This is David Gibson

I started looking for work again recently and lo and behold I got hired. Something new, in a different sort of place, but I am excited. The angel of necessity is smiling over my shoulder. More to come after I start, no jinxing the opportunity. Promoting culture, fundraising, etc.

My whole life has been about being present for other people. For myself I feel very small, almost nonexistent. In curating  I became professionally active with the artists, the gallery, the press, and even the gallery going public. I had a role. Now my role is much more narrowly defined. I feel the limits pressing down upon me. When I am away on vacation there is some succor from this pressure. I can convince myself that I deserve it even though I have so many regrets about a failure to be present in mynpast life as the sort of writer I always wanted to be. I am currently struggling again to do this. The good fight none will ever know.

Tomorrow, Michele and I are leaving for a little vacation in the Hudson Valley. I won't say much about the exact location but it's kind of a dream destination, it's on a mountain, and I hear the food is great! I look forward to a lot of earnest relaxation: reading and writing, local activities, and jumping in the pool. I don't know what else to say. Life is an adventure when we want it to be. My life with Michele is a blessing that never ends.

I am not given to understand everything about my life at the same time. Some truths may never be spoken, while others shake me to my core. The wellspring of my origins is always around me. The implements I use: a pen, a comb, a book I may be reading, these are all useful but they are also essential and in their own way beautiful. The stirrings of a soul in motion aptly and subtly described is the story most worth making known. 

I want to sing my heart out. I wish that sometimes I had been gifted not only with a passion for language but a desire and ability to sing. I would have been a great musician. But alas it isn't in me. I do love music however and spend many hours on iTunes. Having my musical inspiration come from the same place where I write and discover other sources of knowledge is a joy.

I find myself wanting to post more about my feelings these days. I have always been someone who freely unburdened himself, but in the era of the overshare, I find myself strangely mute. I don't want to tell EVERYONE about my life and my problems. The void doesn't care. I do however want to put these facts before anyone who would care, who would extend themselves to me. Beyond my loving wife I find it hard to know who that might be. Perhaps the writing about feelings is overrated. Maybe I should be writing stories, poems, and more. I think that over time, when we get the chance to vent constantly, we lose the ability to recognize that all our words have clarity and weight, and that they matter as self expression most when they aspire to something more. I have been organizing my library and putting things in their places. Gathering all the poetry books I own, all the drama books, the short stories, and so on. Thinking about language, about expression, about process. I am a fl