Walking a lot. ‘Will start riding soon. Reflecting on loss again; thinking of it as gain. And on the value of experience. Experiences, really. I’ve thrown myself back into work, in some ways because people are waiting. But mostly because it’s what I do. I’m a maker. With enough distractions – anything at all that removes me from the bench – and I don’t have much to say. I can say it with metal and tools. And in the past year or more since we’re been back, I’ve tried to, no – I have deconstructed my routine so I could maybe just maybe drive it forward. Each process. The file strokes. My torch settings. Even the volume of flux I use. Everything is being stripped down. Or away. Paying more attention. Closer attention.
And of experience. Of experiences. I’m rethinking. Sometimes. But maybe not every time. Maybe all those hours and years are not a positive. The repetition. The honing of skills. The getting used to things so that – et voilà – intuition suddenly happens. Maybe they get in the way. Maybe all that happens is that you’ve done more. Made more. Seen more.
I’ve been thinking too much. That’s fine. And that maybe. Maybe. The first time. That first moment before you’ve had too many. Too many that will somehow dilute the lot of them. That first one is the one. The precious one. The one that’s so perfect that all others are measured by it rather than any other way. That first one is the best. And then the tension follows.
This isn’t about bicycles. But it is. It’s not about life. But it is. There’s a moment when you just don’t know but you try anyway. And that gift you get when you stand back. That wonderment. How to bottle it. To make it happen a second time, and a tenth time too. I’m thinking about that. A lot.
All This By Hand
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