Fowl

This afternoon I took a walk, as usual. I got all reminiscy about the past year.

It struck me that I've been living in Albuquerque for 3 months now. 3 months. What have I been doing? I don't feel like I have a whole lot to show for it. This is false in many ways, but I can't escape the feeling that time is slipping away, and I'm not keeping up with it.

When I go for a walk, I end up at the Rio Grande. It's really a wonderful thing to be so close to the river, with its wide swaths of protected wetlands and towering cottonwoods. It struck me that: even if I haven't done much, it's really a valuable thing, to have gone walking along this river for the majority of the past ninety days. If I stop to think about it, it's an amazing force of nature only a couple blocks from my home, and I've really made a connection with it.

This connection paid off tonight, with the fire of the setting sun to the west, the flocks of geese and cranes collecting in the shallow water - even the sound of churchbells ringing from somewhere to the east.

This is a strange, strange, chapter in my life. I feel like some part of me wants to sap out all of my funds and energy in a massive nosedive, only to pull up at the last minute. Let's hope I can actually pull the throttle at the right moment.

I go through phases of buoyant confidence and fear as I move from project to project; hoping that I'm doing the right thing, jumping from computer programming to novel writing to blogging to finances and stocks to self-improvement to furious bouts of accordionism to GTD fanboyism (and I can't ignore my current infatuation with vim). I have faith that, at the root, I'm doing what I need to do, and all my anxiety and confusion is unhelpful but inevitable fluttering as I settle to the bottom of myself.

Here's to resting at the river bank.

Good night, all.