Day Ballet

Mike Madigan
Jul 21, 2018 · 3 min read

Starting with no coffee, here in Windsor. But rather a sparkling water. In my conquest to escape the tasting room, I look outside character, outside the predictable, any pattern. Had two cups at home, so when I arrived here I thought why not do something utterly not-me. So, I feel a bit more free, not so everyday, not so Groundhog Day like the same thing just circles me and is on its tireless repeat.

Starting to calm, starting to settle. This essay, focusing on new focus, new efforts and projects. Going new ways to find a new way, a new way of character and quietude in that character. The career I want will NOT knock, I know. The only one that give any of us the big break we so much want and wait for, is US. That’s obvious to me now, getting old and waking every morning saying to self “I want, I want, I want…” What if I stopped. What if we merely do, and stop wishing.

The tasting room isn’t the problem, it’s me. My attitude. This morning, and often when in these lulls, these emotional stalls and halts. Raising head beyond the fog, these clouds of questioning self and wondering, measuring, being cautious… We realize what holds us back when we only understand the reality of a forward. That much.. that much I fire into this piece.

In the morning, I can be either way, sped or sluggish. What if I, we, only settled on one character type. And, only knew to seek outside the character, away from any normality or persistent person that we are seen as. No coffee, I don’t need it. The sparkling water eases and collects my consciousness in a way nothing could ever — no mocha, no wine, beer, nothing. The two cups I had in my maison, more than plenty. I’m energized and caffeinated by thought, by the education in this sitting, in me refusing to be in anything I do from day to day.

Know how I’ll attack the day. And I WILL attack. First, get to work and only write. Get a couple tasks out of the way so it looks as thought I’m completely me. But in reality, a beatific not-me. No more circles. No more repeat. I think of my father, a Philosophy major, and all the talks we’ve had about character and conviction, about not following, about thinking for Self, about the Self itself. He once said to me, “If you’re to be so concerned with what other people think, how could you ever be thinking for yourself?” Again, his instruction’s tide approaches my meditative shore.

What will be on a ceaseless repeat is the defiant stride of a thinker, ME. This new not-me. The wine industry, if anything, has shown me how toxic orderly ways can be. How structure in excess only infests, does nothing to enliven or make more coherent, sound. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s just the foe I need. Maybe that’s just what this writer needs to see the world and learn from it. Maybe my career has knocked. Have I not heard the door thumps and thuds? Well, anyway, welcome in, and thanks for the break.



Mike Madigan

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author/creator of … #tirelesswriter, #papablogga