Thanksgiving weekend in Canada.
I’m in the midst of a number of fraught and challenging decisions, with an ever-evolving to-do list related to teaching, career, writing life, family, responsibilities, volunteer work, and deadlines, and the phrase “there’s a lot on my mind” resonates strongly.
I seem to imagine, at some amorphous foggy point in the very near future — say, tomorrow — having the time and space to sit quietly and just think. To relax. To read for pleasure. And of course, to write in that exploratory, gathering, joyful fashion that is required of any early-stage major undertaking.
In my imagination, this foggy and amorphous future point, this tomorrow, is an actual space, a spacious space, wide open and clear, unclouded, with huge horizons and no clutter.
This is magical thinking, of course. As we all know, tomorrow never comes. That space does not exist, nor could it possibly, under the circumstances. This is of my own choosing. I wonder: have I filled my life with much too much on purpose, because I’m afraid of what an uncluttered life might feel like — would it feel empty, I wonder? Do I find meaning in the busyness? But what about clarity? Can there be clarity in a cluttered life? Because that’s really what I’m imagining, when I conjure this wide open space: it’s a place where all can be seen, clearly, where nothing is obscured or lost amidst the clutter.
The mind itself can see clearly. I could lift my eyes from the immediate needs that present themselves before me, and notice everything that surrounds me.
And be thankful.