The title of this post has meant a lot to me over the last few years, since my little controlled environment of a life burst a seam. When I was younger, I had a very specific idea of what my life would be like when I reached my 40s. (Comfort, stasis, cutting the grass in my Dad Shorts, that sort of thing.) Which, in the bold light of now, seems perfectly pathetic.
All of this speaks to the transformative power of a shitstorm or two. But since Babble didn't care for "The Gathering Shitstorm" as a title (despite entreaties of "C'mon! GoogleAds loves Churchill references!), I went with the next best thing, my little mantra that came to me in a daydream and has helped fortify me ever since.
The Turbid Spume is about "pulling down your pants and sliding on the ice." (Which was also a rejected title.) About pushing forward, dispelling preconceptions, and taking a leap over the pit of vipers (and mixed metaphors) toward the brass ring. And hopefully not waiting until you're 45 to do it.
The most recent post about my housing search is sort of out-of-date now, but I still enjoy it because although it fazed the hell out of me, it finally knuckled under to willpower and a (mostly) unflagging surety that it would all work out eventually. It's exhilarating not to assume that a lack of control always leads to disaster. Sometime, shit just works out.
Get after it. Speak your mind. Fire 'til it clicks. Repeat.
