Starting, again.

I don’t know how many times I say this to myself.

Somehow it always feels like I’m at the start of things, never in the middle, or the end.

Maybe it can be considered a blessed trait that I am always at the beginning, always seeing the possibilities for expansion, for growing, for learning & becoming.

“Just a little later, I’ll be in that other part, where I know what I’m doing, where I feel skillful and capable, where all past choices make sense, and this start bears fruit”

Never quite so.

Not to say that I don’t feel like I’ve grown and developed - as an artist, as a person, as a lover, as a friend.

Certainly I have, but every time I return - to the page, to the camera, to the dining table… I’m here again - at the ripe beginning, where uncertainty, desire and hope meet.

One day I’ll run out of starts, but today I’m starting again

I’m revisiting an old idea for a digital poem I always wanted to write, hoping to revive it with my own memories of all it’s fits and bouts - a conversation between past and future selves