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?

5% or The Wish Factor

A few weeks ago, on one of those rare, warm February nights, I was standing outside of a bar with a friend and a homeless guy stopped to talk to us. Or maybe he wasn't homeless, but he was certainly transient. Anyway, he was kind of magical. His name was Lamar and he said:

In this economy, hope isn't enough. It's the wish factor that gets us through.

He said:

This life is 95% bullshit. 5% beautiful.

I've been trying to turn Lamar into a poem ever since, but it just isn't coming.

The thing is, I think Lamar's 5% beautiful is poetry. That's the point, right? Rilke said: "describe your sorrows and desires, passing thoughts, and the belief in some sort of beauty." It was easier when that's all poetry was to me. Before it was a career, a vocation--before it was something I wanted other people to read. Back when it was private, when I would have set a poem on fire with a Bic lighter rather than reading it to a room full of people.

I've been caught up in the 95% for way too long.

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When I first moved here, I had a 5% moment. It was the first day of class and I was feeling down-right shitty about being in Chicago. But I walked onto the subway platform and this guy was singing. The song sounded familiar but I didn't know why until he got to the chorus. The song was "Sara Smiles." That day, while I waited for the train and listened to this guy singing, I thought: Okay, I can do this.

Replace sent-from-heaven guy with an acoustic guitar with wanna be R&B star who calls himself R. Kelly #2 for the next six months and you have my 95% bullshit. I don't know how people get their subway musician passes, but they should really do it on a rotating basis so you don't have to listen to the same routine every morning. But I'm getting off track.

The other day, "Sara Smiles" guy was back. And he was singing "Stand By Me," which is not as personally poignant, but still a fantastic song. And it was so, so great to hear him. And I gave him a dollar, even though I wanted to give him every penny in my purse because he kept me from jumping on the tracks that first day (okay, so that's a little melodramatic) and I wanted to miss my train and sit and listen to him all day. But I'm shy, and I felt silly giving him a dollar, especially since the spot where I always stand when I'm waiting for my transfer is at the opposite of the platform from where he was singing. I wanted to ask him to sing my song, but I could barely look at him and smile when I put my dollar in his guitar case. So I just listened to "Stand By Me," blushing and staring at the floor and smiling, and being thankful for 5%.

Almost there...

Can I just tell you, making people show up to class on the day before Thanksgiving is just mean. And scheduling conferences on that day: also mean. I'm really, really annoyed that I'm not on my way back to Ohio yet, and won't be until midnight. That's right...I'm riding a bus over night and will be arriving in Cleveland at 7:30 Thanksgiving morning. Lame!

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Of course, I'm very excited to get home and see my boyfriend and my family, but mostly, I'm excited to meet my new "little sister." Mom and Dad rescued her from the shelter last Friday, after they saw her story on the news (watch here). I might just die of puppy envy.

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I am pretty grumpy because I want to be home and I'm not, so instead of whining, I'm going to jump on the gratitude journal band wagon and see if I can mellow myself out.

This year, I'm thankful for:

• My amazing family (and bf)
• New friends
• Finding a path in life that feels right (most of the time)
• Poems
• Being able to watch TV on the internet
• Having enough money for the things I need, and most of the things I want
• Student Loans! (see above)
• Pink pepper spray (and that I've never had to use it)
• Books
• Office supplies
• Netflix
• Self-awareness & growth
• Being a non-smoker for the first time in 9 years
• Moving to Chicago, and learning to be truly on my own, even though I'd still rather be in Akron
• The Megabus
• Textured tights
• Hot water...

Okay, so that last one was me looking at the clock and realizing I have to go shower and get ready for class (stupid day before Thanksgiving class). I probably won't be back here for a while, so happy Turkey Day, ya'll.

And Now She Waits

I just spent the last 48 hours begging for money. Okay...not exactly. But writing fellowship and assistantship applications. It's not that fun to sell yourself, you know? Although going through the process (especially with the application I just finished) reminded me of all the awesome stuff I've done with the last 6 years and how much I learned in my HR days, even though sometimes it was tedious.

And now I wait. Hopefully I only wait a couple weeks. I'd really, really like to have a plan by April 15, but I don't see that happening. The crazy thing is that one of the assistantships I applied for has a start date of May 19, which means that I could be moving in less than 2 months. Let's not even think about that right now.

Next week, I visit Chicago.

