Each day’s photo of the Bay looks almost identical to the previous day’s picture…I have never in my 4 years of sitting at the bench seen so many blue skies in a row. It’s the intense blue that originally inspired me to knit this line. The past 2 days have seen quieter knits. Brief chats with passersby. One woman told me that I’m a fixture of the neighborhood now, and she wishes that I would still knit on the bench and talk to the neighbors until I am white-haired. A couple of women with thick European accents in a red rental car asked me what I was making. D. the Democrat was out walking Citrus, back to work on her political float for the 4th of July Parade. I am thinking about time again and change. Most changes are imperceptible to the eye, a coarse tool that registers quick movements and is easily bored. It requires timelapse photography to really see the imperceptible–the arc of time, the growth that never stops. It’s striking that humans are the only animals to have developed this ability to record the changes (at least to my knowledge). Cameras, diaries, newspapers…Remembering is an obsession of ours. But I think it is a healthy obsession within limits. I can’t imagine life without memory. To wake up every day with no recollection of the past or how I got here would be a life afloat on a very vast sea indeed. This project is beautiful to me because my documentation of it in word and image have given me a deeper awareness of time’s transformations, as well as a sense of continuity. One of the newer movements in my life is into relationship, both with my partner in crime, and also closer friendships. Last weekend, I told my boyfriend that I’d passed up the chance to meet with a curator for the sake of a bus, and started laughing maniacally which quickly dissolved into tears while he stroked my back and said he still hoped for good things for me. And other friends–including some of my readers of the blog–urged me not to give up, to try again, to remain open and genuine. I think in the past, I probably would have just accepted my failure and moved on. A sort of learned helplessness or indifference which has served me well for coping with off-the-wall people and experiences. Even a sense that the failure was yet one more line on my long resume of inadequacy. But this time, I feel different. I have people in my life who believe in me, and love me through my pain and shame. I have the courage to try again–what do I have to lose? So I sent another email to the curator.
And I got an email back almost right away! I was so overjoyed that I could hardly sleep Wednesday night. How wonderful to create a new memory. A memory of a time when it looked like a door had shut, but then I tried it again and it opened. The world is not a fixed system with predictable A or B outcomes (train track or derailment), but rather an infinitely branching tree. My sense of freedom and possibility is growing.