The Barn, i

From where I stand I can almost see "the moon." The barn is what
stands in my way and it is not just a physical structure in an
environmental space but it is also a mental and emotional jungle gym
of haphazard ideas, unfinished dreams and distorted expectations.

My barn today is becoming the diminished version of everything I've
ever built up and it is, quite frankly, slow going. I am working at
undoing years of thinking in terms of sentiment and possibility,
instead of in terms of utility and ease which I privilege in this
case. I struggle between valuing the art of creative expression that
both memorializes and endears AND the value of clarity and
consideration in acts of intention. For some reason, these seem to
diverge and can't both be recognized sufficiently or equitably in a
single endeavor.

For most of my life I have failed to adhere to the design commandment
that "form follow function" and instead have defaulted to employing
techniques, both actual and cognitive, that pull from the material and
mental scraps I've accumulated over time. I believe I am being
economical in this strategy and moreover, wise for acquiring a
collection of haphazardness and finding some (often) Lot 49ish way of
threading them together that even Pynchon would probably deem
desperate at best. Still, despite how desperate my attempt, this
strategy has felt most honest and true, most likely because it allows
me to expect (and get) less than I fear I deserve.

It is only in recent months that I have started to recognize that in
this kind of pursuit I am articulating that I believe I am worth
nothing more than a collection of scraps; that any visible record of
myself be in uneven segments; that my choices are only as valuable as
the piecemeal logic that I use to make them.

I recognize this and I don't accept it anymore.