Beginning the New Year

Caminate, no hay camino, se hay camino, se hace camino al andar.
Traveller, there is no way. The way is made by walking. 
Antonio Machado

A confession: I don't Text, Twitter, or make friends on Facebook. Not that I am opposed to any of these activities, but I have others ways to waste my time. Blogging is likely one of them.

Seventeen years ago, I blogged (or journaled) privately, with the thought that one day it might become public. It did- in 1997, as the book A Measure of My Days. It was, of course, a diary without photographs or links, and only passing reference to a small number of literary works and current events. It chronicled my life and work in Belfast, Maine- a year, as is often the case, of incredible intensity and richness. I had hoped that my ordinary life would be of sufficient interest to pay back the publishers at the University Press of New England. I turned out to be the case. "Why my life and not others?," I often asked myself. Certainly others' lives are equally deserving. The answer is straight forward: because I invested the time and energy, devoted myself to the cultivation of words, and got lucky.

A blog offers certain obvious advantages, taking advantage of current technology to recruit and link its readership, and to make obvious connections to the wider world. But it still relies on content, a content that has not been carefully edited or tested by time. Needless to say, I accept the inherent limitations and possibilities of blogging, and am ready to plunge ahead.

This entry and all subsequent posts are my attempt to make sense of (a) life in Belfast, Maine. This is the real work and likely return on one's effort- making sense. Making beauty, too, when all goes well. And making a written record, with a conscious effort to stay awake, present and accounted for, as life streams by.

Why this year, after a seventeen year leave from journaling? Because of the changes it promises to bring. This year our small practice will grow from 5 providers to 8, and nearly double the number of available hours. We have recruited two physicians and one mid-level practitioner right out of training- an almost unheard of feat in a time of critical shortages in primary care providers. This year, my potato patch will double in size, and include the keuka, a variety with unparalleled suitability to the Belfast growing season. This year, I hope to begin a part-time fellowship in geriatric medicine, and take classes in Tai Chi, and form a small writing group to support and improve my efforts. This year, I will make and cultivate new friends, without short-changing those who have given themselves to my friendship. This year, my daughter will graduate from college and my son will move into his junior year of high school, which makes the empty nest that much closer down the road.

The quote by Antonio Machado was sent to me recently by a dear and long-time friend, Mary Beth Leone, social worker in our office, facilitator for the provider support group that has met every Thursday morning in our office for the last seventeen years. Along with Cris and Tim Hughes, we marched the Camino (de Santiago de Compostella) together in 2003. So it was apt that she chose this phrase to encourage me, rudderless, as I sail into the great unknown. I once had the certainty of a professional calling, the confidence of my Catholic faith, and- as a young man beginning his family and career- a future without visible end. Time and experience has a way of pulling the rug. And this I don't regret. I accept it as part a part of life. So I am walking now, and thus writing my own future with optimism and hope, adversity and friendship, in this one place called Belfast. Please join me. I'll be back soon.