I realized a few days ago that for the bulk of my life, I have lacked solid goals, either going along with what someone else wanted or making do with the cards I was dealt.
As choice has often not been part of the equation, this has been a reasonable response. However, a week ago I suddenly had a vision of what I want.
Land. A piece of land—maybe up north in Maine. Enough acreage so that I could give each of my three children a parcel. Sort of a mini farm. With goats and chickens. Well water, gardens, a clothesline. A studio that we all could share. Our own little compound.
I texted the kids with an outline of my fantasy and gratefully, they each wrote back immediately to say that they loved it.
Of course this is a wild assed plan, given my current financial state.
However, that could change. If my health holds, I intend to get into the regular practice of art again. And I will write my book.
Whether or not any of this comes true I already feel a stir of excitement. It’s as if I have finally located my true north.
A purpose that is strictly personal.