Indecision and Inertia

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.

First Take on Friday, January 9th

After not writing anything on this blog for almost a year, I truly hope to write every day going forward as a daily stretching exercise for my writing. Subject matter will be the issue -- what will I find to write about every day? Well, there's always something.

I just watched U.S. Senator Barbara Boxer's "interview" conducted by her grandson announcing her retirement and I was struck by one quote: "I have a thousand accomplishments." What must that feel like?

We are still in the single digits for January and Christmas has been put away. The tree and all its trimmings, our burgeoning collection of nutcrackers, our village, our santa shelf, the wreaths and garlands...all safely stowed in the basement ready for, well, later this year. It's nice to have my house back. It always feels much larger when Christmas is gone.

Today I am excited about (of all things!) polishing our piano. It's a 118-year-old concert grand, 7 and a half feet long, made of rosewood with elaborately carved legs -- absolutely beautiful, but severely neglected. It is played on a daily basis, but it is so large and so old it really needs its own maintenance schedule. I wonder if Barbara Boxer would consider polishing the piano an accomplishment? Probably not.