What have I have up to? There’s been some waiting, there’s been some doing, there’s been some not-doing, there’s been enough disciplined activity to justify small treats given to myself (take-out coffee, meeting friends for breakfast).
BEGIN is temporarily quiet. I am planning to read the manuscript out loud in June, as my editor has recommend, to listen for clashes, awkwardnesses, redundancies, overuse of favourite words, etc.
Meanwhile, I am writing essays and poems, personal essays paired with poems, a project that came and found me, not the other way around, so I’m honouring this unexpected discovery with my attention. I visited a writing group earlier this month week, and on Saturday I’m visiting a book club. In May, I plan to travel to Chicago with one of my children who is presenting an academic paper and speaking on a panel (at a Medieval Studies conference). Also in May, I plan to complete certification in Conflict Management and Mediation. What will I do with this certification, how might it be applied? Good question. Are you looking for a coach in your creative life? Maybe something like that. In other news, though it feels tentative, like it could be taken away by impossible-to-square circumstances, I’m starting an MA in Theology, Spiritual Care and Psychotherapy this fall. (My second attempt to do this degree; when I tried in 2018, life got the better of me, and I dropped out before classes had even begun.)
Meanwhile, I am thinking about being this age, and being this person who genuinely enjoys looking after other people. The caregiver role has at times subsumed my identify. During early motherhood, it was (almost) all I wanted to do. (The ambition and discipline to write was threaded in there too.) Now my care turns in the other direction, toward my elders, and again, I recognize that my identity could be subsumed. In recent months, it has felt like I’m sleepwalking, accumulating responsibilities without noticing, till suddenly I’m so tired and sad it feels impossible to continue. This is true. Not all the time, but at least some of the time. I recognize the warning signs. I don’t want to discover myself having sleep-walked into numbness, or resentment, drained of my spark, estranged from my self.
So I’m trying to make a few changes, make decisions that are choices rather than things that just happen, as if I were a passive observer in my own life. Which I’m not. Isn’t it funny, though, how our minds can set traps for us? My own traps usually relate to control, to wanting to be in charge or in the know, when I could just … just … let go, let be. Am I doing this because I want to, or because I believe I should? That’s a good question to ask when I’m stuck in a trap of my own making. What’s this feeling? I sometimes ask too. Where are you feeling it? What’s happened recently that might have knocked up against a tender spot, a fear, a pain that wants to be noticed?
Am I doing this because I want to?
How do you know what you want, really? This question is a challenge, I hardly know how to reply. I like making others happy. I value and prioritize relationships. I know this requires thought and planning, attention, time, energy, and also enough self-awareness to respect my own needs. I need solitary time, rest, intense physical exertion. (But is a need the same as a want?) I could, I can, set aside my own needs for someone else’s. That could, that can, be what I actually really want. How am I to know for sure? It pains me to see people I love struggling or suffering, it cheers me to ease their burdens, if I can.
There are too many layers here to sort into a coherent blog post. Ergo, essays and poems.
Here’s today’s “circle poem.”
Steal your own wealth
Sunshine here across the page
The shadow does not look the same
What put that shame into you, where did it come from?
We lived there.
It passed down through us like light
but poisoned, saying, you are bad
Child in the world
Obvious wound, evidence
Hide or pretend, cover yourself
All these coverings
When everyone, most everyone, yearns
Imagine turning
What would that say?
Shine this quiet light on it.
Heal.
xo, Carrie