Words

Perhaps tied into the complete avoidance of the financial tasks to which I should be attending, today has been a bubbling font of all things literary. Beginning with several highly articulate and interesting blog entries listed on the amazing Fearless Voices section of the Huffington Post, to the wealth of words that is the New York Times online edition (sorry, the paper version is sometimes hard to come by in my neck of the woods), through two separate reviews of the increasingly intriguing book Cultural Amnesia by Clive James, my attention was finally directed to D.H. Lawrence, Mabel Dodge Luhan and her amazing house in Taos which now hosts writer workshops.

Whew!

It is a rare day when I am not delighted by an influx of the well-written (and sometimes not-so-well-written) word into my little world. An impassioned op-ed, a crisp, concise news piece or even the enticing advertisement of an artistically inclined workshop makes me long for an occupation that involves this daily wordplay. But alas, I have never been able to parlay my enjoyment of words in to a personal practice.

Yesterday, post-Easter services, my lovely friend G. and I were musing on our ideal occupations (mine first and foremost being a tie between owning a farm and working for National Public Radio) and in jest I mentioned that I would like a job as a trivia researcher. After today’s wordy wonderland, I realize that that is only partially true. Perhaps it is not trivia per se that appeals to me, but the access to the vast catalogues of information and opinions that over time have so inspired others that they felt compelled to document them for cultural consumption. To inhale years of passionate pursuits like an exquisite gourmet delicacy is made better only by knowing that another fabulous course is on its way.

Rebirth

How much can happen in three months? Oddly, a lot and absolutely nothing at all.

It has been almost three months since the last post and I feel like I’m simultaneously mired in the muck and slowly slogging my way out. These past weeks have been perpetually overshadowed by the rampant dysfunction that has been left in the wake of my mother-in-law’s passing. It has been said that something like a death will either bring a family together or drive it apart. But is it possible to do both? These exhausting inter-personal relationships reached a psychotic crescendo at a family wedding in one horrible drunken flame out. Since that time, whether it be from the meritorious standpoint of self-preservation or the completely selfish standpoint of “enough is enough”, I have found it hard to muster the desire to engage with any of them on anything more than a superficially courteous level.

Intellectually I know that this attitude is cruel considering the circumstance, but even still I felt like Robert Shaw in “Jaws” sliding off the edge of the boat to be consumed by the shark. (Highly melodramatic I know, but metaphorically consumption is consumption, and if not film sharks, than fire or some other cliché) Is there such a thing as compassionate detachment? Is there a way to offer love and support without being drained by the vampires of grief? And how much bad behavior can be chalked up to pain and how much is just bad behavior? This is my struggle.

Even still, I am hopeful for me. This is the time to take ownership. Elaborate dreams will never see reality without pedestrian effort, so this spring is all about rebirth – mine. Where it will lead me, I don’t know. But this time, I want to remember the ride. And when I arrive somewhere – even if it is just a way point, I don’t want to think “How did I get here?”

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
- Mary Oliver