The sprinkler systems have been turned on across our new neighborhood. Too much water, too wayward, it runs off.
I like data so my mind wandered to where we might also be wasting resources (read spending too much money). One should never go to the grocery store hungry, but you know that.
That river on concrete seems a little prophetic. There a thousand things I want to do, and too little time to try. I get wayward when I’m not careful, and my efforts don’t water anything important.
A few people close to me know my watchword for the year is finish. I could teach a master class in beginnings and yet I often fail at placing the period at the end of an endeavor.
So I’m asking myself more often:
Is this healthy?
What is the soft cost…in time, sacrifice to something or someone else…?
Could someone else do this better?
Is my effort accretive to something lovely? Or enduring?
I want to tell you a story that brings this home. J. and I went to an antique mall, one I will return to often. There was a small space there with a floating iron grid ceiling. Before we left I inquired about the cost for leasing it for Juliet Rome, asked for 24 hours to consider it, and assured the manager I would be back to sign the contract. I floated in the imagination of it, lost a night’s sleep to it, walked toward and away from it, and storyboarded what I would curate for it before my first cup of coffee.
It would have been a grand beginning. It would have been lovely. But my life in this season could not put a period on it. It would be water running down the street.