I prefer to live my daily with the myth of knowing what’s ahead. Today my head (and my calendar) is filled with a sea of unknowns.
The more woke I become, the more willing to journey down the side roads, the more clear it is that we never really know.
So I’m confronted, daily, with the conflict of the alluring myth and the often conflictual pull to authenticity. I feel the urge to make premature choices, to close windows, to revise the order of the idea. But I am still using pen in a calendar that insists on pencil.
If only I knew x, y and z, then I would a, b and c. Sure. But even if did, I would never know to anticipate e, f and g. What I can do is recognize the need to cleave and tend the child deep within that needs this reassurance. Because if I don’t, I’m gonna miss the wonder of l, m and k.
Embracing mystery, relinquishing control.
Lessons begun in childhood, still unfolding.