I arrived at Goddard a week ago today. Time has rushed by me; I’m generally to sleep around midnight and up at 5. The space in-between feels generally purposive and certainly full. Being intensely social, relational, public, and performative, it is shockingly different from the way I’ve spent my days these past months. In its intensity there are moments of resonance, so sweet, as well as the grind of quarrels badly met and circular. There’s something thrilling about its tender humanity, and I cannot deny its many rewards. Equally, I know this intensity is unsustainable. As much as I am fueled and renewed by these days, as much as I a grateful for the opportunity to be and work here, I am beginning to miss the quieter facets of my life.

In the presence of so many creative makers, I feel the call toward my own learning and creative impulses. On a tattered pad, as I often do when I am here, I am crafting my own study plan for the next six months. The week brings into focus the simple fact that I have not felt much aspiration since dad got sick. It is good to feel this turning, and to feel a sense of elation as I ruminate on my emerging sense of motion.

Perhaps this snake is shedding his skin.