Conscription

This summer has been pretty cool. I’m grateful to have the means and opportunity to have this big trip. Mostly, I’m doing well. But a little bit, I’m not.

I read a short reflection about loneliness a while ago. The writer spoke of how we find ourselves in lonely places in several ways. Rarely a choice, it might have been a conspiracy of circumstance or Divine Providence. Most of the time, he said, we experience solitude by conscription.

To be sure, there are voluntary alonenesses. As an avowed introvert, I am well acquainted with many of them. But these that he was talking about are of a different sort. Being a conscript in the legions of the solitary does not restore, as being alone so often restores me.

I have spoken of this before on this blog, and many indicated that they had felt something similar. Some kind of mash mixing loneliness, homesickness, fear of missing out, fear that we are better friends with others than they are with us–just general ennui. Sometimes, I feel very needy for companionship. In the words of Emily Dickinson, “My friends are my ‘estate.’ Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them.”

Throughout my travels this summer, I have been so deeply blessed to have People to See along the way. Just yesterday morning, I left my sister’s after an extended stay which they were gracious to host me for. And before that, new friends in St Louis, old friends in DC, a friend in Pittsburgh and friends in Michigan… Lots of friends.

But at the same time, seeing them all has been so temporary. My life currently is so transient, so liminal, so ephemeral (though I’m not sure such a fairy-magical word feels all that appropriate). It’s a little frustrating not to be living around friends that I keep up with in person on a regular basis. I like my friends. I would like to see them.

Instead, I remain unmoored and adrift, awaiting the time when I can exit this enforced loneliness. A time when I can once again Be in a Place and Do Things with People. Or, at least, begin making inroads toward doing so, since we all know that I am not a fast friends-maker or overly-aggressive doer. One must remain hopeful.

I have become more aware of my neediness in this area. Neediness not necessarily in a bad way, though I guess that’s not really for me to say. I struggle with the idea of burden–surely my friends will not be burdened if I bother them a little but I am equally sure that at some point it just becomes annoying. I just don’t know what that point is, and I would be loathe to conscript another into something that they didn’t sign up for. That’s kind of my whole issue to begin with.

On that note though, quick plug, if you are my friend, please always feel free to send me a message or arrange a little video chat. Literally always. I’m all about that communication life. (See? V Needy)

Part of the problem, of course, is that I am unemployed and have just a lot of time on my hands. There’s only so many job applications, so much Netflix, exercise, gaming, or reading that I can do at a time. So I have plenty of time to sit and stare at walls, which I literally do, trying to stop myself from messaging all my friends a million times because, you know, they’re actually doing stuff and it’ll take a sec for them to get back to me. Not an awesome way to spend my time, I’m working on it. But here we are.

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An Arizona sunset

Someone inadvertently reminded me of one of my favorite life sayings recently. They said “Belong where you are,” and I immediately thought “Bloom where you’re planted.”

Here’s the thing about flowers: sometimes, they’re grown in greenhouses. Naturally, they belong in the ground somewhere. But they are perfectly capable of being stored indoors for the winter or when they’re young or whatever the case may be.

So I guess that’s what I’m going for at this juncture. I may not be in the ground I wish to be in or even in any ground at all, really. But I can–and may we all–bloom anyway.

 

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Glitter

I have been staying in the DMV (not to be confused with the DMZ, or even the Department of Motor Vehicles) this week. In case you’re unaware, that would be the colloquial name for the national capital region–District, Maryland, Virginia. Mostly in Maryland, but hey.

I have a number of connections in the area and it’s been good to catch up with a number of them. I was here only last spring but wasn’t able to see all the people I’d have liked to see but now, being here for a bit longer, I have been enjoying reconnecting a bit. Met some people, will meet some more this coming week. It’s been very restful and restorative.

Plus, you know, the anxiety of still not having a job. Moving on.

Next up, I need to have another little cat gallery. I have been very grateful to stay with one of my friends here and she is the lovely mother of the lovely Jackson! So a special feature on him this week because I finally met him in person. He is absolutely adorable and is one of the few cats I’ve ever met who does the little ‘chirp’ thing that I sometimes read in novels. He does it a lot but it isn’t really annoying, mostly it just continues to be cute (and cat mom, who hears it all the time, agrees).

He especially likes shoulder and hip rubs, in case you ever meet him.

Though I have heretofore seen precious little of fireflies in their peak season, I have been blessed to see some truly dazzling displays this week. Sitting in the dark on a park bench, watching a hot and humid night unfurl its shadowed glories, seeing a sparkling landscape echo the slowly emerging stars overhead. Sara Teasdale said, in reference to the stars and applicable to fireflies as well, “I know that I/ Am honored to be/ Witness/ Of so much majesty.”

