A morning glory morning.
A kind of wiseness to the wind. The way the shadows lay. The play of everything.
I feel my aging. My shoulders have been sore for months. A man ages in body; he ages in mind and soul if he lets the years restrict him rather than allowing them to open up possibilities. I can see that it is so easy to say "this is enough, there is nothing more." That's a trap we all get caught in. Yet, each time, I want to pull myself free of it, start fresh with no preconception about how things should be.
The trees are leafing out. We should all be leafing out, continuing to set blooms, growing. Yet it is so easy to stop growing. A little adversity, sometimes, we throw up our hands, turn, retreat. Though sometimes we do put our shoulder into it. I want to put my shoulder into it, every day.
Each sentence I write is a leap, I fall towards the period at the end of the sentence; but - starting - I don't know where I'll end. It is freedom to acknowledge that it is okay to go off-track, to run yourself into a failure you don't foresee. You can't tell yourself beforehand what perfection will look like: that would freeze you up.
Part of the challenge I face is learning to stop driving the bus. It is so easy to think you are in charge. You are not in charge. Yes, we have to accept responsibility, but we are swept up in so much more than what we can be responsible for. What fate has in store lands on us: sometimes it's star dust, sometimes it's shit.