September 18, 2007
It has been a while since I have made a thoughtful entry in my journal. So much has happened. More than I care to tell and more than you would want to know. As many of you know, I am on a path of rediscovery. When walking this path I sometimes find that I have many forks in the road, leading to places yet unknown. Sometimes down one path, I learn that this is not the road for me. In my mispaths, I learn more about whom I really am and who I am not. I feel as long as I keep trying keep moving and never give up I will eventually find my path that fits me.
Through managing the Plein Aire Event on Downer, I learned a great deal about my self, when I do not allow myself to be defeated by opposition or disappointment. I learned a little bit about what it means to live closer to the edge, its terrors and thrills. I learned about fame and its deceptions. I learned how much I enjoy being with people and yet fantasized about living alone or at least nearly alone in the wild for an extended period. I love both I think. I want to go away for a time now to write, think, and paint. I do not want to wear classy clothes to fit the role of “artiste.” I want to wear flannel shirts and corduroy bibs with big sweaters and hiking boots. I look forward to the fall, the crunch of the leaves underfoot and the smell of coffee percolating on the morning campfire. I look forward to the frosty dew and crisp blue skies turning misty gray into November.
I intend on camping at the end of September in the south of the state and maybe if I am brave in the middle of October in the north.
Tonight I am sitting in my yard on the bench. Its 10:48 pm. I am surrounded by the hum of crickets and a distant katydid. The wind rustles the leaves above me. There is a distant hum of motor cars. The best part is the silky breeze on my skin. I feel like I could float away. Oh how I would love to paint the feel of the wind on my face. I can only tell you about it.
I could be sitting in my air-conditioned house, separated from this feast for the senses. What would I loose? I look around me down the row of houses on my street. I see no one else insight. Is everybody locked in his or her homes, reading about the earth, or watching nature in a movie? Am I so peculiar that I appear to be the only one up enjoying this spectacle? Why live here if you do not drink it in?
Ah, a man walking his dog. Is he enjoying the night or his he carrying the burdens of today and tomorrow with him?
It has been a while since I have made a thoughtful entry in my journal. So much has happened. More than I care to tell and more than you would want to know. As many of you know, I am on a path of rediscovery. When walking this path I sometimes find that I have many forks in the road, leading to places yet unknown. Sometimes down one path, I learn that this is not the road for me. In my mispaths, I learn more about whom I really am and who I am not. I feel as long as I keep trying keep moving and never give up I will eventually find my path that fits me.
Through managing the Plein Aire Event on Downer, I learned a great deal about my self, when I do not allow myself to be defeated by opposition or disappointment. I learned a little bit about what it means to live closer to the edge, its terrors and thrills. I learned about fame and its deceptions. I learned how much I enjoy being with people and yet fantasized about living alone or at least nearly alone in the wild for an extended period. I love both I think. I want to go away for a time now to write, think, and paint. I do not want to wear classy clothes to fit the role of “artiste.” I want to wear flannel shirts and corduroy bibs with big sweaters and hiking boots. I look forward to the fall, the crunch of the leaves underfoot and the smell of coffee percolating on the morning campfire. I look forward to the frosty dew and crisp blue skies turning misty gray into November.
I intend on camping at the end of September in the south of the state and maybe if I am brave in the middle of October in the north.
Tonight I am sitting in my yard on the bench. Its 10:48 pm. I am surrounded by the hum of crickets and a distant katydid. The wind rustles the leaves above me. There is a distant hum of motor cars. The best part is the silky breeze on my skin. I feel like I could float away. Oh how I would love to paint the feel of the wind on my face. I can only tell you about it.
I could be sitting in my air-conditioned house, separated from this feast for the senses. What would I loose? I look around me down the row of houses on my street. I see no one else insight. Is everybody locked in his or her homes, reading about the earth, or watching nature in a movie? Am I so peculiar that I appear to be the only one up enjoying this spectacle? Why live here if you do not drink it in?
Ah, a man walking his dog. Is he enjoying the night or his he carrying the burdens of today and tomorrow with him?
I enjoy being an artist. I relish it. I really know I was meant to be an artist. Yet, are artists the only ones who drink deeply of life. I doubt it. I am sure those in other professions drink deeply of these evenings... or they dream of doing so, while their busy finishing the last project for the company or tallying the grades or writing a work preformance report. Yes drinking deeply of life is necessary for me to connect and create. I love it. I am so thankful.
