My footsteps find their own way most days, following familiar patterns on walks in the neighborhood. Room to room, too. Both GPS tracker and continuous glucose monitor reach a general truth about me, a cadence. My pace and patterns–even my blood and energy–have a signature. I move, therefore I am.
Of course, my thoughts, words and actions make up me as well. I enjoy a little Descartes, with hummus.
Aligning with the mantra, Go to other people’s parties, my task takes me beyond my usual path. Instead of being in the studio, I’ll be on a plane.
It’s the third DC flight diverted by weather since I’ve been in Arizona. I love a good ‘ghost day’ to tend to the trusty to-do list I carry around like a hip flask.
Divine diversions. There is another way alongside the familiar. Short trips sideways around the sun. Hours when you gain a year in a day. I tend to think that a journey leads toward a far away place. More often, it’s a weird turn off a side street called Obvious Lane. I plainly ought to be here but wouldn’t have arrived any ordinary way.
I expect to get a liminal nudge up in the clouds I have come to know.
Anne L'Ecuyer 