an inhalation at the cusp of the year

So much writing and thinking is done in the quiet space of this moment within these doctoral studies within this marriage and motherhood and friendships and communal living and living in general just barely not falling off the planet. I am deep into the journey now, without a clear idea of where I’m going or what I’m doing or what I’m making. But I feel as excited and wondrously alive as I imagine I might feel, helicoptered to an untouched snowy mountainside to carve my temporary signature onto the world. (It’s not a contest! Must I really compare typing in bed to heliskiing? Totally inaccurate comparison. But I’d rather be here, thinking and typing in bed, than anywhere else in the world…. Nope. Not accurate! Who am I trying to convince? I’d rather be thinking and writing in bed in a hut on a beach someplace warm, so that when I am done, I might cool my body in the ocean. Goddammit, what can I say that is true?) These words, then, are my path through the snow of confusion and good intentions, my attempt to say something of the moment of my thinking, for better or worse. They will be my selfies, my: I was here thinking this, can you believe its?! So. I will commit to this space and to speaking aloud instead of into the quiet safety of solitude. Perhaps the accumulation of words here will amount to something interesting. Perhaps not. At the very least, they will be a documentation of the year 2020.

2020: an utterly balanced number for a new decade. The roundness of the numbers is a softness, a lightness, an invitation, an offering, an inhalation…