I keep thinking about time.
Sometimes it’s practical: Blocking off my Google calendar to realistically do the work of this glass course. My current estimate is 20 hours a week: 3 hours in class, 3 hours reading and writing, 3 hours sketching and documenting, 6 to 9 hours hotshop, 3 hours mold-making or coldwork. Which means I may have to finally clock only 40 hours per week in my day job instead of obsessing over it. And yoga still needs to happen, and family. I might have to wait til summer to get back to my ukulele.
Sometimes it’s regret: If I’d only spent more time practicing glasswork last fall I’d feel more competent now, not so behind. And how come I didn’t get into this amazing thing when I was, like, 19? WTF was I doing? (Working as a shipping clerk in a warehouse, paying rent, going to night school, hanging out with surf punks.) How different my life would have been if I’d learned then what I’m learning now–about making, about mentorship, about collaboration. And a different kind of courage that might have served me better.
Sometimes it’s metaphysical: What if this is all there is–in a really good way. Just making and learning with stuff that could kill you but won’t. Every day discovering something new and dangerous and beautiful. Having fellow travelers appear to breathe into your work.
You show up in a place, according to a clock, but once you’re there everything is now this and now this and then just now.