I never knew my dad’s outlet until just now.
Driving into work this morning, I felt blank. Void. I didn’t have any words to say outwardly, but I needed to express myself inwardly.
“I need to write,” I thought, making a mental note to post that as my Facebook status. “That’s my outlet, my thing—writing.” Already I was feeling better.
That got me thinking about other people’s escapes. My husband’s outlet is sleeping. When things overwhelm him and he feels stuck, he sleeps. A lot. Then he wakes up, literally and figuratively, and feels better.
My best friend’s outlet is music. Loud, house music of the club persuasion. He’s this big, beefy Englishman and yet he loves a poppy electronic tune to get his day going.
My late father-in-law’s outlet was us. His new wife and child were demanding, but laughing and going out with his sons and me was the escape he needed, although he had hell to pay when he got home.
What about my father? He was a … READ THE COMPLETE POST AT SUCCESS MAGAZINE.