The year winds on, the weeks flip by, the book of weeks fills up.
You remember back to January? I set my word for the year, after much deliberation, to Focus.
It took some fathoming, and even then I wasn’t positive I’d picked the right word… or the right word had picked me.
But as I let it settle we found our connection with each other. And time and again I’ve been surprised at what has become my focus of attention.
As the year bumps along my focus shifts.
More than a few times I’ve felt myself careering down a route I didn’t plan.
(with practice this gets easier: stop trying to steer at high speed – see where you land up – it’s all part of the wild ride of life)
Racing headlong toward something I’ve avoided in the past.
For fear. For fear of…? Fear of what’s behind it all?
This sentence appeared in my world – loud and timely enough for it to become what this page is based around. Loud, Bold Lettering – which some weeks gets covered up – not this week. The organising committee in my mind had other plans, and only allowed the doodles to skirt the edges. To enhance not to obliterate. Ok….I thought….Ok. You trying to tell me something here?
Back in the real world, this particular week the final project was almost due part of an online course I’ve been taking. I was in a state of suspended procrastinatory blur: the deadline was 5 days off when I emailed the course leader to confess I was beaten, I couldn’t pull it together in time. I had to quit.
This left me with just two problems.
Problem #1 – quitting wasn’t followed by the enormous wave of relief I’d expected. Instead a slightly sorrowful shame that nearly a year’s worth of work hadn’t reached it’s completion, it had just damply fizzled out.
Problem #2 – no amount of saying ‘I just don’t know what to do’ would quieten these big bold words I was mindlessly doodling around in this weeks page. I did know what to do, I also knew I didn’t want to do it. But I did: It needed doing. It was going to be difficult, emotional, raw. I was a bit scared.
Ok. I’ll do it. This idea had been drifting around in the margins for some months now. Trying to creep into focus I nudged it away. Repeatedly. But ideas can be stubborn and this one finally flew out before I could stop it, unraveling in front of me.
I had 3 days to go and I faced my demons, I did what I know needed doing: I sat and wrote my story.
My story is my art and my art is my story. As is this book, I’m the sum of my days. Until I face up and focus for real I won’t ever see who I am behind the mirrors.
As time settles the rawness in my mind, I’ll bring bits of it over here to show you. X