Some of you may yet be unaware, but people like me don’t actually die. Instead, when our time comes, we either dissolve into a shimmering cloud of glitter or dissipate in a cloud of noxious fume, depending on how we lived our lives. Fun fact.

There is so much hurting in the world right now. It is a world filled with troubles of various kinds but in particular, I feel outraged and helpless about the horrible situation around immigration right now: raids, concentration camps, deprivation, fear. It is not right. I do not know what to do.

When faced with stuff like that, I don’t know how to be. There are some things, like contacting your congressional representatives and donating (in any way) to organizations like these (and as I’ve said before, even better if you’re able to support them long-term). I don’t know if that stuff really makes a difference, you know? How can I live my life in a way that is moving toward glitter in such circumstances?

I have not read Middlemarch by George Eliot but a friend recently drew to my attention a section toward the end. Regarding the main character, she writes:

“But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”

I do not think that there is anything inherently noble in living in obscurity. I wonder though, there must surely be some kind of valor in a life humbled, either in spirit or by circumstance, where one remains firmly committed to goodness. The kind of life with sufficient glitter in the metaphysical sense but not a whole lot of external, visible glitter.

Clearly, I have no idea what I’m saying at this point. Something about trying to help, something about being good and humble and selfless. Take from this mess of a post what you will. I hope our actions makes the world better.

Needable

Before we do anything this week, to avoid my sister’s ire, here are cats. Because cats are very needable.

 

This week, I’ve been in Pittsburgh visiting a friend. It’s been a lovely visit and I’m exceedingly grateful for the hospitality. It’s definitely a city, not sure that it’s really my scene. Some really cool architecture in some neighborhoods. Loved the botanical gardens and I’ll be going to museum-ville today so that should be good. You know I love a good museum day.

All in all, other than getting lost in Cleveland (which only worsened an already not-great opinion of the city and Ohio in general), a decent start to my current stint of unemployed nothingness. Been fairly productive with a few things that have required productivity. I was a little lax my final week or two in Glen Arbor but I’ve mostly made up for that, I hope. Still waiting to hear if I’ve gotten a second interview…. prospects are looking dimmer every day but who knows. It would be an amazing opportunity if I got the job.

A few thoughts for today. It’s not entirely accurate to say that all of my worldly possessions are currently crammed into my little Prius C, but it’s not entirely inaccurate either. Yes, I have plenty of things at my parents’ houses, but everything that I actually live with is coming with me on all my adventures this summer. It’s an odd feeling.

My mother has frequently ribbed me, more or less playfully, for being a minimalist. And while it is true to some extent, I also feel like it’s largely been a product of my circumstances. I’ve lived, for at least a year, on three different continents in the past three or four years. Having many possessions simply isn’t that feasible. It still feels weird to own some actual furniture, such as it is, because it almost feels superfluous to my needs. It isn’t, not by a long shot, but it sometimes feels like overkill to own, you know, a single chair or a laundry drying rack or mattress. Though, let me be very clear, I really love my mattress.

I’m not a wildly evangelical supporter of minimalism–at least, I wouldn’t consider myself such. I long to settle somewhere long-term where I can nest a little. But there is definitely something to be said for owning only things that are directly useful or have been individually and thoughtfully considered as necessary components to take up space in my very limited car. Even having only been in Michigan for a number of months, the vagaries of packing and the inevitable few purchases ensured that when I left, I had to make some decisions about what I actually wanted to take with me.

Perhaps it’s worth a moment of contemplation. Not that you should get rid of all your other things, but what would you take if you could only travel with what fit in a car? What are your necessary things, whether practical or emotional?

An illustrative example: I’m one of those people who never really intends to own media or media accoutrements, preferring to stick with streaming and a laptop for the time being, at least. However, there are a few essentials that I need to be certain are always accessible so I bring the DVDs with me. The Harry Potter movies, the Lord of the Rings extended movies, and Anastasia. Those are some things that are guaranteed space in my car because they’re necessary even if I don’t need them, per se.

I guess that’s really the question here. Not about the top things that you’d bring with you, but the things that aren’t exactly essential but are distinctly need-able. Your Anastasia DVD, Gudetama mouse pad, or refrigerator magnet from Milford Sound. Your several extra sets of chopsticks, in case you ever have guests and you make East Asian food. Your cool wooden beard comb, in case you ever grow a long beard again.

In research, it’s a thing to say that something is a necessary but not sufficient condition for something to occur. Food, water, shelter–these are necessary for life. But they aren’t quite sufficient, either. We all should have something that isn’t strictly necessary but is essential all the same. I’m glad I have mine, and I’m glad they all fit!

