I'm starting to realize the dirty, awful, universal secret that life never in fact plateaus. If it does, then it most likely means that a loved one has removed you from life support in a hospital somewhere. It's inevitable that once you think you've got it all down; got it all wired, someone, some thing will get pulled away from you. Or at least, that's been my experience so far; 37 years down the line...slow learner. In my defense, Malcolm Gladwell would say that I'm a late bloomer; as was Cezanne, Marina Abramovic, Martha Stewart and J.K. Rowling. So suck it, Universe. 37 year-old blooming flora aside, the real challenge to getting metaphorically sucker-punched in the stomach, is always how you deal with the aftermath. I've recently made the delightful discovery that these big life changes and losses don't ruffle my feathers nearly as horribly as they used to. I kind of feared that at this point, I would be full-on into a porn rabbit hole, shooting...