Once again, the time...

[thisnewday]

How long it sometimes takes to recognize a truth about oneself. This one came to me as I was watching Robert Redford and Meryl Streep in "Out of Africa."

Made on location, some twenty-two years ago, the cinematography was stunning and the story compelling. But as the Baroness Blixen and her soon-to-be-lover Denys Hatton approached their first encampment, I shut off the television.

Somehow, despite visual splendor and superb acting, I hadn't the patience to see it to its end. And that often happens to me, for reasons that I can't, with any certainty, explain.

In the past, I've invoked whatever necessity seemed to be driving my life at that moment. When you're the parent of four kids, it's quite often reasonable--responsible, even--to do that.

But that's not how it is, these days. Now, I'm the restless and impatient prisoner of a failing body and forced retirement.

Nor is my life suddenly in orbit around some new-found passion. In fact, the part of me that remains alive orbits this journal, where my interests are wholly captured in monosyllabic bursts of three or four words. Which, once committed to my LJ profile, are automatically alphabetized and neatly separated by commas.

And whereas I was once annoyed by this programmed manipulation of my words, I find myself comforted by the austerity of it, the forced economy of thought and feeling: the simplicity, if not the truth, of a life summed up in so few words.

Because, in the end, I love the words. Just give me the sounds of them and perhaps a brief hint of color or feeling to go with them.

But not too much of either, for I haven't the patience. Or perhaps, once again, for reasons not yet clear, the time...