At this ripe age I still keep wondering, keep being uncertain. I guess for a large part because uncertainty once was the only stable ground for me, the only starting point for life and feeling, however uncertain and insecure. Through reason to personhood, to life, to love, in its many forms. Only art I embraced with unhesitating instinct.
But still, at the same time, this road was never completely uncertain nor completely insecure, having always had this passionate insistence on what has felt true, felt certain, a stable ground. A felt truth. Even if only of hesitation but a passionate hesitation it has indeed been. And there, here, I am then, here I remain. Not untrue to myself, no never, but constantly wondering, hesitating, stopping, being ineffective. At this ripe age - and still not having any true regrets. (And anyway, I guess it could have been much, much worse.)
