I'm drooling over these back-lit vials. They're so tidy. So tiny. So perfectly soothing to my Virgo OCD.
Or, I would be drooling, except I'm busy slurping my first maple creemee.
I'm inhaling the peculiarly New England treat, which, I've got to say, tastes suspiciously like every other soft serve ice cream I've had... just, syrup flavored, and with a special name. So, obviously it's delicious. And I'm staring, stupefied.
My friends have long since moved through the tiny, "How we make maple syrup", exhibit in this road-side tourist trap.
But I'm stuck, staring at the syrup apothecary, and I can't stop. I'm mesmerized. I'm thinking about how little I know about maple syrup. I mean, okay. Vermont. Canada. Expensive is better. Sugaring is somehow a thing. Aunt Jemima's a fake.
And then I'm thinking about how little I know about so many things right now. I'm thinking about how hopeless it is to make a well-informed and proper decision on ANYTHING, because god dammit life is a never-ending string of crossroads, so how could you possibly know enough to ever get it right.
But I finish my maple creemee. And I sneak back inside and buy some maple flavored cotton candy before I join my friends at the Adirondack chairs. I'll take any excuse to stuff myself with sugar. Plus, now that I know about it, I should clearly take advantage of this caliber of maple syrup.
I've always been an all-or-nothing kind of girl, anyway. Right decision. I think.
That's more or less how I spent the rest of 2015.
In love with nuance.
In awe of possibilities and paralyzed in the face of decisions, large and small. Obsessively thinking.
As if, with enough focus, I could prophesy the wiry rope of net that would catch us when we jumped. It would catch us, right?
Because as terrified as I was, I knew it was time to leap.
It's irritating how unfigureoutable things seem in real time; and what an obvious, mocking shape they take when you look back over your shoulder.
We're nearly two months in our home, and I'm seeing those looming crossroads in retrospect. Now? I see a million gorgeous choices. No wrong turns.
Maybe it's not about being "well-informed", whatever that really means, anyway. Obsessive thinking definitely does not help, though I can't imagine that habit going anywhere. Maybe there are no proper decisions.
Just... a boundless rainbow of golden hues. And they mean exactly nothing. Until you've sipped one for yourself.