a life very different from the one I am leading now.

"I don't want to do this anymore," I told a friend yesterday. But the truth is, I don't know how to stop. My life feels like a runaway train with no conductor. So how am I? I feel like yelling, "Not very fucking good!"

I decide not to reply to the email. Not just yet anyway. Instead, I climb down to the floor and lay with doggies for a while reminding myself to just breath.