I have been meaning to write for a very long time. Words of encouragement from a teacher in my youth had me second guessing my chosen vocation in health care even. “You should consider journalism, really!” Wouldn’t that be something to write for a living I thought. When you have a mind that never stops playing with words it did seem the obvious choice.
But instead, I chose a “sensible” career that has served me well. And my words became background whispers that have comforted me through decades, fuelling an imagination without limits. But the time has come to write now. You see, first I fell (my heart, most dramatically). Love offered, to arms open then withdrawn in fast order. Devastated. For a moment in time.
Then I fell again. On a clear winter’s evening when I didn’t see the iced treachery underfoot. My head striking the ground with cold force, setting into play a cascade of physical symptoms. As if destiny, shouting with fury into my ear “I will strike you now as you must be truly awake from this day on.” Crippling anxiety visited for a short time, then it was gone with the spring. Like a crow resting momentarily on the rail with it’s dark glare. Then jump, glide and away.
Once you experience true fear it redefines your perspective. I’m no longer scared of those things that made my heart race in the past. I’m learning to breathe deeply, live more in the moment and challenge myself. Nothing rushed, as a wandering armadillo stepping to and fro. Shield intact though, as falling is a peril for one such as I.
If this becomes a ponderous journal, so be it. A compendium of poems and my own photography would be more what I have in mind. A mid life thought journey even. It’s time to live, to revel in the music, to sing at a moment’s notice – to write and read voraciously. To explore my deep as I float through landscapes. Carried along by my words, though my mind, on foot and by motorcycle.
No land end, no borders.