Beginnings are such fragile things. They hold a touch of the end in them, I think. Full of promise and expectation you cannot help but peer at the the paths ahead, imagine where they may take you, where you hope it will, and what you risk if it does not. It is this fragile sense of hope tampered with risk and mixed with plans that make up a beginning, soft and not fully formed. I hold beginnings carefully in my hands and keep them safe, treading lightly, wanting to turn over a new leaf, pull my socks up, put my best foot forward.
If treated too roughly, beginnings can show signs of should-have-done-it-this-way. They can be tainted with should-have-done-it-better, or completely dissolve into puddles of could-have-been. If we don't pay attention and learn no lessons we find ourselves with the worst case; never-should-have. Beginnings are such fragile things.
At some unknown point, you look down and see what once was fragile and delicate has hardened and become the utilitarian everyday. And everything you thought and dreamt and imagined at the beginning, all the action and tasks, all the words and gestures and touch, have become habit. And you hope they are good ones, because it's hard to change now.
I am holding a few beginnings now. A new relationship with my best friend who lives far away. A new business growing every day. A new degree in Visual Arts starting in a few weeks. New housemates and friends, and new traditions. A new start with this pretty new blog. I have so many hopes and ideas and love for all of these things.
So I am careful with beginnings.