Sometimes it seems like we’re always almost somewhere in our life. I’m almost done writing a book. We’re almost to Thanksgiving. It’s nearly Christmas. Before you know it, New Year’s. And wham, without realizing it I’ll turn another year older.
Right now, it’s almost the end of the week. How do we get here so fast, and so slow at the same time? 2020 has been a year of almost disaster beyond repair, and for some, it’s been a disaster beyond repair–it was almost going to be all right, and now it isn’t.
Maybe our eyes are cast to the future so much that we don’t know how to spot what’s happening here and now very well. Strike that, we don’t know how to spot what’s here and now very well. None of us. Even those of us who meditate regularly. Those of us who practice mindfulness can hardly tell how we got here so quickly. I think it’s just human nature.
During the most recent election I almost wrote a lot more than I have. In fact, writing somehow ended up on the back burner of my to do list. So, I’m stepping out here on my blog, tentatively testing the waters. Do I still have what it takes to speak my mind? Kinda, sorta, hmmmm, working on it.
All right. I think I’ll stick to what I do better (not best, maybe someday I’ll almost be best); fiction writing. I’ll be back, when I think I have something more to say about all this.
Pandemic. Tight election process. My hair is graying faster and falling out faster than at any other time in my mid-life. Thanks 2020. Can’t wait for this year to be done, but I think next year might just feel almost different than this one. I hate to say that, because it sounds cynical, but there I go casting my eyes to the future again when I’m not even paying much attention to the fact that I’m here, letting my fingers glide over the keys without stopping.
Ok. For real, now. See you in the next one.