I don’t think I’ve ever looked harder at the world than I have in the last 49 days.
I sat through many hours listening to myself think,
thoughts that never quite became words,
words that died the moment I sat at my keyboard.
I’m grateful these ones survived.
I worried that I was unexceptional so I removed myself before I could be excluded.
I felt empty, the stuffing all plucked out of me.
eventually I got tired of the numbness and self negotiation that I decided I must cast my own shadow, however small;
“you are exactly where you really want to be,” I told myself, or possibly mumbled.
“Soon enough you’ll only be ashes or bones, and a name. Perhaps not even a name. But the name a mere noise or an echo.” Marcus Aurelius
I’ve written 33 pickings in the last 49 days, and I found that this process has changed me in ways I’ve never known possible.
writing now equates in my mind with doing good in the world,
in my world,
a greener, more vibrant world,
a world that has slowed down so much, that the smallest changes are now visible,
a world in which I can connect my mind to yours, through words,
words that last longer than things.
words that last longer than me,
words that I’m yet to have written.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
today is day 222 of the year, there are 145 days remaining of 2022.
