Quietly, I am here. My inner voice is here more often than I can explain, a dialogue that is constantly running in my head. That inner voice sometimes writes status messages at Facebook, honest, true, a cry into the vacuous flow, and then I carefully copy the words into Evernote instead, burying the voice. But today, quietly, I am here.
I have thought over the past month many times of how much I want to be here. But as in so many ventures, there are dozens of excuses. The framework is not right. The name is not right. The banner image is not right. The fact that a history of words and years is held in this space is, maybe, not right. Partly, I want an anonymous space where I can let words and images free, without anyone knowing they are mine. And, partly, I can not let go of the past and the wishful thinking that there is some miracle way to simplify things so I could again talk into a microphone. Time? Equipment? Money? It’s a spiral of proportions that are so skewed and complicated that even I am sometimes stymied by how to begin. I am torn by the desire for anonymity and, at the same time, the slim chance for connection that this space has always held. The flicker of understanding beyond token gestures.
Quietly, I am here. I am here knowing that even when there is no clear beginning and when the jumble becomes overwhelming, the only way to stake space, to mark time, and to begin plotting a map is to put words down, to arbitrarily mark a “beginning,” and then to watch as words unfold.
Quietly, I am here. And in the words, I hear inside my head the voice that has always fueled the podcast. This is the voice that comes from fingers on keyboard, unhindered by the slowness of pen on paper and free from the trappings of what I need to write in other places, the cramped, selfless, emotionless, corners of scientific writing. I hear this voice in my head, and tears come to my eyes because in the weeks and months that seem to flow endlessly by, faster and faster, a blur of living, it is this voice that I sometimes fear I have completely lost. But today, quietly, I am here, and the voice is so familiar. The voice is within me, as always.
Some days, the realization that I am still almost exactly where I was almost a decade ago in terms of floundering alone in my forest of philosophy, line, and creative thinking is almost enough to make me topple. But today, quietly, I am here, here with ideas on projects, the difficult challenge, at times, of holding on to our creative selves, the passage of years, and, as always, a reminder to breathe.