I haven’t posted here in quite some time… it’s been a year of depression and anxiety and other struggles.
Looking back through my drafts of blog posts, I don’t remember writing and never publishing this one. But I remember the feelings that were with it and I’ve worked through some and not others… I’m posting it, even though it’s over a year old. Maybe it will be a good place to start writing, again, since reflection is the best way to start.
July 26, 2017
I’m having trouble writing lately. I had goals for so many projects this summer, and I had the desire to do them. I attended RSA Institute and felt invigorated by my time there, and wanted to come home and launch into major research… but I was so tired.
After grad school, and the unpleasant experience that was my dissertation (and most of my graduate career, frankly), my brain kinda stared at me and then laughed whenever I started trying to do intellectual work.
So. I stopped with that, and decided that this summer would be about rereading favorite books. I can have a summer, before I push to publish, before I start tackling the revisions of the dissertation to turn the chapters into publishable articles.
I’ve been rereading. I’ve been writing poetry a bit. I haven’t done nearly as much as I wanted, though, which becomes a little discouraging after a bit.
I’m also moving, so that means a lot of packing, and a lot of sorting (you can read about that with my poem Boxes) and a lot of goodbyes.
I feel foolish. I knew this was in the cards. I knew I would be unlikely to find work in Oklahoma. I knew I would be leaving.
I spent so many years here not getting attached, not exploring, not doing anything beyond going to work and school and going home, because I kept telling myself “You’ll be leaving soon.”
But soon turned into 12 years, and a couple years ago I started to let myself settle in. Let myself think of Oklahoma as “home” instead of “not home.” So leaving is a challenge right now, and I’m caught between feeling foolish for not making it my home earlier, and feeling foolish for letting myself make it my home at all, feeling foolish for all the loose ends I’ve created.
There’s too many. And I can’t cut them all or tie them all off.
I don’t even know what some of them might be. I scrolled through my contact list and found names I don’t remember or recognize at all, along with names I probably shouldn’t have any longer, and names I might owe a call or a text.
But how far do I go, tying up loose ends? Do I risk creating a snag in the fabric that’s already been mended? Do I risk disrupting the weaving? Or just let it go?
So this past week has been about loose ends… this past summer, really. I’ve tried to see parts of Oklahoma that I’d left til later, and that I suddenly don’t have time for. I’ve tried to spend time with friends that I see all the time, and friends that I know are there but who I rarely see.
And as I try to tie off loose ends, I realize that all I’m doing is binding myself to the thread. I’m making my connections greater. I’m strengthening the warp and weave that’s incorporated me and I’m making it harder to rend.
Even at the bar the other night. I’d had coffee with a friend that turned into drinks and found us at Saints. And I randomly ran into an old friend, that lives somewhere else now. I didn’t expect to see him, before I left, and yet there he was.
And reconnecting with people, who I thought were not going to be in my life even though I wanted them to be. That surprise is nice, yet painful. What is it that I’m really supposed to do right now?
My impulse once I accepted my job offer was to isolate myself and prepare for being alone in Colorado. As I face frightening loneliness in just a week, part of me wishes I had done that. This summer has been wonderful. But after love, I always feel so empty.
After being surrounded by those I care about, I’m so lonely in the following quiet.