With most of my fleeting interests, most of the fun is in thinking about doing the thing. In a metadiscursive inaugural post, I will explain what a marvel it is that you're reading this at all.
"Ponder the hurdle long enough, and a frustrated onlooker will take out the hurdle themselves or drag you over it."
Recently, while setting up anchors for an indoor hammock, I put about 19 holes into the wall before finding a stud, thus generously paving the way for a new activity: wall-revitalization. For me, any such activity involves numerous hurdles between inception and completion.
Getting started is simple. One only needs a plan; it doesn't have to be a detailed plan, just a roadmap, something to orient oneself to their goal. Certainly, the next steps in my case were clear– spackle, sand, and paint; the plan is simple. Thus, the first hurdle was behind me, hardly a hazard. Of course, to implement the plan, I'd need more than just an idea– I'd need spackle, a spacklespade (just learned the word), sandpaper, and paint. The latter three of these would need to be purchased, not because we didn't have any, but because the state they'd been left in would be an entirely new restoration project, not to mention I had abysmal odds of finding any specific tool in the Grand Home Improvement Mountain. This was the second hurdle: I needed to plan ahead, set aside time to shop, and worst of all, actually go. This second hurdle was a doozy. I found myself behind the great wall.
The Great Wall of Necessity is a known trial. Miles of hurdles end to end, the necessary but deeply boring first steps of many a journey I've begun. The only way past is over; this is the place where many well-intentioned pursuits withered and died. As the hero of the story, I'd love to say with dedication and willpower I surmounted this challenge. I didn't.
Ponder the hurdle long enough, and a frustrated onlooker will take out the hurdle themselves or drag you over it. Wonderfully (for me anyway), my mother's impatience brought out all necessary pieces. The second hurdle crumbled to dust and particles and I was back on my way.
There was only one thing left to do: finish the job. Hurdles anticlimactically cleared, I was in a dead sprint to the finish line when suddenly, the ground was gone from beneath my feet. Since this is a metaphor, I can say with certainly I cartoonishly ran on air for a few steps before entering free fall.
I tumbled into the Chasm of Creative Potential. I wanted to paint a mural. Every idea accelerated my descent: beautiful vines from wall to wall, maybe I'd use a stencil, or maybe just wallpaper. The chasm isn't inescapable– I've proven that to be true. It's that I don't want to escape. I love the safety of the chasm, the promise of the other side, the thrilling cascade of visions that can never be lost if I never grasp them. The best ideas fly in with momentum, enough to carry me out, but to grab hold is to forgo a better one that has yet to come.
I still haven't touched that wall.
Hurdles, walls, and chasms That's the beauty of a single post. It might not be something incredible, but it means I grabbed on.