Back to basics, back to school. I was talking to a bar patron the other night and he says, September is still my favourite month because it still feels like I’m going back to school – there is still that initial unconscious link to fresh starts. This is my favourite and simultaneously least-favourite time of the year. The anticipation of school, only to be faced with the let down of work. Job-hunting as exciting, job-getting as depressing. I need another source of income and yet I scurry from the opportunity. I am tired of working but I am eager to pay my way forward. I guess I am just bored of the retail-restaurant-customer service jumble.
I miss reading poetry, jotting down those poems that I find inspiring in my book. I am not a novel person, although I love reading them. I don’t think I would be fantastic at writing them – yet. My bubba finally came back and yet I said, “it felt like you never left at all” – except that it did, falling asleep those nights without his voice to wish me a good sleep. I felt his lack of presence strongly, like an anvil at the bottom of the ocean while I was gasping for breath up at the top. And still it was like he never left – it was 4 weeks, that is a month, that is not a short time, but it is in the scheme of a year, even. It is a short time, and a long time all at once.
He tells me that the people he met there told him to live more in the present and less in the past or future. Goals are exciting and memories are helpful but breathing in and out and looking at your feet so you know exactly where you stand at this moment, it’s like a 360° spot check all of the time.
Where am I? What do I want? Which way do I go from this point, exactly? In what do I invest myself?
I need to write more lists so I don’t forget myself at this moment. It’s almost an obsession. That’s what so much of this blog is about, truly. I try to write so I don’t forget who I was, and even as I look back on old entries it seems like sometimes I am a completely different person, like I couldn’t possibly have written what I see in front of my eyes, signed by my own name. I don’t remember writing certain things, and I remember writing in that trance, “in that moment between dusk and dawn,” where the words are just on the tops of my nerves and I move my fingers to shake them free and set them off on their journey.
I need to be getting ready for work now, but it seems a bit inconsequential today. If I could have anything right now, it is the opportunity to love what I do in the years to come. I am building that opportunity meticulously and also haphazardly, like “I think this is the step that would lead there, but this other one that just appeared might be better, so let me try that.”
Life isn’t a culmination of things, it is a constant striving upward.