Just typing, typing to type

Photo on 8-11-18 at 8.30 AM #2while looking around at all the people I usually see in this Windsor Starbucks.  Not taking time to look up any synonyms, or obscure anythings.  Not this morning.  Day at winery ahead of me, one of my final days, Saturdays, at the estate.  Definitely writing my wine industry piece, soon.  Citing everything I’ve observed, what I wish would have happened and what actually transpired.  Looking for more, which we all do.  More from who I already am and what I do for a living as a teacher and writer, parent.  Iced coffee this morning, wasn’t in much timing for mocha, or hot medium roast.  With the mocha it’s always the wait that bothers and disrupts my mood.  But here, I mere sip, and the cool temp calms my character and delivers more soundness and eagerness for day.

I wanted in to the wine industry, in 2006, just to supplement teaching income and have some fun, get some writing material, exposure to characters and what they say about wine, and I did.  Somehow in getting disenchanted with the adjunct teaching life I was pulled into full-time wine life.  Which has never procured exactly what I hoped it would.  In fact it never has.  So now, at 39, I re-invent not so much as decide to reshape my business and writing life.  You could say I’m ‘getting into tech’ as a couple have, but I don’t see it that way.  I’m just taking a new Road, driving the same vehicle.

What we do and why we do it MUST be understood if we’re to acquire and expand from a significant sight of Personhood.  Now, I’m seeing more in work, why we work and how all of us have the option to do something we love—  Not just the option, that reality is right there.  What many of us often forget is that we have to work to find it, at times.  And sometimes, it’s a intersection of chance and effort.  With me, a but of both, but then I’d say effort with how I “sold myself”, much I hate saying that.

New ventures, adventures, opportunities.  Take all of them.  Try everything, I say.  Guy here asked me what I write about and I had to answer, as I always do…. First I said wine, but then “What people do and why they do it… understanding why…” or something of such shape.  I’m here at this Windsor Starbucks as a result of choice and exertion.  I’m going to sell my writings, soon, and if I have nothing to write I have nothing to vend.  So listening to music and watching the characters around me enjoy their Saturday morning the life voice stomps in my recognitions, perceptions.  We’re not here long, and even the brevity isn’t assured.  It could be shorter.  None of us have any map for time, the time we have and what we’re to do, when.  So I endorse just acting, doing, actuating.

Just remembered I still need to write my resignation letter to the winery, the larger company.  I have learned a respectable qualification of lesson, what to do and what NOT to do in business.  Not stopping in my writings on wine, ever.  Just leaving the industry.  OR, not.  Just not in the tasting room, the TR.  And that was a goal, a singular aim and sight, and I accomplished it.  Guess you could say I’m proud, or happy, but there’s so much more work to do for this writer.  For all of us.  There’s poetry in what we do.  What we do is ours, all of it, all scenic ingredients and motions, people and beats.  Just typing, typing to keep my morning in the momentum and deconstructive dash I adore.  What we do, why we do it….  Why have I been in the wine industry so long? Much I think is, was, from a certain self-doubt that I couldn’t get a post like the one I recently won.  Till I tried.  Till I took a risk, till I convinced myself that I was good enough for something other than the bloody tasting room.  So here I am, about to open a new book, write a new log of discoveries and musings, angular considerations and revolutions, tasks and work and creative— more than what the time clock, any time clock, or punch clock that punches you back in the dignity-face could say.  Newness, new seats and notes, chords and songs, new jazz to a single day.

The struggles I’ve had with writing, lately, I directly associate with the tasting room and the clock, the time clock.  I’m freeing myself from all of that.  This new business flight, changing me, already, and I haven’t even had my first day.  I’m in a rarely elevated echo, this morning.  Not only fearing nothing but going into the day daring it to do something, to try me, return my pugilistic blips, if it dare.  I’m writing to write, for my life and understanding of all this— why I am here, why I’ve let the wine industry have so much of ME. My life, time away from family, the days and the people that want to be poured for, served, looking at me like I’m microscopic in significance.  Oh… this day.  This new ME.  Finally.. bloody rising from the patterns and suppression of wine’s industry.  Not qualms with the industry as much as some people in it.  And again, I’m not leaving wine. Never would, as wine’s a literary presence, self-personifying cosmos and composition of thought and ambition, vision, dreams.  The industry is what loses me.  All its inconsistencies and ridiculous logic and connections in business and employee treatment.  I will write that wine industry book, soon, at some point, soon.

First thousand— not word counting.  Hate that I do that with students, sometimes.  And how the department has such so stressed in their course outlines.  That is hurtful in student development, writing.  Me, this morning… I’m just writing, typing, more freedom and intoxication in this freed and freeing liberty.