At least I’d like to think I’ve somehow managed to move beyond both carrots and sticks, but when the sky overhead is darkening and I’m feeling what I’m feeling (in that conditioned feeling sort of way), I can’t think of anything I’d like to do more than to lay on the floor and hold myself and try (at least) to feel those chaotic feelings buried deep beneath the surface that once bubbled up to the more-than-shallow surface so regularly, with so much strength, and go back there, where it all began, in the self-flagellating past when I was sorely sure that I was a bad, bad person. But I’m not. And I won’t. Nor will I dig out any of those dusty two-tracks that most certainly will get me there faster. Even writing this feels like blasphemy, knowing what I know now. I guess both carrots and sticks merely wait in the wings until I’m ready to rely on their false sense of security. And discipline. Instead, I’ll treat myself to some deep breathing and return to the center of the void, around which all things turn, and move a little bit further away from carrots and sticks.