cultivating joy

I forget sometimes I chose this life. I made it. I had a choice: find a job or go back to school. Stay in Akron and feel safe or move away and...who knows. I chose school. I chose away. And I forget sometimes that I can also choose how I feel about it.

A few days ago, I was talking to my Mom and I told her I hadn't done much that day--just watched a movie, read a book, played around on the internet a while, took a nap. And what did my mother say? "Oh, that would be so nice. To do what you want, when you want." Yes! That's it! That's why I'm doing this. Because the things I love--reading, writing--require quiet, and solitude, and great expanses of open time. And I have that.

It's scary here. I've been a loner for a long time; I've gotten used to spending days in my apartment without talking to anyone. But here, in my new city where I still feel so much like a visitor, I'm afraid to be alone too long. I'm afraid I'll disappear here. I'm afraid no one will miss me.

But then I remember. I made this. This is what I want. A room of my own. A summer with only part-time work, the rest for being a poet--a reclusive, introspective, quiet and still poet.

The wind blowing through my sliding door smells springtime sweet and somehow I've come to love the sound of the train rushing by--just far enough away that I don't always recognize it as train--and why, how, do I allow myself to forget sometimes that I am the luckiest girl in the world?