Pressed for time, I didn’t really want to find a bench. But I needed a healthy dose of the Hudson River, calming me with its lazy lapping against the rocky shore.
For tomorrow is a big day.
I’m a bit anxious about tomorrow.
After all, it’s not every day that one of the largest global, governmental bodies asks me to scribe. Add to that my being told, “You’re going to add the pizzazz.” It’s not that I think I’ll do poorly. I’m just nervously hoping I meet expectations.
But being slightly scared, it turns out, nicely fits this locale, where the geese sound mournful under a gray sky.
And trees seem to grasp with gnarled fingers for some hint of spring.
A log in the water floats heavily like a cadaver.
And even the melting snow forms the scowl of a sinister apparition.
It is, after all, Irvington, NY. Right next to Sleepy Hollow.
Yup. That Irving.
I’ve thought much in the last ten months about what I want to do with my life and art. It’s funny – when people talk about one’s perfect life endeavor, it’s always framed by doing what one loves. Never by doing what one fears. All dream, no nightmare. But is a little nervousness a bad thing?
Connie Chung once said, “I wanted to be scared again... I wanted to feel unsure again. That's the only way I learn, the only way I feel challenged.”
I think she’s right. And the drive over the Tappan Zee bridge reminded me of a time, during my college years, a group of us would come up to Nyack to be briefed for a summer abroad – I went to the Philippines -- an experience that was prefaced with a fair amount of trepidation, but epilogued by wisdom learned.
Even after sitting on the bench awhile, the river had no effect. I still felt the internal, sharp edge of uncertainty about tomorrow. But I suppose I can live with that. I won’t let it grow to an Ichabodian fantasy of fear. I can use the edginess to stay alert and pressing on to doing my best work.
It’s better than waking up one day with regrets for time wasted.
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