You know, it's funny. E.M. Forster said something along the lines of, "How do I know what I think until I see what I write?" It's so true. I started out today's Satya with this defense of the meandering path--how sometimes what we want hasn’t revealed itself yet or, if it has, there’s some other, apparently, inconsistent event that, only in hindsight, had to take place to lead you wherever you were meant to go. And I believe that. I mean, I think I have to. That's been my life thus far--a trail of seeming inconsistencies that, somehow, coalesce to form this...thing I'm living. This living sculpture.
But as I wrote, I erased, began again, erased, and finally stopped. While I believe those things about the path to be true, I didn't realize, until I began to write (thanks, Forster, old pal), that I'm bloody sick of not knowing where the bloody A *or* the bloody B is. It's like there's a big old X on the map (now my alphabet metaphor is confusing me), and I have the map in my hands, there's just no starting point.
How do you know how to get to the X, if you don't know where to begin? Because, really, at some point you just get tired, digging all those random holes, hoping you're in the vicinity of treasure.