going...somewhere.

It takes little to thrill me.

At work, toward the end of sunny days, I get a little jazzed at around six-thirty in the evening. It's the time of night, this time of year, where the sun starts to cast the most beautiful shadows. It's also the time of night when we have to close the shades a bit, as the beautiful sun often angles itself at eye level of the guests aware enough to choose the window seats. When the shades are up, and I get to see the shadows I love, my step bounces a bit, and my interior smiles.

With this tendency, this ability to really get all up in arms about the mundane, is a keen ability to flutter around, simply enjoying. This is truly a gift, I think. But, when it comes to doing things, my ability to just breeze through has the tendency to breeze over direction; Accomplishment isn't a familiar word in my vocabulary. Indecision is my vocabulary's best friend.

"What does she want to do, though," he asks. "Ha ha ha," followed by a wayward giggle, is the response.

Though I am not magnetized toward the metal of accomplishment, there are things I would like to do, and accomplish. Sitting in the corner, with brightly lit windows in front of me, and change all around me, I am realizing the value of what it is I have done, and the somewhat shaky, around the bend steps I have taken. A strong step in one direction would have been false, as would inaction, and the act of taking no steps at all.

But the step I took was wrought with enough awareness to choose the window seat. I am looking out over ambiguous opportunity and rays of possibility, with my feat more prepared to step, one in front of the other, in front of the other.

With all of this possibility is the reality that the answer to the question and what I want to "do" still takes the recipient in multiple directions. "Weelll, a little of this with some of this and she'd also like to do some of this with that." My decision to go, arrive, meet, try, interview, and start has made the possibility of this and that more likely, yes. But it also means that, like much of life, I must be patient with the not sure. I don't have a solid answer to give people, and I don't have a clear plan for what the coming months hold.

It's the life-long exercise in being comfortable with the unknown, and patient and accepting with what is. Which brings me back to the beginning, where the ability to find thrill in very little is more appropriate than ever, and serves to enhance, like real maple syrup, rather than distract, like scrambled eggs covering up burnt toast.

I am going to enjoy the pancakes and maple syrup of change from the window seat with the sun in my eyes, and look forward to going, well, forward, albeit in the company of shadows.