I have begun the process of elimination. Cutting away the old dreams dangling, the habits of "one day I may" assumptions. Have been for a while, just recently awoke to the completion of the adjustment. Perhaps hearing Henry Rollins impassioned need to travel to difficult places and his urgent desire for approval and welcome.
The old vague aspirations, to travel, to parachute, to go off adventuring, feel thin and pointless to me now. Wherever I go, there I am anyway. The thought of diarrhea in a strange country ruins the glow for me. Standing in the Hagia Sophia would mean steeping in the painful conflicts of two religions, neither of which comfort me, both of which consider me less valuable because I am female. Working on a trauma patient gives me plenty of adrenaline rush, while reinforcing the consequences of a thrill gone wrong.
I can't imagine throwing pots on a wheel again, without inflaming my back for little reason. I have too little need for approval to ever step on stage again. I worry that this will constrict my life, shrink and sadden me. I would like to think it forces me to turn what energy I have into a gushing stream, not an evaporating delta. The metaphor feels wrong, in some way.
Lost, groundless, this is new land. Too soon to start wrapping it all up, too late to be inventing it all, but the insistence on living well, consciously, lovingly forces me to look, to decide. I dither and delay.
D plays his Martin. Moby eats his food. I drink my tea.
12 comments:
Sounds like a push towards simplification. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose.
Perhaps another way to look at it is as a second loss of innocence.
I don't have the 'one day I may' syndrome, but rather, 'I wish my wife would let me...'.
(o)
I had great changes forced on me by circumstances. I found myself thinking '....when life gets back to normal...'. Then I realised, 'Heck, this IS normal!'
Let the water flow through the stream and the delta, knowing that it will, somehow, find its own level. I wish you peace, and the avoidance of diarrhoea in a foreign country at all costs!
Chin up, old bean. Could be worse. (You could be me!)
Leave "evaporating delta" be. It's good enough for someone to accuse you of having cribbed it from Whitman. Perhaps you did.
Not sure which is the harder: cutting out the dreamy targets or having to give up a dreamy target that became reality. Under the shadow of the Matterhorn and aided by my granddaughter I had to face the fact I'd never ski again. Because ski-ing is an intense experience, giving it up was like cutting away an instinct - to read such-and-such an author, to gravitate towards pinot noir. The key is to have a fall-back. So here I am blogging.
perhaps we just know what we want with more clarity as we get older, and can dispense with the unnecessary...
Zhoen--what a pleasure to have found you (via MadPriest)! I love poetry and your writing has a lovely, poetic sensibility. I could waste my time being jealous, but I think I'll just choose to be a regular reader...
Pax,
Doxy
(0) from me and the hound and the Alchemist.
phil,
Ah, well, now we're talking Whitman.
relatively,
thanks. I think.
can,
could be worse. could be raining.
barrett,
yup, definitely a whitman theme going on. No, I have never even read Leaves of Grass.
doxy,
funny thing is, I have so little appreciation of poetry, ask dale, he's tried so hard to get me to enjoy it.
h,
Hugs back, as always.
Oh but there's still a lot out there, not involving a parachute.
For me, it is separating what I think I should desire, the path I thnk I ought to walk, from what actually speaks to me and calls me.Often at purely gut level.
It can still takes years for me to distinguish between the two
Quite well said...and understood here....and appreciated on many levels. I could have had a similiar conversation with myself..only over coffee....Yes, I could have written something akin to your post and I really do like the way you write
Thank you much
Linda
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