Saturday. Overcast, cool, the head reasonably clear, the tired feeling still with me, but the mood good after a decent night's sleep and breakfast down the way at the usual café. A standard start to a morning, an all too familiar first paragraph, but one of the better ones given the alternatives I would think. Here in Oakland.
A friend my age commented the death of Tim Russert at the age of fifty-eight (seven years our junior) caused him to make some decisions he'd been contemplating now for some time. His decision and my own noting of Russert's passing have given my ass a similar kick. From a distance these decisions don't seem all that impossible, the (new) directions taken don't seem all that radical, but boy-howdy they do seem to put you through your paces. What for god's sake is the big deal?
What's my new direction? Get the apartment in order (trivial), finish the photography projects I've been putting off (less trivial, but still trivial), take a local road trip or two around here (trivial), maybe spend that month or so living on the cheap somewhere in Hawaii (trivial)? Why would any of these things be considered anything other than normal decisions you might make on any given day? What's the big deal?
Something we've been wondering.
The fact most of them are trivial isn't the issue. The problem is I've come to a place and stopped. It isn't important what I've stopped, I've stopped. I complain about the aching-head, tired thing, and that's pretty real. Yes that stops me from doing some things I now consider too difficult. Renting a studio for a year for a particular photography project is one. But there are other “projects” that would keep me amused I can do in its place. If I were fifty-five I'd do the studio thing and see where it went. Then again, if I feel better, I may do it tomorrow. That's life. Go with it while you've got it. Hup! Hup!
No one out there has asked for your advice.
I'm talking to the me now pilgrim, in my little puddle, on my little dime.
Later. Something happened. I spent the afternoon re-arranging the bedroom, throwing out old magazines, vacuuming, re-arranging the furniture so one of the bookcases was within easy reach from the bed, shuffling books I'd read, partially read or not started. Partially read or not started is a reality that's only come to pass in these last ten years.
When I bought books over decades past I bought a bunch at a time and bought them often, reading every one. Well, the computer books and Photoshop texts that came later were always an exception. I also dusted furniture, folded sweaters and made room for them in the closets. I wrote recently I could clean the whole apartment in but three afternoons. That's not true, it may take five. Or six. This coming week. More of the bedroom starting tomorrow. And what really is in this line of boxes along the living room wall? Stuff I need? Gold bars?