Moments and Layers

Letting go of the words of ambition

I live in phases. My life has always been this way, and this phase of book writing, Fleetwood Mac and my second masters is done. I can't fight it. Enthusiasm waned and washed out with the June rain and the Strawberry Moon.

I write as if this is a choice. As if I summon the end so it may be replaced with something more, but I don't yet know what will rise as ambition falls. It is strange to wake from the business of every day, from the goals I have worked tirelessly towards, and feel their hold diminish.

It begins, as it always does, with a shift in distraction. Then, desire for ideas and influence. I search for new vibes, old places, and offbeat lives. I move. I run to distance myself from old thoughts.

The new, blooms in a string of insignificant happenings. I feel neither grief nor joy. Acceptance drifts like a gentle tide. Whilst I surrender to fading dreams, the needle of experience threads moments into momentum

And just like that, I no longer have the will to write a book. The time is not now. I am drawn to engagement over introspection. I have much to unearth. I have a deadline of 20,000 words to write, yet I write this.

 I am a variety hunter, a connector of disparate themes, a dreamer. I want to distil the essence of a place in the fewest words. I want to read travel books and endless memoirs. I want to build a base for what lies ahead.

I am bored by my story. I want to hear yours. I don't want to share; I want to learn. I want to swap containment for contribution, stillness for spinning, the familiar for the unknown. I want adventure.

I have been here before. Of course, I have. I live my life in phases. I am a candle that burns, then burns out. It is all just layers of moments and invisible threads.

Whatever comes next, whatever filters through the pregnant pause of this gap in desire, will be more. And although it will be my next phase, I already know it will pass.