This is one crazy beautiful life. Who'da thought I'd be here? I've been rushing around so much, worrying so much, pulling down my hat and sticking my hands in my pockets and trying to ignore the cold, that I haven't stopped to appreciate how happy I am, despite (or because of?) the stress. It's all good. I forget that too often.

Mary (and the rest of the Akron crew), you better buck up, because I'm gonna need a drinking buddy tomorrow. To celebrate the finishing of the app-writing, you know? To celebrate the waiting.

MFA Retrospective

I should be going to commencement today, but instead, here's a slide show for you:

We all know that the official MFA stuff has been good for me, the learning to write good poems, finding my "voice," etc. But what's been really great for me these past three years are the people.

It all started when Mary told those of us in her first NEOMFA workshop about Winter Wheat. Jay, Emily, Dawson, Aaron and I piled into Jay's van and started driving...except we realized none of us had directions. That was the beginning. We'd never really hung out before, but from that point on, we were "the A team." We struck fear in the hearts of any prof who had more than three of us in the same class. And that's when Aaron became "Uncle A"--that weird guy who always shows up at family reunions but you're not sure who he's related to.

That summer, a bunch of us went to Put-In-Bay (an island on lake Erie for you non-Ohioans). Jay was in China, so the A-team was incomplete, but we made up for it with a few new additions. 8 a.m. Bloody Marys and World Cup soccer at Frosty's, late night Cranium, enough food to feed the whole island in our tiny little rental house (complete with crack spoon and dirty grilling utencils). The best part was when we were in a packed bar and every single person drunkenly sang along with "Don't Stop Believin'" on the juke box. If I could have figured out how to add music to my slideshow, that would be playing in the background. It is my official MFA theme song.

Of course there was AWP and Winter Wheat Rounds 2 & 3, and Bisbee (amazing!) but we had some fun on our own turf, too. Y-town nights at Inner Circle, Mindi dominating the juke box with Bob Dylan and Van Morrison. Kent nights at the Venice where we ate 3 bags of free chips each. Akron nights at Pints! where we spend most of the time outside, smoking, while Frank watches our drinks (poor Frank, he should start smoking!)

And the car pooling. Jay and I added it up last summer and over the two years we carpooled together, we spent 180 hours in a car together. Sometimes Jana was there, driving like a crazy woman, or Emily, or Kristina, but usually it was just me and Jay, signing along to Ace of Bace, arguing about strip clubs and dating and the meaning of life. He's the brother I never wanted. There was the shouting match in Atlanta when we were hungry and tired and both on our cell phones about a block away from each other but couldn't figure out where we were going to meet for dinner. The first day of class after we got back from Bisbee and wanted to kill each other. Some how, these fights are some of my fondest memories of Jay...but nothing is better than the nights that I was DD and he spent the whole ride home poking my arm and saying "Listen T, just listen."

And Jennifer, who I wish I would have gotten to know so long ago...how you saved me from insanity in Bisbee, and how you've become one of my closest friends since we got home.

Anthony, the crazy, irrevernt poet from Cleveland, who makes the best 3am paninis. And his sweet dog Onyx.

Jana, who keeps a cooler of cheese, wasabi peas, and sparkling cider in her van at all times, just in case a bunch of drunk poets want munchies after the bars close. Jana, who always has something to say, and thank God, or I might have kept writing poems that rhymed.

Craig, kicking our chairs and pushing us to think harder than we've ever thought before...then taking us out for pitchers after. The farm, Karla, my equine friend Banjo, long talks on the front porch while swatting mosquitos.

And we can't forget Sweet Mary B., thesis advisor, personal cheerleader, and wonderful friend. Would I have made it through without you?

So many more...if I wrote about everyone, I'd be here all day. Jessica, Lindsay, Amy, John, Eric, Toby, Rick, Steve, Kelly, Mona, Tim, Cathy...how can I say what these people have come to mean to me? I've never felt so much a part of something. Not the first class to graduate, but close enough. The NEOMFA won't be the same without us, and I won't be the same without them.

There, the sappy post I've been promising. Good-bye MFA, I'll miss you.

Bisbee Recap

The People

Bob and Estellean Wick are the most gracious hosts any wayward traveler could ask for. They welcomed us into their home and pampered us with delicious food, beautiful surroundings, and delightful conversation. It was far more than any of us hoped for or expected. They took us to some of the best restaurants in Bisbee and Nogales, Mexico (where they demonstrated their excellent salsa dancing skills). Both Bob and Estellean are thoughtful, intelligent, creative, and insightful and happy to share their memories, stories, and beliefs with anyone who asks. And they're not shy about sharing opinions or asking tough questions either.

