Over drinks recently, some friends and I pondered the question, “What is your urgency?” It’s huge. Its charge is enough to destabilize comfortable routines and amicable exchanges. We imagined the shock at suddenly trying to articulate this, and then we felt ourselves shocked, there and then, in our own attempts to do so.
What is your urgency?
In the days that have passed since then, I have decided that our urgencies, all of them, have this at their core: the future. What are we becoming? What ways to manoeuvre en route? Our urgencies are future-tense and transformative. They are ambitious and idealistic. In my case, the urgency is bound up with language, pedagogically inflected, politically concerned. To speak specifically feels strange, as if to name these projects simultaneously closes off the enterprise. My urgency, then, is nebulous; it’s shape continuously informed by resonance and failure. Today, it is momentum itself that is urgent, trying to find a way to harness it so as to breed effects outside of my small bedroom and its small windows. Today the urgency is charged space between myself and an imagined audience.