It’s that time of space and mind when things wind down and questions slide to the surface like the carbonation in my G&T, and the wistful melancholic in me almost, almost grins. As we look forward to the new year and the end of this one and we bind ourselves in waning memories, let’s not forget how we got where we are or, more importantly, that we are where we are.
For a while, I thought I disliked the feeling of standing on slipping sand but I think it may have become my favorite sensation. It’s at least the most familiar. I am a planner and do care about diligence, but I’d be a fool not to recognize that most of my greatest experiences have been not decisions but culminations, and that flexibility is an attribute. As I make steps in the right direction, I know that I eventually hit turning points. It is, then, a process, and I love to acknowledge that.
I’m falling forwards into everything that’s good for me, and that’s just the way I like it. I try to keep my eyes off the ball, to let the game come to me. If I’m doing things well, and doing them right, it usually does. I’ve got my toes on the long term line and my head on a short-term swivel.
We’re all moving slowly into the future and I feel like Phillipe Petit on his wire but that’s more than okay it’s thrilling. I wish I had something more concrete to give you, Universe, because sometimes I wish I had something more concrete to give me, but somehow I think this suits your dark-matter-composition better.
This age is drying out and dying out. I loathe to see it go but when I look at where it took me I can be nothing but glowed.
Laissez les bons temps rouler,