Some places have names. Towns and cities and streets and parks and deserts and forests and things. Sometimes, when history demands it, the name gets bigger than the place itself, and takes on a life of its own.
Everyone knows these places because they know the names. But sometimes - actually, much more often - places don't have their own name. They either get subsumed into a larger, identified location. Or they get forgotten about, free to exist without fame and intrigue.
The exact same thing is true about states of mind. Sometimes we're ecstatic, miserable, despondent, and we know it and everyone else knows it. Sometimes the name takes over and we demand to BE something - relaxed, motivated, cautious.
But there are the states of mind with no name. I feel like I'm in one of those places this week. Things go on, I navigate the people around me, it is not a non-state. But I don't have a word for it. I am, this, that, too much, too little. It is. A state without a name.
I am very much enjoying some excellent writing this week. One read that struck me was Louise's first update about training to run 100k
. That's not a typo. It made me want to read Murakami's book
, but I know my shelves are too full already. Here, though, the passing of time, step-by-step:
"I don’t notice the day to day changes in my face as it ages or the slow decline in the leaves of our house plants. It’s only when I realise I now look five years older or that they’ve drooped so much that I need to water them; only when the change has got big enough to register. With running, though, I notice the day to day changes...
"It’s now light by the time I finish my morning runs when just a few weeks ago the stars were out for the duration and I picked my way between the glow of streetlights on icy pavements.... "