(no subject)
I've been struggling with the concept of home, trying to figure out what foundations are. In college, houses and homes were always a central theme in my writing. There was the play off an old nursery rhyme in my senior year. Or that first project I did for Springer's experimental writing class when I made a book folded into the shape of a house, each page a room, each vignette a collection of what it takes to make up space, fill it with not just the ordinariness of being but what it means to be part of something. I keep going back to the origin stories that I found in my file from Lit 8a. It was my first experience with E. Myles and what influenced her and ultimately influences me now. I found a poem about light bulbs and the structural integrity of a dreams. There was the epic poetry class with Ali - my favorite of the bunch where I wrote about a journey that was not mine, but became mine in the making.
A few weeks ago I was forced to sift through these papers, put them away in boxes, and seal them up. Some to come with me. Some to stay and be forgotten until a forced rediscovery somewhere down the line. It's weird to pick up and leave. It's weird because for the first time in my adult life, I'm nowhere near family. I'm completely separated from my foundations and being asked to figure out how to walk on new and potentially shaky ground. This is not something new for other people, but it's new for me. It's new for me right now and I've been avoiding the thought of it for a full week. Call it delayed reaction or call it what it is: fear.
I've never been good at change and here I am stepping headlong into fray. Somehow, I've got to agree with my brain that tells me this is a great opportunity and convince my heart which still yearns for warmer climates and familiar streets.
A few weeks ago I was forced to sift through these papers, put them away in boxes, and seal them up. Some to come with me. Some to stay and be forgotten until a forced rediscovery somewhere down the line. It's weird to pick up and leave. It's weird because for the first time in my adult life, I'm nowhere near family. I'm completely separated from my foundations and being asked to figure out how to walk on new and potentially shaky ground. This is not something new for other people, but it's new for me. It's new for me right now and I've been avoiding the thought of it for a full week. Call it delayed reaction or call it what it is: fear.
I've never been good at change and here I am stepping headlong into fray. Somehow, I've got to agree with my brain that tells me this is a great opportunity and convince my heart which still yearns for warmer climates and familiar streets.