I was down with a cold all week. The good news is that even a stupid common cold and all the feelings of vileness that it somehow brings, reset me. Maybe it was the fever, but I started to feel that after the sickness recedes I'll have this lovely blank slate.
Positive as I am of late, I've been struggling to accommodate everything; writing and running, Beau and work, errands and friendships. (I know stacked against people with obligations - especially to little humans - this must seem like a breeze, but I've been feeling like whole weeks evaporate and I'm left clutching at vapours. I won't lie about that because of some form of spinster guilt).
So, a few days at home helped. I beavered away at the kind of work I find hard to get done, even though each task was punctuated by sneezing fits that alarmed poor Beau to no end.
For me, change is a slow boil and is always preceded by a great deal of introspection. I won't say I'm not impulsive; my introspection is often governed by feeling as much as argument. But when I go to write something, the thoughts are usually in my head. And when I take a step in one direction, I've usually considered what the next 5 or 6 look like. Sometimes then I can run to get there faster.
Still, trusting yourself on the best of days (never mind days fogged with sickness) is a leap of faith. We're so fickle, really, us humans. Our memories are notoriously untrustworthy, our perspectives fragmented by a billion mental blinks, with gaps bridged by vague feelings, unconscious biases, assumptions and misrememberings. We are wholly untrustworthy.
And yet, there's nothing else to go on except this bubble each of us occupies, occasionally punctured by another. And often the reasoning, the structures we construct around that bubble, seems like nothing more than defensive shape-throwing. Because we're still going to follow our own ideas, coloured as they are in our own subjective light. And we're going to construct those arguments that complement and accentuate the hue of our choosing.
Which is all to say, certainty does not exist except in the depraved minds of dogmatists and fanatics and those capable of terror. Understanding that you're unreliable but making your decisions regardless is far more interesting. Just don't let that process become dogma. And whenever possible, let others puncture your bubble, debunk some things. Whenever possible, puncture it yourself by reading and watching things that are hard and challenging and teaching.
Or just catch a cold and feel like you've figured out new shit with your fevered mind. That works too.