Feeling the cautious stirrings of optimism and thinking about luck quite a lot. Its a cliche I'm sure, but it is certainly true to a degree that you make your own. I mean, not like bumping into an old friend unexpectedly in Moscow or winning the school raffle, but what is often mistakenly referred to as luck. Luck in achieving things, creating opportunities and making contacts. Trying to remember bits from a cheesy self-help book called 'The Luck Factor' that I read years ago; in fact to call it cheesy is a dis-service as it talks much sense and spurred me on at the time to go out and 'make' luck. I especially remember its insistence on going out and contacting, mingling, meeting; maximising the chance of luck 'finding you'. It is easy to sit back and wonder why things pass you by; the answer is often that you have to go and find them. Birdwatchers would do badly if they sat in the living room all day, and mountaineers would never have the 'lucky' glorious days of climbing if they never got to base camp. In painting, I know that my best work and best ideas come not from staring at the ceiling but gettting out and seeing things, looking, learning, being receptive to the details and colours that live not in my house, but in the big wide world out there.
Feeling pleased at feeling tired; proud to have pushed the pockets of time I have had to find things out, write things down; contact, explore, delve, rummage. Now I need a sleep.
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