Had quite the nearing forty panic or maybe even anxiety on the way home from Monterey, yesterday. 7:43 now back home and here by self, I just think about that drive and why I felt that way. I have not a single idea, to tell you the truth. Then, I know why. Just can’t assign it words. Has to do with what I do, where I am. Think I may be getting tired of Sonoma County, though realizing that could just be a symptom of or associated with the travel urge and thirst. I thought, Transformation. Now is when I transform into the writer and teacher I’ve always wanted to be. Since I had such ambition senior year in high school. I start with this morning, with this beat, with this kitchen, this “day off” which I won’t let be anything like a day of nothing done.
I charge my camera. Last night before bed watching a documentary on Africa, and deep reaches of Africa and the wildlife. These shots and video stretches where the animals were seen in their most truthful talk and motions. I want to take something in, down, with camera today. Of course first I think of the vineyard. But where do I start. They’re everywhere, here. No longer feeling that restlessness I did on the drive. Ambition, hunger, looking for my moveable feast. Where do I start. I don’t pressure self. I think of now, this quiet, the counter…. Me. In the car I kept thinking singularity, focus, an extension from the man’s remarks after my speech on Saturday, that my energy was unlike anything he’s seen I merely “needed” a bit more centrality. Is he right, or is this who I am. Or, does there need be realized a symphony of both characters. No more panic, no confusion, no questioning self and second-guessing self. This morning, another start to ME. Transformation I guess you could interpret, but not doing much with the original character. ME. Here the poet who wants the same thing as everyone else. More. Not so much more money although of course that’s be welcomed, but more movement, more observations, travel and exploration, wonder and wander.
The feeling comes back, just like what I felt merging onto 85 from whatever. I need to move quicker, I need to not be so careful, I need the travel. Don’t pressure yourself with finishing a book. You’re closer to 40, but so what. Don’t shoot for the wine world, anymore, anything in it, even your own label one day. And teaching at the JC, I need to move on. And besides, I want to teach yes if you could call it teaching but in more locales, to more students. I want to see other campuses. I’m quite exhausted of SRJC and the same parking routine, walk up the Emeritus stairs. The smell of the rooms, the technology not working. I want those rooms I’ve never seen, the campus quads full of students, not just the after-work and commuter passers.
7:55. Feel the coffee molding the character it hopes from me, today.
Move quicker in thought. Today I take pictures. Not so much to be a photog, but find something. Thinking Alexander Valley, near Robert Young, or more toward White Oak, Soda Rock. Maybe just go after the entire valley. Transformation of character—be out there, out There, seeing everything and observing whatever I can find in the rows. The closer to 40 I get I’m noticing myself losing a bit of urgency. This, frightens me. And, angers me. Today I re-write the character into one of a more angry or near-angry tirelessness. I need a measure, I realize. Yes, I find self thinking of word count. Can I fit in 3000 words, today. Yes. You have the entire day. One thousand for morning, another for photography and journaling what you find out there, then one last k for end of day.
Should have written more in Monterey. Was difficult, though, with the babies. Had chance the night we went out for dinner and when back in Inn room wife offered me some time to self, to go to lobby and write for a while. I, tired from drive down and skirmishing with kid ways and playful and then not so playful defiance, surrendered to exhaustion. Where I was. Had a glass of the Truett GPS blend, then fell asleep next to Ms. Emma.
Now grappling with how I start the day. Want to get a run, somewhere in. Around noon, I reason. That gives me about 4 hours for other projects. Talk about overthinking, yeah, I know that’s what I’m now doing, right here at the counter. Pictures, thinking of taking pictures of the vineyard at this stage in their development as characters, then writing about it. Should leave the house before 9, head to AV. I think I know where I want to start, but I’ll finalize destination when I get there. And maybe write in the rows, looking at the sleeping stubs, the mustard where I can find it which is everywhere right now.
This has nothing to do with a proximity to 40. At all. This is ME, overthinking and wondering if I should do this or if I should try this, if a book is what I should focus on or if when I speak I’m too much this way to that way, to too too whatever. I stop woth that and settle in now, the Now where I am at home. I remember when I’d walk outside the Roth tasting room to take pictures in the SB block, I wouldn’t overthink anything. There was nothing to think about at all, really. It was just me and the vines. That was the IT to it all.
8:10. When done with this first set, I’ll get ready. Throw something on, not think about it much. Thinking I won’t head to AV, with the distance involved. Maybe just down the Road, to Olivet or something nearby. Wherever there’s vines. I just need to be near a vineyard. That will impeach this unsettled shape in my senses and character, literary shape. I’m letting this happen, I know, this approaching 40 uneasiness and uncertainty, nervous note set. The transformation is to stop it, entirely. Embrace it, I suppose. But, STUDY it. Note all its notes and beat.
