When I get out of my own way, even just for a few minutes at a time, I feel myself slipping into myself, inhabiting my capacities, tendencies, aptitudes, and excitements. Just now I have been taking notes on an article that is proving surprisingly helpful for the conclusion to the last chapter of my dissertation. With every sentence I record and annotate, I find myself recalling threads and clues that will become the substance of the conclusion. Worse/better, I find myself feeling excited.
I don't put off writing because I don't like the project or because I can't do it. I put it off because it interests me and I am skittish when I am interested. I worry I will fall down the rabbit hole and live only in my own head, severed from community. I worry that I won't be able to find the connections that will allow me to create the argument I am excited to create. I worry most about my own limitations, though. What if I let go and immerse myself into this (or any) project, marshal all my energies, and then arrive on the other side where I find that the product is lackluster? Do I risk it? Do I channel my scattered and hesitant energies into this or any project even though the result might be weak? That is, am I brave enough to endure loving something while bearing the knowledge that loving something will not guarantee success of any kind?
No. I am not so brave.
But it is Lent, and this seems as good a desert experience as any. I'll write in this pathless wilderness.
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