Seven Years Later I Wonder Did Things Turn Out As Planned? (For Thomas)
It's really been seven years, hasn't it? I was thinking, you and I have been out of contact for as long as we have been friends. Strange to think that way, isn't it? What did I have planned? You were one of three who brought me to the Santa Barbara airport so I could board the plane to NYU. You were one of two who came to visit me in the desert after my regretful return from that concrete city. Weren't you at my wedding? Do you remember what I had planned?
The last time we discussed these things, I didn't have anything planned. I may have espoused grandiousely detailed schemes, set forth in perfect confidence, but deep down inside, I had no idea. As I've grown up, mostly through my residence here in Michigan, so far from everything I've ever known, plans have been revealed to me. You know I've always wanted to write, that I've always felt that need to record things in this voice of mine. Over the years I've practiced and slowly developed my tone. I've read amazing things and written some pretty decent sentences, and I'm only beginning. At one point, I planned on being a newspaper reporter. At another point, I banked on becoming an English teacher. At yet another junction, I had resigned myself to the pre-planned idea that I would always be simply a secretary. Now, as another year is ending (one of the most difficult so far), it's becoming clear. I have found my calling. I may sound cliche over the broadband cables, but what I want to do for the rest of my life really has just dawned on me.
You've read stuff from The New Yorker, right? Or from Harper's? Or Vanity Fair? Those long articles, journalistic essays, that's what I'm going to do with my life. I go back to school (finally - five years later) in the Fall of 2007 to major in journalism. From there I plan on moving into the (fairly) new genre of literary journalism, or, as Tom Wolfe put it 30 years ago, New Journalism. I feel called to ask people questions, to research, and to write about serious (or not) things in a creative and artistic manner. In my dreams, I publish books of essays or long non-fiction narratives (i.e. Annie Dillard), contribute to magazines and edit. In my dreams, I live in a mission style house in the AG hills, with glimpses of the Pacific through my vine-laced trellis. Would you like to come over for dinner?
I have grown in confidence and patience, and I continue to live the academic life vicariously through Aurora and Dynia, while I wait for my turn to come. Will all this turn out as planned seven years down the line? Will you ask me this same question at the end of 2013? I know only one thing for sure: I've never felt this certain about my life's direction. I wonder how much that is worth.
The last time we discussed these things, I didn't have anything planned. I may have espoused grandiousely detailed schemes, set forth in perfect confidence, but deep down inside, I had no idea. As I've grown up, mostly through my residence here in Michigan, so far from everything I've ever known, plans have been revealed to me. You know I've always wanted to write, that I've always felt that need to record things in this voice of mine. Over the years I've practiced and slowly developed my tone. I've read amazing things and written some pretty decent sentences, and I'm only beginning. At one point, I planned on being a newspaper reporter. At another point, I banked on becoming an English teacher. At yet another junction, I had resigned myself to the pre-planned idea that I would always be simply a secretary. Now, as another year is ending (one of the most difficult so far), it's becoming clear. I have found my calling. I may sound cliche over the broadband cables, but what I want to do for the rest of my life really has just dawned on me.
You've read stuff from The New Yorker, right? Or from Harper's? Or Vanity Fair? Those long articles, journalistic essays, that's what I'm going to do with my life. I go back to school (finally - five years later) in the Fall of 2007 to major in journalism. From there I plan on moving into the (fairly) new genre of literary journalism, or, as Tom Wolfe put it 30 years ago, New Journalism. I feel called to ask people questions, to research, and to write about serious (or not) things in a creative and artistic manner. In my dreams, I publish books of essays or long non-fiction narratives (i.e. Annie Dillard), contribute to magazines and edit. In my dreams, I live in a mission style house in the AG hills, with glimpses of the Pacific through my vine-laced trellis. Would you like to come over for dinner?
I have grown in confidence and patience, and I continue to live the academic life vicariously through Aurora and Dynia, while I wait for my turn to come. Will all this turn out as planned seven years down the line? Will you ask me this same question at the end of 2013? I know only one thing for sure: I've never felt this certain about my life's direction. I wonder how much that is worth.