A month pretending I’m two places simultaneously. And pretending is more true than either/or. The double-ness of being abroad forced a space/time elucidation of where I am and what I’m doing — a precision of role-distinction, excising tertiary duties, clarifying… the need for further clarification (in work, life, studies, etc ad infinitum).
A month of non-refreshing, not necessarily inspiring, intermittently productive self-exaction. Action, pared down to its minimal, most naked machinations — action stripped of extraneous exertions (i.e. the kind that shred each workday into countless unmanageable slivers of half-done obligations).
A month that didn’t obviate any particular/specific future action points. But instead, cleaned out a semi-significant fraction of the [things] that impede forward movement.
I have no imminent aspirations (at least not born of my month in Paris), but I now have a bit of room for aspirations to begin fomenting and manifesting themselves.
I’m back with less than what I left with, and that’s success enough.