A strange year. Or, an expectable year. A year that was opaque for much of its length, but which now seems transparent as glass....
A sense that thoughts and emotions, and in fact much of what I call myself, has settled into something more... well, integrated, simpler.
The awfulnesses on the horizon – two wars, a friend who no longer speaks to me because I wasn't vociferously on his side; the unbelievable election – they remain on the horizon. I voted correctly, but I am not in the US, so; I'm sorry for family and friends, but I don't live there....
It's a bit like those biographical passages, memoirs and such, from the 1930s – large and terrible things happen, but there are also people who are just living in rooms, at the tops of staircases.
I am also in my own mental space: not merely detached, or in line with one of the ego-based philosophies; but the weakness I've had over the past eight months appears to be permanent, and it has narrowed my horizons. It's not awful – just lung damage – it won't kill me, but I tire quickly if I walk any distance (yesterday's trip into town was hard work, and I treated M. to a litany of worries over a sandwich – a litany he's heard before; I am of course operating as an irritatingly older person).
I am supposed to exercise, but – in this cold climate, with that weakness – I won't fool myself that it's not my fault, I am that honest at least, but I don't know that I'll be very effective at taking care of myself. I'll try not to make anything worse, though; and I may well be here for years yet.
I think about the February trip to Zürich to teach: how much rest will I need, do I need help in the airport? A hotel near a favorite station, an extra day on either side of teaching days....
For several months, there have been things waiting for me – the new web page (the designer wants a response to drafts), the will (the lawyer emails to know if I got his draft), the doctor's appointments, an accreditation for an analysand who wants to train, the photographs, the broken desk chair –
and the bigger things that float around on the horizon of the imagination, such as moving to another country (not impossible, but is it reasonable in this condition?), or, of course, writing the current book –
I will try to do the first group, at least, in the next few weeks. Younger people are being patient, I have a feeling I'm giving them an image of fragility. Which is fine, I often feel fragile – not, I promise, close to death, but just – not robust, and not up to pretending to be robust.
And that is really what 2024 has been.
But no, I haven't really explained the center of all this yet, have I? Really, the important aspect is – there are all these things, but – there is also a larger sense that none of them are disastrous, and none of them pull or yank at me. Which is rather Taoist, really.
And that is all right. I'll get what I get; and try to keep up with people who are trying to be helpful.
And I'll be blunt when asking for help – hopefully without being tiresome. An important skill....
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