Forward Progress

It’s amazing how much we, that is humanity in general, desire forward progress. Clearly, progress is generally conceived of as a good thing. I can think of a few instances where forward progress can be bad though – say you’re going through a swamp…sometimes you might have to back up and go around instead of just going forward – and yes, I realize that eventually even this still results in progressing forward.

Brief aside: I’m now wondering how many ways I can say forward progress, without just saying the same two words over and over again.

Staying on topic though, there have been instances in the past where not pursuing the same line has been the way progress is made. And it often seems like everything progressive happens in a two steps forward, one step back process. I guess that’s how it always has been and how it always will be. But, I actually have a normal, or at least semi-normal, point to this post. It wasn’t even supposed to be overly…weird…but that’s generally just what happens when I blog. Only problem is, I’m not sure exactly what it was…

The holding patterns I was talking about earlier seem to be clearing up. Almost like I’m talking to the tower and getting permission to move into a landing queue. So, I’m still holding but progress is being made…of course to some degree this progress feels like I’m right back where I was about six months ago or so…see what I mean about the confusingness of forward progress? This talking to the tower stage seems to be working out well for me though, I’m enjoying it, having a lot of fun. I guess I’ll see where they give me clearance to go…so, maybe, instead of waiting to land I should say that I’m waiting to take off. On an adventure. Because I’m not planning on staying on the runway forever.

Anyways, I’m tired of being metaphoric and cryptic. So I’m going to go get some work done.

~The Countess~

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About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
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