I’ve embraced productivity as a synonym for success for so long that it’s hard now to accept my desire for something else in its place.
The boats are heavy. My hands are soft. The portage “saves us” from a series of rapids and falls but is so taxing I joke that, next time, I’m just going for it.
I just finished re-reading* Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret in the context of a manuscript I’m working on in which the speaker confides in and seeks guidance from an alter ego named Gertie. I’m not 100% convinced I can pull it off, but I’m following it where it goes and using my writing journals to get me there.
Since my style is associative and imagistic, I’ve typically depended on being able to see the strange places things intersect. Losing that spacial awareness, even metaphorically, has been quite challenging.