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Will Hicock Low:
Into the Green Recessed Woods They Flew (1885)

"The journey, not the arriving, might just be the purpose here after all."

I distrust anyone who seems to know where they're going from any outset, and that goes double for anyone who appears to know very much about how to get there. The first while should properly humble any adventurer as he settles into his somewhat surprising new context. It must be different than expected, or it’s not an adventure. More than half of any excitement comes from the surprise emanating from it. It really should seem different, though judgment had rarely matured to the point yet where very much appreciation accompanies these initiations. They're almost universally experienced as inconveniences, as problems, as broken and needing fixing. Usually and fortunately, by the time the initial disorientation settles down, some fresh Groove emerges from the chaos, and things at least start promising to unfold more smoothly, with no intervention to fix anything really necessary.

My inquiry into Publishing should have proven no different from any standard Class A excursion.
It's taken a couple of disorienting weeks for my internal complainant to settle down and into Grooving. What began as an undifferentiated process has evolved into something less fearful and much more attractive. I can finally imagine myself engaging other than begrudgingly. What left me feeling put out finally leaves me feeling clued in. I imagine myself mastering manuscript assembly, consistently bringing several disparate pieces together into coherent wholes while even enjoying the engagement. There was never any guarantee at the outset that I would ever happen to stumble upon such a process. It seems a gift, and I welcome its arrival.

The process seems like a form of magic now. Pieces of it I created eons ago when stumbling through earlier manuscripts. I recognize that I'm still hunting and pecking my way through it, but I spent some time studying, watching videos of how the various applications are at least supposed to work, and some of that instruction seems to have stuck. I can usually sit through any instructional video and end up dumber as a result, but these sessions seemed to have tickled something. It seems a slow evolution but a positive one. It seemed as though I was watching myself work while levitating just above, alert and attentive, making judgments and wisely choosing. I finished the work feeling more refreshed than I'd begun, a sure sign that I might finally be on to something.

And for the rest of the day, I felt as though I might have finally managed to accomplish something. I felt productive, a sensation that rarely results from my usual daily activities. This experience leaves me warmly anticipating what I had been dreading. It produces more questions than answers, but I welcome this fresh mystery into my life. I might notice just how little faith I began this latest journey with. I suspected that, unlike most of its predecessors, this one would prove a failure. Success still seems very far from certain, but this Grooving renders success and failure relatively unimportant. The engagement's satisfying enough without my needing to worry about what might result. The journey, not the arriving, might be the purpose here.

©2023 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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