A lot of time has passed, much water has flown under the bridge. To quote an old cliché—the more things change, the more they remain the same. Perhaps, what that quote means is that as things (events, people, objects, etc.) rearrange around you, the YOU is revealed as it is. Not an inviolable personality but a blank space, perhaps? One that is constantly and continually written on, projected upon. And perhaps, we’d all be happier for these projections to continue unabated, as they are. Sans resistance or explanation or defense. Because space can never be colonized or conquered or altered.
All lofty, esoteric words as we grapple with the everyday angst of health and job (all hail AI) stress, family drama, political intrigue, war… And yet I know not what else to do. I am a bit of a dreamer, and I have ample time and space to do just that. Weave pretty prose, impress upon the listening audience my felicity with language, leave them seemingly wowed, feel like an imposter, exit scene feeling a bit sheepish.
In other news, grief still wells up, nearly on a daily basis. It isn’t unannounced, though. I can sense it rising, and there is a brief tussle—let it come, push it away? Of course, I don’t do the latter. It shows up, does its thing for a few minutes, leaves, leaving behind peace and quiet. So, I let it do its thing, although I still, still wonder—oh, wow, you are still here. I don’t resent your presence but yes, I am still surprised. Well, what did I expect, what did I know?
(Hope to write here more often as I somewhat retire (last words, ha?!) from the dreary worlds of social media. This space (or its earlier version) is where I began life writing, and it’s fitting that it’s still waiting for me.)
