He doesn’t want to go. I knew this but hadn’t really acknowledged it. I am sorry for it. I want to make him feel OK. He was worried about telling me. The worry turns into anxiety, too easily. We are not so different. I too want to stay still, keep within the tracks of our routinous life. Although it isn’t really, any moment our plans are upended by work. But mostly it is still. I understand. Travelling is a challenge, as is unfamiliarity and being out of control. I understand, I feel the same way. But I need to see through my promises, I won’t let people down. I have to move, to go forward and mostly I see the adventure. Nothing is still, not really. It is always shifting, tiny steps but life is moving. Better go and greet it than have it take you unawares. Put it over there, I say to him. It is weeks off. Put it in a box. And keep a door open for the possibility of it happening, of it being alright. He might not go, or he may. I must support him in whatever he chooses. With my fingers crossed that he will come, with me and see life.
I am so indecisive. Shall I do this or that today? I try to impose some order on it. There are no deadlines, no exhibitions, no buyers, no urgency to finish. And yet, I need to see ends, to see completions, if only for the satisfaction of them. I want to complete them. I am uncomfortable with drawers full of half-started projects. Else how can I know that they have worked? Is there an answer? Shall I finish them all and re-perform them? Is this a giant, waste-of-time cul-de-sac? How will I know? I cannot know. Just put one foot in front of the other till an answer comes. And if it doesn’t? Do it anyway.
Find the joy in it. Even if it is just the thread weaving in and out. Honour it. Honour the work for where it is taking you. And pay attention.