I wrote this post four years ago to the day in a blog that is now long-lost (thank goodness). It’s strange to think how much can change in four years. I could have worked towards a second bachelor’s degree by now. Our two master’s degrees. Or been halfway done with my Ph.D. in Nashville, which is what I dreamed I’d be doing by now when I wrote this in June of 2009.
How strange, how impermanent, how beautiful, how lost, how easy it is to pick back up all the parts you thought you’d dropped. How simple it is to stop writing, but how freeing it is when you find it all over again. There are parts of you that you put away on a shelf because you think they’re unnecessary, and then you find them one day as you are cleaning out your childhood bedroom. It’s nice to see those old parts of yourself there – as dusty as they may be, as much as they need to be cleaned off and then cleared away. But it’s nice to know that you kept them all those years, knowing somehow that you wouldn’t want to lose those things forever.
“Imagining you standing there on the water’s edge, I begin to understand what it is about you. The wind the way it would pick up all the pieces of your hair and the sun it would reflect in your eyes. They’d be cast in a light brown, tree trunks, Greek pottery, chai tea. And you’d have that smile painted across your lips like that smile I saw drawn out carefully in the darkness of dawn… If I could only read you like I read my novels, if I could only write you like I write the quotidian. I try: it is so little, so tiny, so inconsequentially, so insubstantially you. You are so many pieces. Perhaps I cannot hold even one of them. I like to imagine I can. I like to imagine you standing there, your hair turning to salty strings, your eyes lit up, your hand reaching out to grab me and tickle the spot between my ribcage and hip, until I fall into the sand laughing.”
Okay, enough of the personal stuff. That time in my life is over, and I have wrapped it up and put it away in a trunk somewhere. It’s the sentiment that matters. I just like to remind myself from time to time that I used to find release in words and that I will find it there again if I just look for it. Goodnight!