Musing

[written and published from Calgary]

4C/38F, sunny, predicted frost free days and nights through the weekend; melt water starting to appear on the lagoon, or what is left of it (City crews seem to have substantially drained it leaving only an ice-lid); geese cruise by in pairs (must be spring) . . . Gusta seems to have her appetite back . . . traffic hums, path is bare, I ache for a beach to walk; I feel like a worker-
bee in search of a flower – a day for extracting all the nectar I can

whether it takes 9 months or 9 minutes, it seems we all fit important things in; no matter how busy we get, if those things are important enough - sometimes it is the challenge of fitting 3 days work into 1, sometimes it is fitting an epoch into a weekend, a heart into the palm of your hand; sometimes it is a hug while a cab driver waits, sometimes finger tips touching across
thousands of miles, sometimes it is 'lets go to Spago' or ' ..... to Peters for a burger'; sometimes it's walking some dogs, sometimes it's the end . . sometimes a new beginning, sometimes a new lease, sometimes a new lease on life; all we have to do is make the time

aside from wondering if I could keep up a flow of ideas, when I started musing I wondered how I would fit this 'walk-write' element into my day; after a few months it became routine with occasional aberrations - in time that morphed into 'writing taking precedence over a certain amount of morning time', which continues notwithstanding many competing values that compete for attention, for priority; the more I read about and listen to writers talk, the discussion is about process and routine; it seems every writer I’ve heard about has this element in their writing - each praising its importance

I look around at the things I do well in the non-writing elements of my work and play; I find the attachment to ‘process and routine’ is there too, not in the things I do poorly, dislike or avoid . . but in the things I do well, in the accomplishments I am proud of . . those same elements are ever present
I begin each week with a plan, a notion, a sense of how much I can do, how much time is needed for the things/issues/problems/new clients on my plate and for the ones who have not yet shown up, but inevitably they do; I am smart and organized - I will have taken all those variables into account so that I can finish out the week just fine; this notion that usually lasts till Thursday morning
Thursday is that day of the week when it seems like I have 60% of the things I need to do for the week 60% done but when I look at my desk, my table, my kitchen sink, the things on the floor or my to-do list I wonder if it will ever change . . . if I will ever be able to function without a ‘procrastination day’; I rationalize that it is a re-ordering of priorities . . as values compete for my head, my heart, my hours, my minutes
every week there are surprises that alter the course of our week; sometimes they alter the course of our lives for a while, sometimes forever and always - a few hours, a day, a weekend . . these are really small portions of our lives; who knows where they lead . . ?
the things I expected did not alter my week, it was the ones I didn’t expect – they often make the most difference, they taste the sweetest, they are the stiff honey worth spreading, they are the nectar of the flower . . call me honey bee or worker bee and sometime call me drone, but I never tire of this pursuit; in part it might be the adrenaline rush . . but this has become far more thematic in my life
I encounter people all the time who talk of this, they talk around this . . but they tip-toe around the opportunities that come their way; why, why avoid risk, why avoid opportunity . . what’s the point of life then?
every day we have a chance to taste those experiences; they are the flavour, they are the filling in the cookie, they are Maui days, they are happy sleepless nights, they are the dreams we want, they are the dangerous opportunities we seek out, they are ‘yes & yes’ moments waiting to happen - sea-bass dinners, winter picnics or hot dog stand rendezvous
I rarely try to play cupid; it is not something I've tried much or have a reputation for doing well, but sometimes a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do; last summer, July I think, I tried to connect two people - he a new friend, she a new client/friend; despite my encouragement they only talked - never found/made time to meet . . . until this week; they had dinner . . . I'm told they both ordered sea-bass

sometimes it is all about what we desire and thirst for trumping all other values that compete for the part of our brain that has no limit on its energy – something that triggers us to say ‘I will do this because it matters to me' . . . somehow we find the time, make the time and then we reorganize priorities; sometimes that is on a Thursday

sometimes, like today, I mix it up . . . I write first, then walk . . . I make the time, all the time; I've learned how important it is for me; I think it is true for all of us and for every worker bee . . . it's the only way we find honey

sometimes it is easy to have the 'time' of your life, if you just make the time

Mark Kolke
226,148
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