I guess that’s the way things go. We exist for a moment in a space. At first that space is uncomfortable but we soon infiltrate our place, fluff the cushions just the way we like, organize the desk just so, revel in the dent in the floor and the mystery of how it came to be.
We move again.
It begins again.
Transitory. It’s a term I’ve been all too familiar with for a while and something that I’ve become uncomfortably comfortable with.
I don’t want that.
As I reflect on my writing experience over the years I have discovered that transitory is not the way. With any project, one must be in it for the long haul. Be determined. Be the good kind of stubborn. Make the time. Arrange the transitory experience around your goals. Stick around.
Easier said than done.
I don’t know what I’m trying to say. In fact, I’m just not sure what’s going on anymore. It feels like my entire life has been uprooted and tossed in a corner. I have no home to go to. I have no job to go to. There is nothing at my next goal except friends and family and a space that is a part of me that has been missing for two years. I’m not trying to be emotional here. I’m just stating the facts. Perhaps this isn’t even the place where I should be doing that, but in order for me to work through this I believe I must express it. I guess it’s one of those existential questions we all ask ourselves: Where am I and where am I going?
There is no answer. There is only the experience.
Two weeks I traveled from a place in the Northern Hemisphere that was 35 degrees C and humid, to 10,000 some odd kilometers south to another place in winter that’s holding around 15 degrees C. Tomorrow I will be traveling to the other side of the globe back to my native land. I’m not sure what to expect when I get there. It’ll just be more transitory-ness for the foreseeable future.
Man, am I negative right now and you, my dear audience, shouldn’t have to be bombarded by this madness.
Ahem. Clear throat. Adjust posture. Crack back.
In this transitory space I have found a centering point in my work. What is most interesting is not so much that I have completed much in the way of new writing, but rather, this new experience in a new, foreign land has given me a new perspective to approach my story from. It has been valuable time to work through some of the developmental aspects I’ve been ignoring lately. I don’t want to put too much focus there because I believe it can be dangerous to put too much thought in to an incomplete manuscript. Constantly changing the beginning without having an end, or the journey to the end, can turn the project from something with a clear idea of completion to something with no end. Thanks, Mabel, for pointing that out in a comment.
So yeah, I’ve been quiet on the page but a screaming delirium has been erupting in my mind. Thanks for enduring my tirade. The work continues…