When I turned 70 last year, I was full of determination to make a plan for “the next 30 years.” My journal is full of scribbled reflections on resolutions and manifestos. I used Tarot cards to shake up my thoughts for new insights. I drove us west to South Dakota to be energized by the night sky — and to prove I could. I flung myself into fabric design, which turned out to be a fruitful occupation for the dark months of winter.
This year, I slid gently into 71 without much forethought. The spring tempests, the summer to-do lists, the autumn social calendar are behind us. Our cabin now becomes our hermitage, our monastery of artful delights, our island of cozy quietude amid the outdoor drama of late fall.
But I’m looking for The Project. What will engage my imagination and my hands for the weeks ahead? This season, I’m more eager to tune back into spiritual questions than I have been in a while. Get in touch with my inner mystic, yeah. But how will that manifest in making or writing? Today, I have no idea. But… tomorrow…?