Despite recently being in (and retaining a little of) a haze of grief over the past month, the future at the moment feels alight with possibility. I’ve been walking around with purpose — shoes on, a lot of the time, just horrid — staring in the mirror with less of the typical loathing or confusion, and stringing together at least a few words each day, some ink, some digital.
I know better than to trust this feeling. The sensation that I’m on the cusp of something great is one that pops up from time to time. It doesn’t correspond to anything I can identify; it arrives unprompted, compels me to heroically pose and gaze at the lightless void that constitutes my view of the future, and departs just as abruptly. No material change, no personal improvement, just a brief flash of illusory optimism.
Part of me wants to say that this time is different. “After all,” it says, “we just went through an unforeseen and previously unencountered trauma. We’re trying to do things differently now! Feeling possibility is only natural.” Maybe it’s right. Changes to methodology aren’t something I make frequently, and though it hasn’t been long, the results seem positive so far.
So far. Therein lies the rub. A week of effort is not habit, renewed energy is not a completed task, and a feeling is just a feeling. Letting myself believe that this is a true upward trajectory risks disappointment—be it a normal one in the face of failure, or an even more painful one if further unforeseen tragedies occur.
Plus, there’s always the risk associated with talking about projects. For whatever reason, enthusiastically discussing plans nails the same pleasure centers as actually completing the plans. Talking too much, too soon, has killed so much of my work and goals that it’s actively uncomfortable to re-examine.
It therefore remains best, as ever, to not fall into the trap. I’ll keep the energy as long as I can, of course, the daily walks and word-stringing and planning will continue. Consistency is important for maybe creating something real. But until something different (in a good way) happens, for real, remaining braced for the worst seems prudent if not essential.
And seriously, who wears their shoes in the house?