I finished Dark Caravan years ago and it's comfortably housed at the museum. But the last three years have been more like a carnival act than any of the time building the carnival. Every day I'm a juggler and a clown. Most days I feel I'm walking a tightrope and on what seems like a fairly regular basis, I must pull a rabbit from my hat to get by. Some days I think I missed disaster "by this much."
It's not at all the edge I'd hoped for. I wanted to be hacking away at some colossal chunk of marble or wood. Or building a full sized carousel.
This is a different sort of edge entirely. It's living in these circumstances, at this age, swinging from day to day without a net.
I'm not done learning this lesson, if I hold to my belief that there's a human curriculum. If I were, I wouldn't wake up with a stone of anxiety in my gut. I take a step back, do a little digging. I'm not alone, I see.
Is this how I look to Poppet? My eyes wacky with panic, every little thing a big ! deal? Am I overwhelmed with my job at panic central? I wouldn't have to work quite as hard at finding peace. So I'm still stumbling, but not falling.
It starts with breathing--simple to do, takes discipline to do well. Breathing well leads to calm. Calm leads to better choices. And so on.