Metanoia

The psychological detoxification of my so-called life.

Sitting in the Ft. Myers airport reflecting through the window on the past couple weeks. Pretty wild. Hectic, wearing, but uplifting, successful, empowering. I wonder what kind of pace I can maintain if I come off the coffee and eat well again on my return home. If I get a truck, stay fit and active, do pullups religiously and choke down protien like it's my job, wich it will be, because the only point of life is to live it under whatever terms you so choose beyond what your situation chooses for you.

My life has been filled with challenges and beauty, the flexing of old, dormant muscles and attitudes. I battled the DMV, exposed myself to failure for the first time in months with the needle tester and the pickup truck, and battled to the point of exhaustion. And...it was good. I tasted victory. I succeeded in my pursuits. I felt like a better person.

I am still full of fear, I suppose, a nagging weight of fear that I do not shed for I no longer recognize the burden. But I challenge my fears anyway. The next giant to slaughter is the second try with the Fire Department. I must swallow my pride and return there, to give it a fair trial. I am waiting until I begin to trust my truick, however. I figure I deserve at least that respite and change of plan.

I think I can make a go of this lifestyle, but I need to reassess my awareness, and get some sort of framework for me and my friends to snap each other from complacency in order to live a life of full-on catastrophe.

I have had many thoughts on the pursuit of women, like the girl in town, the girl from Beacon, or the girl from up north. I need to dedicate myself, and realign myself with such pursuits, andplan out my success and failure. I need to accept I am a control freak who likes situations too complicated to control.

I have thought about my job, and how I need to make more of a concerted effort to remember names, pasttimes, to be warm and gracious and strong. I need to buy better clothes, get to work on time, impose rigor in my outlook and self-expectation.

And I need creative expression. If I have to, I will sever my Beacon life to fund a New York City one. I need a pool of people I can associate with, who will take the time to learn my language, and whose language is beautiful enough to learn myself.

The primer has been on the back-burner too long, as has pursuit of my own health through careful notation. I need to think about how to best record my life for health. I think designing my own software for this, or finding whatever might already exist, woud be a good first step toward many complimentary goals. I should research smartphone programming.

So, I could see a renaissance of self, if I live aware of all these small choices I make, concsiously or not, without metaanalysis. Without the view from 10,000 feet these are just words, they will fail as pieces of a challenging and beautiful puzzle of life. So where to begin? Songlines. Always making the best choice and weighing outcomes. Trusting intuition and challenging myself toward intuitive discovery. Record the changes so as to know how to repeat or avoid history.