I thoroughly enjoy the quiet of being nobody in particular. I have the time to tend to my own life and my own affairs and to think. Sometimes, I perseverate on the wrong things, like the muckraker in that old tale that cannot see heaven for the ground before him. But I like to remind myself that those other muckrakers of print from over 100 years ago did something necessary and worthwhile.
Some days I wonder if my hesitation toward new adventures is because I’ll disturb the status quo of my life, that I’ll ruin what has been a life preserver in a hard existence. I’m told my hesitation and avoidance is a trauma response. Even so, I’ve accepted something new — a new art project, I suppose, which will push me out of my world by a slim margin. And by committing to this small thing, I worry I’ll disturb my peace through some sort of irrevocable becoming.
I am me 