Right now, there is clarity. The zeitgeist of January. The patina of the holidays. Today I return to regular programming, the magic of the season like a contrail in my tailwind. Today I see the point in everything, the sacred place of process. I want to pause in the middle of it, but there will be none of that. We simply cannot stop moving. Life does not allow it.
It helps to attempt stillness, to make friends with the impossibility of it. When we recognize our inability to be completely still, our unwillingness to stop breathing, we will understand that our worst fears are not true: we are not stuck, stalled, or trapped; we are never actually any of these things. We are perfectly dynamic creatures.
Lately life is a series of snapshots. A grid of burners, hot with potential. I tend each one in turn. Sometimes I turn my back at the wrong moment and something or someone gets burned. Sometimes we salvage, or we start over.
Despite my optimism, my idealism, the ripe promise of a new year, I haven’t forgotten what it feels like to see the point in nothing. We teeter over it by the sheer act of living. And so I feed myself carefully. Presence is still a slippery thing.