My aunt said that to me. One of those moments I felt like someone reached in and pulled out my thoughts. There is this overwhelming sense of urgency I can't seem to shake. Not in the way that I feel like any of this work could possibly be "finished" during my thesis development. I don't feel goals or results. Not the ways I have in my work before. Before the connection with process. The balance with the doing. The calm that the only thing that's worth any of this is the me in the now. What happens with/to my self as I'm working.
No. It's different. The urgency. It's a feeling to embed, to bury, to make this work so much a part of my me, my breathing, my way through, that I could never forget how much I need it. Without the net, the structure, the others, what if I let myself stop. Loose momentum. Energy. Desire. It sounds foolish even writing this. There are so many me's talking over each other in my head. One's wishing it was more steady. One's convinced it will always be. One's slipping under the covers, with a hood over head, desperate to sleep through fear. Ones wanting passivity. Ones tired. Restless. Sad. Manically energetic. Obsessed. Overwhelmed. So much. All the time.
How am I going to do this? Why am I doing this? What am I doing?
It's so easy to think about the later. The next. The when. Living now is a practice. Working with honesty and allowing my insides to govern what comes without edit is a practice. Not allowing myself to go to the later, the next, the when is a practice. My aunt has MS. She told me once that she doesn't let herself go to places in her mind, the future places that inevitably would consume her with fear and desperation. She practices mental now. I don't let myself go there, she says. I think of this often. Just do. Now is for doing. Doing.