As I washed the sticky orange chlorhexidine foam off my body I found myself thinking about the past. I’ve been alive more than two decades longer than I ever thought I’d live, and I’ve lost count of the number of times I mused “and now that I didn’t, I don’t really know what to do.” I guess I figured it out because I kept waking up every morning and doing things, and those things changed slightly year over year, and eventually a body of work built up. Between the invisible glue work, the private work and the public work, there’s so much. I don’t think much about how I’ll be remembered, but I do think about what impact I’ve had while I’m here. Being a part of anything is like sticking your hand in a bucket of water. While it’s in there you can stir things up as much as you’re physically able, but when you take your hand out, the water fills the space you occupied, and only the effects of the forces you applied are left. My effects on the two great loves of my life are the things I’m most proud of, and it’s sad that no-one will ever see that. You might read it though, in a manner of speaking. New Astoria is the most proud I’ve ever been of anything I’ve done, and it isn’t close. I could not have asked for better partners in crime in bringing it to life, and if I have any regrets, it’s not getting more time with them. Tomorrow I’m either going to wake up fixed, or not at all. What are the words I want to leave behind? Are the ones I’ve written enough? Will the people I loved understand with an all-encompassing clarity what they meant? Will the people I helped have what they need to go on? I hope so. Stir while you can. Love while you can. Godspeed x
