Today was a good day. It is not finished but it can already be labeled and tossed into the GOOD bin. I was telling a friend recently I might be the least productive person I know, perhaps can even conceive of, if we were to measure such by available time versus accomplishment. I am immensely available yet do not accomplish.
But not today. Today I accomplished. Part of today was spent reading what I had previously written and, for perhaps the first time appreciated it as beautiful. It resonated with me, perhaps because I was working to rewrite that passage, which, by the way was humming along nicely, and I had the sense to say, Stop. This is good enough, as is. But what to do with what I am making now? Must I throw it away? When will I again make something of which my eye approves? NO, do not throw it away. It is good too. One might stand beside the other, as compliment. They need not compete. Yesterday's favorite earrings shouldn't be discarded because now there is a new necklace.
Many nights I go to bed thinking of John, what is now known as The Tortoise Races, wondering about this or that, forming light plans for the morning. And many mornings I wake, look at the clock, think, A good day to John. Coffee gets made, ass gets in seat, laptop opened, and after not too long Resolve dissolves as Inspiration fades. On these days I feel like the shoemaker chef: who would I force eat what I know to be substandard? My vegetable garden is abundant & freshly watered, the cuts of beef are all Prime, the poultry can be heard squawking about the courtyard outside the window & the spices imported from the best of locales, won't someone else come inside here and cook up this meal? Or, who is hungry anyway?
No one is coming to cook the fine meal. Truth be told, it is the pleating of a child. Are we not all burdened uniquely? Recently, I was remembering a friend who excelled at crossing off tasks on a checklist. None better, I might argue. We were coworkers for a slice of time, although I was his boss, so I provided the list and he provided the lines through the items. He liked the certainty of it: DONE & who could tell him otherwise. DONE is a nice feeling or, at least, a nice idea. Couldn't it have been done better before being labeled definitely and for eternity? Shouldn't it have been done better or, at least, attempted? Who has the right to say DONE after all? Who, and by what measure?
In the previous example I had the right. I was the arbiter of DONE or not done. My friend's checklist was formed at my behest and affirmed at my pleasure. Yes, done, very nice. Thank you. Now let me tell you what comes next. It should be mentioned that at a prior time my friend was in charge of making lists for others -- that did not go especially well & so he was delivered to me to finish lists rather than begin them. He was very relieved by the exchange, I think. The weight of steering is too heavy for some, let them tug on an oar instead.
I have not yielded the steering of my project as yet. But I have found a co-pilot, or a relief captain, whatever imperfect title might be affixed. He is appreciative when a list is returned to him with line items struck through. Some items I am uncertain if they are done or undone, Well, they are attempted but damn if I know (If you don't know, who should know, my internal dialogue) & yet he remains unfettered, undeterred, Uh huh, Let's see what else you have, This'll do. Very nice.
Today I worked about three hours straight, first thing in the early morning & I felt immersed, not merely editor looking for errors & missteps, patching & stitching here and there, or wandering about as writer, looking for the story's trail, trying not to kill the little I have made. It is a good feeling & the subtle buzz resonates with me hours later as I type up this recounting. I decided I should document these feelings, or when I have a realization, because recently I had such and I was exited to share it with a friend i was meeting for coffee later. It was an epiphany of sorts and when it came time to recall it, to share it, my mind was blank.
Sometimes my mind has its own mind & will give me not a thing I look for. A few years ago, a writer friend took great care explaining en media res to me, she even wrote it down on a slip of paper that I not forget, as if I were quite the dolt and this jumping into the middle of things was quite the new thing I needed to learn about. It was a darling thing for her to do, I am not ungrateful, and I kept the scrap of paper for a very long time, testament to a kindness & evidence that sometimes my mind operates on its own frequency & at those times will only give me what it wants to give me and not what I would have, especially if it is a thing I have put there myself.
Aside: bad poker beat story: the online poker algorithm has been killing me lately. Sometimes I play poorly & losing is what is due. Lately I have been playing very good but my bankroll does not know it or show it. The last hand I played: dealt to me: 99 in 9-handed NLHE MTT; blinds 40/80; sitting on the Button; PRE-FLOP bets: limp, limp, fold, fold, fold, limp, to me: I raise 5x to 400 (too many catchers against a pair of nines); both blinds fold, two limpers CALL. FLOP: 9 A A rainbow: Hello, Darling! Bets: check, BET 800, I only CALL, first check folds; TURN CARD: 6, no flush draw; BET 1200, I raise to 2400, BET to ALL-IN, I CALL ALL-IN; SHOW CARDS: VILLAIN: A8 off suit; HERO: 99; RIVER CARD: the case A, the especially cruel four-outer. END OF TOURNAMENT & END OF STORY.
The Universe is instructing where I should have my attention? I don't know: maybe. But it is a happy thought on a good day & maybe it will stay with me through tomorrow.
