A week ago, it was the fourth anniversary of my attack. I've been told it's a Russian custom to treat surviving such events like a birthday andin that vein, I went to dinner with some friends. The truth of the matter is that other things have not been going well so I wasn't really in a celebratory mood. But over the course of the meal, I was reminded that there was a reason why I'd survived such a thing. I'd lost sight of that.
Unfortunately, that revelation was tempered by the death of a friend that same weekend; one of my dance teachers, Wiley Simpson, who lost a battle with lung cancer. It seemed wrong to be celebrating breathing while a friend was having his privilege revoked. But it's time to get down to it. There's a reason I survived and I'm pretty sure I haven't accomplished everything I need to do.
Hopefully, this time next year, I can say I've made some serious progress; I've been on a plateau now for a while, and I need to move on.
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