I was seriously debating skipping my French class this morning -- the sky is blue, the sun is out and oy vey, I am tired of French. (I can't even bring myself to use a French term of frustration; I'm resorting to Yiddish.) I told my coffee coworker that I wouldn't be there today and fantasized last night about how I would spend my morning lying in bed, reading, while the laundry churned.
But these classes weren't cheap, so this morning, my mind is changing. I suppose I'll drag myself over there after all. Maybe I'll go and then reward myself with a photo walk afterwards.
I have to decide whether I want to continue French when this term ends in a few weeks. It's been almost a year, with a few long breaks, and while I know more now than I did when I started, I can speak only a bit better. My dreams of someday being fluent are swiftly receding, unless I unexpectedly find myself with an opportunity to live in France and be immersed. The classroom can only take me so far.
At the same time, I feel like I ought to push myself. And I'm still a beginner, after all.
So, anyway, it's like we used to say when I practiced Zen -- just showing up is a huge part of the commitment. I think I will, at the very least, show up. This week.
Beyond that, who knows what the day will bring?
(Photo: A photography experiment with some student sculptures in the library.)