Today is an unanticipated day off, a long weekend long needed.
I am sitting in yet another cafe, listening to the people around me, the hum and low level verbal barrage of conversation. Words and sentences leap out from mire of sound, momentary pauses revealing strands from the whole.
This morning was meant to be about writing. I have written. I have thought a lot too, and the mental tussles and conundrums continue as I type.
I am listening to the crowd, hoping for insight into my own mind, the proverbial Alexandrian sword for my particular Gordian knot. My mind is a kerfuffle of half-formed reasoning, stirred by emotionally driven doubts and hopes, all topped with dollops of recognition of my unfathomable ability to get things wrong. I don’t want to get this wrong.
Forgive me my angst. I stew and dwell and think about things and then act with rash impetuosity. Sometimes cutting straight to the latter would make things simpler, if a little less me.
I often say that the decision is already made. Procrastination is almost never about the decision, it is about the act of carrying out that choice, for better, for worse. Is the consequence worth the risk? Some decisions are simple, with simple outcomes and simple consequences. Others, they last for decades, they change lives, they narrow the path of what could be into what will be. The bliss of ignorance is a freedom in its own right. What will be, will be. So it goes. Onwards and upwards. The acceptance of fate.
Such a simple thing. A simple question with a binary answer. With a multitude of ramifications, only one of which I like the look of. But is the status quo better? Yes, than the worst of consequences. But no, against what could be.
I over complicate things.
And so I hesitate.
I think I need someone to talk to.