“Across the harbor, a small sailing skiff, becalmed near some reeds, caught the breeze again.” (Horace Freeland Judson).
I’ve hit a trough, the low point of the wave we’ve been riding. Activity has slowed almost to a halt as we inch our way to the consummation of our plans. I have been so utterly distracted by months of diligence that I am as a result almost at a loss what to do. And yesterday things topped out with the bestowal of a rather significant gratuity. It has left my head spinning with nowhere to go to exhaust the hoopla. In a word I am becalmed.
I am of necessity reluctantly submitting to the momentary tranquillity. I have set aside the exhilaration of routine daily battle. Instead of pondering my next move I content myself to ruminate upon the past and the future. Nonetheless I crawl.
Other than bustle there are so few standards by which I meaningfully measure myself. I have already insinuated various forms of gratification and reward in all that I do so the removal of the cause tends to diminish the value and importance of the recognition, rather like having food without the appetite. I am however determined to draw what strength I can from the experience of being at a standstill. Perhaps I shall torque its gravity by pretending that nothing is more stimulating than doing nothing. Idleness has historically such a bad name though embracing it at this advanced stage of life is less unappealing. Even if one were not to inflate it with philosophical content, there is something approaching luxury just to watch the world go by.
I have lately done things which were strongly motivated. At times I may have acted precipitously (though in my heart of hearts I know there were no other choices). While the rapture may have cooled the hardened truth remains. I am prepared to keep going in the direction I originally headed. I seriously doubt that I shall reconsider. Meanwhile I am putting more and more distance between myself and my past. I am certainly not running from my past, trying to obliterate it; I am merely closing the door on going back to it, just moving on. This present contemplative mood at least affords the opportunity to assess that decision. There’s nothing wrong about pausing to look back momentarily.
In the end it is always easier to live with one’s preferences no matter how much they may apparently fly in the face of rationality. Instinct is not for the faint of heart.