My life has been at times a series of episodes, disjunct, remote. Several times in my life my circumstances and motivations have varied enough that it has seemed one life ended, and new one began.
As I embark to leave Paradise likely for the last time, to cut the umbilical cord that ties me to my doctoral institution, to head to a new city, I wonder if this present won't prove to be a border that marks yet another life lived, the end of the old, the start of a new.
I long for the certainty of being on a stable path, of knowing the results to my inquiries. When I ran a landscaping business, I took pleasure in knowing I had recievables yet to come in. Even deliquent accounts brought me some degree of satisfaction, since I expected funds to come in. In ways, awaiting news from article submissions or grant applications is not that different, but the outcomes are less assured.
I've grown weary of the chase. Perhaps the satisfaction I took from a horde of receivables was in direct proportion to my anticipation that they would soon move to the paid column. I need some rabbits in my traps, some berries in my basket, some roots in the cellar. I grow ravenous in waiting. A new life perhaps, with a full stomach to boot.