Putting my toe in water is the first step for one who loves to swim. But I am cowardly. There is my big toe poised in mid air, above the chlorinated bath. Staring into middle distance I use a mix of downright force and gentle persuasion to urge myself to heave myself into the salubrious pool. There’s invariably a hesitation, I could step in, jump in dive in fall in, - just do the length, I’ll count them, keep score it’s so good for me and when its over that will be so good for me, too. I’ll glow from heady exertion.
Much I suspect is the case with blogging. We have to wear clothes. It’s a northern climate. To what extent do we undress? How much of ourselves do we expose. Layer upon layer gets peeled away. I imagine after awhile it will become second nature, effortless, barely noticeable.
This is a head of Peter, a business man. He gets up every morning at 5:30 to lift weights. That’s how he starts his day. When he sat for me, he regaled me for several weeks with stories and insights about everything, He has a kind of encyclopedic knowledge, and a lovely refreshing sarcastic wit. I would prolong the sittings just to hear him talk. From him I know there’s water on the moon.