Hodgepodge 365/365 - The End

Not the end of this blog, just of this second 365 project. The first one I called "365 True Things"—as in, true things about me, which I mostly managed to stick to. This iteration I called "Hodgepodge" to give myself leeway, to see what caught my attention on any given day. Both of them were fun (if occasionally I had to struggle to come up with something, anything!).

And now? I intend to shift a bit from a product-oriented practice to a more process-oriented one. It will still involve daily tasks, but not necessarily hard outputs—except in the form of a handwritten journal that I will start keeping, to help me pay attention to such things as resistance, satisfaction, roadblocks, flow, doubt, strength, irritation, pleasure, inspiration. (I'll be using the butterfly Decomposition Notebook I mentioned the other week.)

But I'll still show up here. I've got all sorts of projects in mind, plus there are always things that catch my attention that I enjoy sharing. So if you've been following me, please continue to check back! I enjoy your company.

As I've finished up this "Hodgepodge," I've posted more and more poems. I'll end with one of my favorites. It's also about a farewell, though of a different sort than this. (You can watch the poet read it herself here, if you wish.)

It Was Like This: You Were Happy (2006)

Jane Hirshfield
  
It was like this:
you were happy, then you were sad,
then happy again, then not.

It went on.
You were innocent or you were guilty.
Actions were taken, or not.

At times you spoke, at other times you were silent.
Mostly, it seems you were silent—what could you say?

Now it is almost over.

Like a lover, your life bends down and kisses your life.

It does this not in forgiveness—
between you, there is nothing to forgive—
but with the simple nod of a baker at the moment
he sees the bread is finished with transformation.

Eating, too, is a thing now only for others.

It doesn’t matter what they will make of you
or your days: they will be wrong,
they will miss the wrong woman, miss the wrong man,
all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention.

Your story was this: you were happy, then you were sad,
you slept, you awakened.
Sometimes you ate roasted chestnuts, sometimes persimmons.