Things that surprise me: the little sister really enjoying Mumford and Sons, enough so that she is listening to the CD without me to encourage it. She likes Marcus, not that anyone could see fault in that, and I sort of get to re-acquaint myself with their loveliness through her eyes and ears.
That I am on board with the mission. That I am not, one day later, trying to renegotiate terms and give myself more leeway (which essentially means more frozen yogurt and Chinese food, both of which sound a lot more delicious in concept than in actuality). Instead, I’m just trying to put my energy in other places and do more with myself and not less so that food is not a gap-filler, a boredom remedy. The only thing I can manage to do properly.
That I woke up and wrote this morning. I actually gave myself thirty minutes and I did work that will help make a transition I needed to make in the story from the past to the present. I keep picking at it now, a sentence here and there as I listen once again to the Telluride Bluegrass Festival (maybe we’ll go there for the next conference, that’d be wonderful!) and I’m finding new music that I love here – Abigail Washburn and I kind of want to download her CD. She’s fascinating and intriguing and thoughtful.
That I am feeling joyous. I am my own person and I’m separate from all of this work stress. Of course, I need to do what needs doing, but I am alive outside of that and interested in all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons, just like you’d expect an alive person to be. Not just one town, one purpose, one-track mind. I am gonna fuck around on my blue guitar which we’re finally bringing out of this uninhabited old room in my parents’ house. I don’t need to ever play for anyone and I certainly don’t need to practice when other people are in the house, but you can set up a little tuner on your phone and pretend you have some musicality. Give it the old college try.
That I still know and understand that to be a writer is to have passion for life or, perhaps, when that prospect is overwhelming or impossible to fake passion until you understand passion and it infiltrates you and becomes organic to you. Even passion for sadness. That I can do the work and that slowly, very slowly, perfectionism is weakening its needled grip on my throat.
Punch Brothers. So good.
That I still feel pretty decent about myself. There’s been this leeway I mentioned above and it’s left me a little bit higher than where I stopped but all that means is that it’s time to start again. Basics and simplistics and forgiveness and discipline and joy. Tis a gift to be simple, tis a gift to wind up where you ought to be even if you only get to touch it for a moment before you go on another adventure, another voyage off and away.
Hey, Happy Father’s Day.
Goal: 152 by July 1