Yesterday I went to a tea leaf reading as part of New Zealand Fringe Festival. People in the teahouse could choose to have their fortune read for the next day or for the next year.
Everyone was wearing floppy hats with flowers, pretending it was 1863.
The woman performing tried to read my teacup, scrunched up her brow, and proclaimed:
“A year of mystery. You’re not sure what you’re going to be doing, and the tea leaves don’t know either.”
You know what? She was right.
I have no idea what I’m doing. Come mid-May, after four months cycling in New Zealand, I’m off to Melbourne to be an artist in residence in Montsalvat––to have some time to process and write.
And after that? Who knows. I just canceled my flight to Abu Dhabi.
I want to stop flying. I want to give myself permission to move more slowly. To take boats over long distances. Because water. Because work with my hands. Because because. It feels right.
((Do any of ya’ll have contacts among folks who work on boats? Let me know. I’m hungry for more info / people to talk to about boat travel.))
But what’s next? What do I see in the cup? A cycling trip up through Indonesia and into Asia? A job on a boat?
I don’t know. And I’m learning to surrender to that uncertainty.
Gosh, sometimes it’s HARD.
tl;dr I have no idea what I’m doing.
p.s. My love for small spoons runs deep. Everyone in the teahouse got their own tiny spoon to go along with their own tiny cup of tea and I swooned over all the spoons. Spoons on spoons on spoons.