There has been a long pause before this post, the result of a collision of events that left no time for the coherence that I find this kind of writing requires.
I have found my ethics of reaction to be well-honed and often practiced, but the ethics of reflection require a different mindset. (No doubt this is why I have always preferred the immediate challenge of tactics to the long game of strategy.)
There has been much to which I needed to react in the past two months, leaving reflection to some distant moment. So it is perhaps fitting (given the last post on St Patrick’s Day!) that this one gets written down in another Irish pub, this time in Ottawa, as far from Parliament as The Dubliner was from the Capitol.
I had reached one of those proverbial forks in the road, the place where there is a clear choice between directions to travel, but no further indication of what lies ahead nor even of the direction in which those two forks might ultimately lead the unsuspecting traveller.
That fork requires a definite choice — not some fade to left or right, like a badly-hit golf ball.