Can you believe it’s almost July? Moreover, it is now over a month since my degree. (Given that fulfilling the requirements of this degree has been my focus for the last three years, obtaining this degree will be a reference-point for me for a long time.)
In the past month, I have traveled, packed, moved, unpacked, read, cooked, ate, laughed, visited old and good friends, and relaxed. Next week I return to Nashville for a little while to work; my unpacking-vacation in Georgia is soon coming to an end. As a result, I haven’t written much.
To be truthful, I feel that there is so much to write about, but I haven’t had the discipline to write. Things are still hazy and conceptual in my mind: though I may live in one place now, so many of my friends are in other places, and though I may have my feet pointed toward one direction, I feel my mind unable to make complete sense of that direction. I am still attempting to figure out what I want, what I am capable of, and what I am made for.
Though I had intended this “sabbatical year” after my degree to be one of clarification, this past month has been one of sputtering, often confused reflection. I have pondered on the beach, in the kitchen, on the road, and on porches. But awkwardly, perhaps happily, no astounding clarity to report.
It is only right, then, that I leave you with a quote that may give us both some insight into the always unfolding nature of reflection, action, and reflection that is the stuff of life: “…since reality is incomplete art must not be afraid of incompleteness,” from Iris Murdoch, “Against Dryness,” as quoted in the introduction to her novel, The Bell. We all exist in the contingencies of reality, and we all attempt—-in our own ways—-to reflect on that reality in the work we do, the art we make.
Not fearing incompleteness, then, let’s continue onward.