Writing Big Year: Not looking for blue skies or open spaces

For the first quarter decade after turning 60, I went looking for adventure. Not real, dangerous adventure, but robust out-in-remoteness time in wilderness. We also traveled quite a lot, especially during the grayness of Melbourne’s winter. I could always aspire, so it seemed to me, to be somewhere warmer, or somewhere amidst the vigor of exercise, while at the same time writing “as much as I could.” The dream of blue skies enticed. Now lockdown is here, albeit seeping away (at least for us lucky Australians), and, on the fifth day of winter, I face a winter fully in Melbourne, grabbing a blue sky on odd occasions. The strange thing is, I’m looking forward to three months of study captivity, productive time at desk. You see, blue skies and wilderness are distractions from purpose. In 2020, winter shall be winter and nothing but winter.

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