Titled for the record kept by ship captains, the captains’ log, and the loss of the ability to write experienced by many a writer, the writer’s block, The Captain’s Block is not now as it was first envisioned.
As it was originally envisioned, the Block was to be more aligned to the log than the block. It was to give an account of the drive from Hillsdale, Michigan to Seattle, Washington and to be a record of the move and the subsequent moving-in finding whatever of home and being at home might be found here in the Pacific Northwest. Needless to say, the writing of the records did not happen then. The Captain’s Block as originally envisioned will not be.
The Captain’s Block that is is not the Captain’s Block that was first envisioned. The Captain’s Block that is is, more than anything else, a place where thoughts and musing are gathered, where memories are recollected, where confessions will undoubtably happen. Towards exorcising the lethargy and anxiety I often find myself paralyzed with, the Block is a movement to exercise diligence and routine, towards letting these become cultivation and flourishing. The fruit of all of this, I hope, is nothing more or less than conversation. I have no intentions towards profundity, and I do hope I don’t develop a pretense of it. I am interested in wonder, intrigued by how it is with self-cultivation, enamored with love and terrified of fear, captivated by home and homelessness, and drawn, above all, to learning and teaching. Until you have learned something thoroughly enough to teach it, you have no learned it. This does not always mean a mastery. It does always mean a humility, a practice of humility. I am weak with this. The Captain’s Block, I hope, will teach and also let me learn.
Please, help me learn myself.