Trying on, these past few weeks, this new label, this clothing that is color-coded, as in Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale.
I’m not a writer.
It chafes, like recital costumes of tulle that I remember from my early school years. It took so long to draw from all emotions, mental states, the words, I am a writer. To myself, to others, it finally felt a natural thing to say. A look-you-in-the-eyes statement, tempered by the slightest tremor of a smile.
What am I now? Now that I am not a writer. How long before, once again, I can look another in the eye?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
The greatest martial artists, when they become masters of the art, and have found “the way.” They realize their best technique, is not to fight.
Masters of and art often reach this stage of duality.
You’ve hit the nail on the head, only I’m at the “Grasshopper” stage, feeling hopelessly unskilled.
But I understand your point, and the theory of in knowing all ways, selecting the one that is most successful, despite its conflict of purpose.