I'm not. Three weeks ago, I set a goal for myself to release a new essay each week which would lead toward my next book. I finished one so far. But that's OK. I had some distractions and obstacles, but I'm picking up the baton and moving forward. How about you?

In our moment of technological speed, moral outrage, posturing, and constant noise dominate public life. Writing does something different. It forces the mind to slow down long enough for thought to take shape. “But,” you might protest, “it’s easier to hold a sign with a slogan, fire off a trash post on X, or just tune out and wait for March Madness.” Fair enough. But we are writers. And historically, hasn’t it been writers who changed minds, clarified ideas, and helped societies think their way through upheaval rather than merely react to it? So here’s the question for the Guild:What does writing allow us to do in times of turmoil that other forms of expression do not? Thoughtful reflection welcome. Disagreement welcome. The aim is clarity, not noise.

I just posted essay 2 in my 10-part series. I stayed late in the office today because I knew that the moment I get home it’ll be chaotic and another day will tick by with no essay posted. It’s OK and I kept saying to myself, “Done is better than perfect, done is better than perfect…” In this essay, I talk about how I came to understand the importance of self-love. https://open.substack.com/pub/findingfuscata/p/did-we-misunderstand-the-commandment?r=302d9z&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=post-publish

Here is Chapter 2: I didn't mean to fall in love. Not with anyone. Not after the kind of breakup that left me stranded halfway across the world from Tokyo to Boulder, Colorado, with nothing but a cat and a suitcase full of regret. The master plan—not that I ever planned anything—was never to fall in love. Not again. Not ever. And most certainly not with Lydia. Lydia, a blind cat who resembled a dirty dishrag. Her owner told me that her cat was an albino who had trouble seeing. And, I later discovered, was also hearing impaired and arthritic. But I've always known that life has its own wry little sense of humor. I had just moved back to the United States after a long stint in Japan, a move that had been precipitated by a boyfriend, of course. Because the heart, as we know, has its own logic, its indecipherable algorithm. Just like cats. The timing couldn’t have been worse. There was no real rhyme or reason as to why I had to leave within a month other than that said boyfriend was pining to return to Boulder. Besides, he feared he was running out of options in Japan—after only a year—and I had to accommodate him. I tossed everything I’d built in Japan like trash, nothing more than a torn, scribbled-on crossword page from yesterday's paper. Our relationship was equally flimsy. The only thing we had in common was that we had both suffered from severe bouts of depression. Not exactly the stuff of romance. Or a foundation for building a life together. He wasn’t a bad person. Not really. He wasn’t a drug addict or a serial killer. He had striking features, a soft, gentle demeanor, and, as someone trained in alternative medicine, spoke the language of healing. My cat Saki tried to point out the incompatibility. My beloved Saki, my black cat with a kink in her tail whom I adopted from an American couple when she was a couple of months old. She took a huge dump on a t-shirt that my new beau had happened to leave behind. She had never done that. She was not one of those cats that misread litter box boundaries. It was a pointed message for me.

Here is the rest of the outline, as I conceive of it now. Although I wrote down the theme, I'm not quite convinced that that is what it is. I have a feeling that I need to work on the story more to figure it out. Chapter 4 — Learning Lydia Chapter Summary: As the narrator spends time with Lydia in Boulder, she learns how Lydia navigates the world without sight and how living with her requires patience, attention, and adaptation. Through shared routines, the narrator begins to change her pace and way of seeing. Lesson Learned: Love is learned through attention and adjustment, not control. Chapter 5 — Letting Go (Without Letting Go) Chapter Summary: Circumstances shift, and Lydia is no longer fully in the narrator’s care. The narrator continues visiting Lydia through multiple moves, aware that their bond exists without ownership or security. Before leaving Boulder, she says a final goodbye and speaks a private prayer. Lesson Learned: Some bonds matter deeply even when we cannot keep or protect them. Chapter 6 — The Miracle I Didn’t Name Chapter Summary: Years later, the narrator receives an unexpected message offering her the chance to adopt Lydia. After logistical complications and a tense journey, Lydia arrives in California and immediately recognizes the narrator, as if no time has passed. Lesson Learned: What returns to us does not come back as a gift alone—it comes with responsibility. Chapter 7 — The Goodbye I Couldn’t Stop Chapter Summary: Lydia’s health begins to fail, and love shifts into vigilant caretaking. The narrator confronts the limits of effort, hope, and intervention as Lydia’s body declines despite devotion and care. Lesson Learned: Love cannot prevent loss; it can only accompany it. Chapter 8 — Once, and Only Once Chapter Summary: After Lydia’s death, the narrator reckons with grief and absence. In an attempt to recreate what was lost, she adopts another cat, Nebula, only to realize that love cannot be duplicated. Over time, she learns to love again in a different way, without erasing what came before.