January...a month 'pregnant' with possibilities, an 'expectant' new year...Where best to spend my time?
Indecision has been the boon of my existence in recent weeks, months...years? Since turning 50, I have been frantically warming up for something, but I am not at all sure what it is. I puzzle over this every day, occasionally working myself up to a mild level of enthusiasm for this plan or that.
It feels like I am waiting by myself at the starting line of a one-woman marathon. The gun signaling the beginning of the race sounded hours ago in the distance, almost beyond my consciousness. I was not aware of it until moments later, when I recognized its meaning. I am having a delayed reaction, but I am still running in place for all of the reasons a runner might run in place: to keep my muscles warm and supple, to psyche myself up, to visualize a course of action leading to victory. This constant state of agitation and anticipation has resulted, inevitably, in frustration, because I am inert. I am not a marathon runner. I more closely resemble a giant anvil on a pier that is used to hoist ships from water. There is really nothing more inert than that.
Maybe I am in the doldrums of life, adrift at sea without power and without wind. Unwilling to propel myself toward a hospitable port somewhere by paddling, I float along, hoping not to be overtaken by pirates or have my vessel toppled in a storm. The current, though slow, will carry me somewhere, and I will be on a new adventure.
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