Secretly

Secretly, or not so secretly, I am afraid of poetry, afraid that I will not understand it, or afraid that what I will like is not actually "good" poetry ("good" by the standards of people who actually fully understand it). To compensate for this fear, I am trying to buy more poetry. I just bought a book of June Jordan's poems. I really want to get Susanna Childress's book of poems (the title of which I can't remember), mostly because I actually met her, heard her speak, and I really like her.

I wrote a poem of my own yesterday, but I won't share it, because I am afraid of it. What if it sucks? What if it's really good? Either way, I'm in a jam.

I think I'll stick to creative nonfiction.

Nastalgia, and Other Ugly Things

Second semester senior year I could not wait to get out of Houghton. I went this weekend to visit old friends, my old home. Considering I work an 8 to 5 job right now, I guess it's no wonder that I could not wait to get back to Houghton for my visit. I saw the Woolseys (Stephen and Linda Mills), who are more precious to me every time I see them. I said my goodbyes to them and I realized suddenly how far away and for how long I am actually going, and how soon I will be leaving. No more stops into the office for surprise "kindrid spirit" talks with my first professor mentor. No more encouraging words of wisdom and kindness and knowledge beyond my comprehension until I hear it for the first time from the most brilliant and human people I have every met. I had lunch with the LaCelle-Petersons - the whole family - and it was like I had never left. Dr. Mark and his pride for his students, living vicariously through the adventures that he sends us on, although he sometimes doesn't know it. He actually left the house, went to his office, and copied four chapters out of four different books for me to read about educating in the Native American culture. Kristina remarked, "Once a professor, always a professor." Though he won't let me call him "Dr." anymore. Kristina - are there words? Phenomenal, brilliant, human, beautiful, unbelievably passionate. And their kids - we joke that they will be published by the time they're in high school. They are, however, still very much children. It's very cute. And I love them. Linnea has about twice the vocabulary as her classmates and twice the awareness, but she still loves to be swept off her feet, thrown on the couch, buried in pillows, and tickled silly (don't we all?). Anyway, I saw a lot of really important people in my life that I (sadly) will not see for a very long time. It was good - it was sad - it was hard - but it was very good.

Anyway, I'm leaving Buffalo soon. I love Buffalo, but there is truthfully very little here for me at this point. That sounds very selfish, and I know it. Maybe I will feel stuck no matter where I live. Maybe I just need to get over this. Maybe I am waiting on someone to make it worth it for me to stay. Sometimes I think there could be someone, but so far no one has revealed that to me.

The writer's festival was this weekend at Houghton. Once again, I was the only one asking questions. It was also the senior art show opening. Once again, it was awesome. Once again - well, nevermind. It was good.

I really don't want to go back to the way things were. I am not interested in moving backwards. I am a forward mover. It is sad, though, to be moving forward without the people that got me to where I am. How can I ever thank them for being so much what they were? Nastalgia is an ugly thing (although it takes me by hold every now and again), but so is wanting something I can never have. I need to get over that, too.

It was always you.

Did you ever know someone, well, meet someone who you sort of got to know but never really had the chance (or the courage) to get to know? The lack of courage, the fear, because this idealistic person that you have created, or I have created (let's be honest here) might not like who I am. I mean, I like me (I won't lie) - but this person makes me want to be a better person. When I hear what this person says, see what this person does, read what this person wrote, the words, I can't even describe it. I used to call it a crush. And then I called it love. It's too bad, really, because this person - this person is probably not as divine as I allow myself to believe that he is. You guessed it, I have been obsessed (that sounds disgusting) with the same person, in love if you will, enamored, completely smitten with the same person for over four years. Isn't that sad? And truthfully, I will probably never see him again. He probably doesn't even think about me, or even remember me all that well. I was just this girl that said stupid things to him because he made me nervous. People don't make me nervous - I am confident and outgoing - but he did it, he made me nervous, and I loved every minute of it. And so I just read something that he wrote, because I am a bona fide stalker, I'll admit it, and once again, I sunk deep into myself, and my eyes began to twitter, and I acted very much like an overly dramatically emotional person, which I try very hard not to be, because the emotions that are drawn out of me by the very thought of him are, believe it or not, obviously very real, because I can no longer control them. Maybe I only love the idea of him because I don't really know him as well as I think I do, but nonetheless, I love him. It's just too bad my life isn't a chick flick.

I'm going to Alaska in the fall to teach high school ELA in Unakleet (you-na-kleet) - a bush town of 800 people. I'm pretty much stoked. Pretty much, it's going to be a whole new way of life. I can't even believe it, really. Every once in a while I just get so excited, like, whoa, I'm going to Alaska. I'll suddenly remember that it's actually going to happen, it isn't just a daydream that I made up in my head. I'm going. It's real.

All this moving around, this fear of commitment, this fear of not living my life to the fullest and doing everything that I absolutely can, it's good and bad. I'm not ready to settle. I'm not ready to commit. I want to keep going and moving and experiencing new things. I realized, before and while my dear friend Kamorin reminded me: between all of that, where is the space for relationships? I was thinking about it - perhaps I fear the commitment of relationships as much as I fear the commitment of staying in one place. I think too much, I think, about the shortness of life, and how it will all end anyway and be very painful and tragic, so why bother? I may as well just stay with myself and enjoy the time that I have by avoiding any unecessary pain. But then I think about another good friend, Andy, who believed quite the opposite about this very issue. He had the same questions as me, but decided to conciously allow himself to love as deeply as he was led to, to open up and be just as was entirely natural and humanly desired, and when the end comes, he says, it will just come, and that will be something to deal with then, but not now. I think that is what I have to do, wherever I go with whomever I meet. And I'll settle somewhere someday, long term. I will. Someday. Not today.

I'm going to Alaska.

:)