The Wick's also have a wonderful staff at their home; Marita and Elvita, two wonderful cooks who always had coffee ready for us by 5:30 a.m. and never let us go hungry, and Lalo, a very talented gardener who patiently allowed Jay and I to practice our Spanish skills with him. The poor man probably never heard "como se dice" so many times in his life!

Then there are the residents of Bisbee. All generous, welcoming, and excited to have a bunch of poets in town. The reading at the Oliver House had an amazing turn-out; the place was packed! Since it rained that night, we read inside. The room was too small, so people lined the halls, the stairways, and even stood outside and listened through the windows. I've never seen so many people so interested in poetry (except maybe at AWP) in the same place.

Finally, I can't forget my traveling companions. It was the perfect combination of old and new friends, connections and rekindlings. The best night of the trip had nothing to do with location and everything to do with who I was with. We sat around drinking wine and talking and I haven't had so much fun in ages.

The Places:

I'll let the photos do the talking.

The view from the Wick Ranch, sunrise.

The view from the Wick's driveway:

Chiricahua Mountains:

Nogales, Mexico

Final Thoughts

This trip meant so much more to me than I can explain here, so this post almost feels silly. I'll just say that I can't imagine a better gift for a writer, especially a beginning writer, than to provide everything she could possibly ask for, for an entire week, and ask nothing in return except that she spend all her free time writing. The Wicks seem to understand and nurture the creative process in everything they do, in the place where they live, in the way that they act. To bring us into that world, off the grid, away from TV and internet and constant headlines, and allow us to submerge ourselves in words and ideas was an amazing blessing. And Maggie, our teacher, our facilitator, was just as nurturing and encouraging as we could ask as well (and not without a stern hand when we got off track, either).

The southwest is sooo far from Ohio not only in distance, but in landscape, in air, in flora and fauna...it made everything feel new. The way the earth got greener each time it rained, the way the sky changed in seconds from sunny to black and ominous, the way the mountains reflected light, these things opened my eyes to my own landscape, made things that are familiar and almost mundane become precious because they were missing. And mornings. Arizona almost made me a morning person.

As far as my writing, my thesis...I generated so many ideas that I don't know when I'll have time to write them all down. I'm not sure my plan is any clearer now, but it is richer. And my mss is longer than the page minimum finally, which means I have room to play.

Sad that it's over, but more ready now to continue with the day-to-day. I spent a lot of time at the ranch thinking about next steps and my future. I realized that the not knowing is the blessing. Opening doors and checking things out sounds like the best possible plan for the next couple years. I'm ready to ask questions.

A few more random thoughts

The reading last night was wonderful. Craig's goat man never ceases to amuse me, and Doug Rice is freaking hilarious. I have never laughed so hard at a reading. He read a section from one of his books (I think it was Skin Prayer) and then a section from his memoir in progress. I'm not usually a fan of prose readings (short attention span, perhaps), but Doug makes every word count and does a lot of great things with language.

After the reading, a few MFAers and I had a depressing conversation about the job market and PhD's. For some reason, I am only mildly concerned. I guess that's because I am not doing this for a job. I had a job before I started, and I quit. I know I can get another. It might not be a tenure track job, it might not even be in academia, but I know I'll never be without work.

The thing is, when I started grad school I was about to turn 24 and felt like my entire (albeit short) adult life was spent living by default. I did what I was expected to do, or what was easiest, and never made any tough decisions. And I wasn't happy. In fact, I was really unhappy. The people in my life didn't challenge me, my work didn't challenge me, and I wasn't doing anything that I was passionate about. Today, I'm surrounded by people who encourage and inspire me, I'm doing something that I love, and I'm writing. Maybe not as much as I would like to be, but more than I ever have in the past. This degree is not a means to an end. It is an experience that I'm thankful for and enjoying every stress and anxiety filled minute of.

A couple of weeks ago, a prof that I've known since I was an undergrad told me that I looked happy, that poetry did good things for me, and that he could tell I had been lost when I came back for my masters, but that I'm not anymore. These are all things I know, but it was nice to hear it from someone else, someone who is virtually an outsider in my life. I feel like I'm about to start singing "Amazing Grace" or something, and I know it sounds cliched, but I really do feel like I am finally exactly where I'm meant to be. That's what I'm going to be thinking of this Thanksgiving. And I can worry about job hunting and student loans next year. Right now, it's all about the experience.

Life is good.