In a little over a month, I’ll be going off on a three-week long trip.
It’ll be the longest I’ll be away from the studio since it opened—a fact that makes the length of the trip seem even longer. When it was planned more than a year ago, just the thought of the sheer amount of work involved in arranging things so I could be away that long almost made me cancel the thing altogether.
And then, the customary defiance kicked in, and I bought my ticket with an odd combination of grim resolve and childish glee.
Because the fact is: my life would be profoundly easier if I didn’t go.
But the fact also remains: I need to do this for reasons that are beyond the calculus of convenience and pragmatism. I need to surrender the claustrophobic but comfortable (because familiar) straitjacket of belief that my current commitments preclude me from doing the things I used to (and still) love doing.
I need to find, in other words, a compromise that works for all my competing and conflicting selves.
Of course, it’s turning out to be BLOODY hard. (Hah. Story of my life.)
But that’s okay, because I’m slowly (and finally) getting the hang of things being BLOODY hard. There’s a resilience that’s being fashioned here—that’s being forged and crafted daily from my particular “school of hard knocks” (as my best friend J. put it so aptly).
So yes, I don’t know how it’s all going to turn out in a couple of weeks. It’s going to be a journey of discovery in senses that go beyond the merely geographic. Somewhere in the journeying, I’ll find a place where all my selves can meet.
If not with love, at least with respect.
It’ll be a start.