Carving, curving

Reflections on time and attention

Last year a date asked me how I spent my time and I answered immediately and with certainty: “thinking.” This person was amused. My answer was honest, after all, but not the point of the question. We weren’t a romantic match but he told me that my response stuck with him long after.

How do you spend your time? A question I’ve been asking myself again recently and was plagued by the answers.

Sometimes I wonder if I can only pay attention sideways. That when I face most things head on it’s too much. Holding an image in the side of my mind allows me to treat it gently and measure how much of my energy it should get.

The intensity of a full-on stare can overwhelm people. The piercing honesty provokes the desire to hide or, worse, a feeling of failure if they can’t match mine.

So I learn to hold gently. To channel my intensity where it seems fit.

I’m writing again. The weekly accountability project worked. A reminder that I control my schedule and if I want to achieve something, I have to try for it.

How audacious, having a goal. To put in the hours and make it a priority and believe that the work is worthwhile.

I’m knocking at the door and sense it may open soon. Dropping perfectionism and letting curiosity lead.

Putting in the hours is the work. Time and attention are the ingredients we have to build anything of value.

How magical and horrifying to realize what we can shift in simple ways. The only reason I am good at anything is because of the time and attention I’ve put toward it. Conscious and subconscious, the memory of skis beneath me as I fall asleep shapes my muscles and reminds me of the weakness in one side.

Pondering characters and scenarios and relationships as I go about my tasks makes the act of writing seem easy. The work is already done.

Sometimes I walk into a home and feel all of the energy accumulated within it. Each item reflective of its use and value to the occupant.

Our attention changes the air we breathe. It’s reflected in all we do.

So, I’m putting mine into what I want to cultivate. The long-form fiction project. Inspired by others who are making their dreams come true.

The urgency comes both from impending collective doom and also from the need to clear space for what’s next. This project has occupied a large part of my creative spirit for several years and I want it to change form. Pushing ahead in the hopes that it will.

Thanks for your feedback from last week—as always, it is great to hear from you.

Film keeps me present with the momentary attention of a shutter click.

And it takes me back in time when the images finally appear.

Photos from and around Cordova, March 2025.