Keep Us Star Gazing

We have come to it. There are a number of things that I have in my head to say for this, my final blog post in Michigan (at least, for the foreseeable future). But I’m not sure exactly how to say them. So I’ll just say some random stuff, quote the Muppets, and call it quits.

First and foremost, thank you to all my Michigan friends. This would have been a difficult year indeed without people as interested in Malta, as disgusted by delicious food, as committed to board games, as open-minded, as talented and compassionate, and as concerned with God’s voice (and so on and so forth) as you lot.

As my year in Korea came to a close, I said that sometimes the most important journeys are the ones that you didn’t mean to take. And, departing this apartment tomorrow, I think that continues to hold true. Glen Arbor, Michigan, was not a place I ever would have imagined myself calling home but here we are.

I have learned so much this year. From students, coworkers, friends, church, the place itself. Living in Michigan afforded me the opportunity to go to the Q Christian Conference in January, to road trip through three major Canadian cities, to see three Great Lakes and an overwhelming myriad of mediocre ones. Though unexpected, this journey has been rewarding indeed.

Before we get any further, I want to take a sec to have a little Pride moment. Because of my traveling and things this summer, I won’t be able to take part in any formal Pride celebrations but the month itself retains a special importance and I think this is a good day to reflect for a moment.

Yesterday was the third anniversary of the Pulse shooting which was unutterably devastating. It is so important to remember. And if I may deign to say anything at all about it, it is this: to those who contend that the queer community is a force of harm and destruction, come and see, the harm is done to us not by us. Please stop harming us by your actions and beliefs, your words hurt more than you can know.

Now hold onto your socks because we’re going to get real cheesy here.

In the midst of darkness, there is a mysterious light. After rain, rainbows. Hope is the thing that keeps me going, the thing that makes me look at the stars and dream. Sometimes, that dreaming comes at such a cost but still we look to the sky because we have caught glimpses that hearten us when we are downcast.

Whether along the unseen path of my own life or the course of nations and the hearts of peoples across the globe, I can envision a future that is brighter (and more colorful) than today. A future wherein love is love, and most everything else is love as well. A future in which none will grow weary of seeking good for one another because we recognize that the connection of our shared humanity is more important than any difference. A future of knowing others, being fully known, and loving all even so. I hope and pray that we strive for that future, together, without ceasing, neither forgetting the darkness nor fearing its unknown, radiant light.

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Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection. The lovers, the dreamers, and me.

An Enjambment

So maybe enjambment is not a word that’s often kicked around in the common parlance but wow, it’s a great one. It refers to (since I know probably one of you, readers, will actually look it up) lines in poetry where a sentence is broken up across lines or stanzas. As in, “so much depends/ upon/ a red wheel/ barrow” ect.

In other words, when there’s more to say but the line is finished. A new start but the same thing continuing.

I want to share with you a few numbers in my life right now that are pretty large. This is my 201st blog post. Which is to say, I’ve been writing here for more than two hundred weeks. Which is a lot of weeks. Today is also my 712th straight day meeting my practice goal on Duolingo. Those are some long lines and I’m pretty proud of them. I struggle to be dedicated to much, so I’m proud to have those two things, however trivial, to say that I can stick with something.

Patterns like those are a bit of an anchor when the rest of things seem to be so up in the air. Enjambments can be so interesting but I’ll tell you, it’s not loads of fun living in a line break. The history of my line spacing has been pretty thick–about six months after grad school and Korea alike. Hopefully, this time will be a little more prompt. I haven’t had leads, really, other than that one interview (I kind of desperately hope that a second one will follow in the next couple weeks).

I need a bit of a cat intermission here, before wallowing a bit more in angsty poetry and existential job-related despair.

I don’t want to labor the point too much but I would like to, at least kind-of-briefly, draw your attention to Emily Dickinson’s enjambments. They so very often are simply dashes. Scholars have spent years either re-punctuating her poetry or trying to figure out what all her dashes mean. They’re such an enigmatic mark and her use of them is so peculiar; it’s a whole, mysterious thing. And I love them.

Here’s a concept to unite all this: one can have dedication without certainty, constancy without direction. I have come to the end of another line and, like plenty of lines before it in this confusing ‘adulthood’ I’ve been forced into, it’s enjambed and ending with a dash–something that isn’t clear, something that can go in any direction it chooses. It’s not a formal or tidy comma, colon, or semicolon. Ambiguous but done on purpose, even when that purpose is utterly unknown. A line that ends on a dash points onward to the next line; a poem that ends on a dash points onward into our very lives. Or maybe I’m reading too much into them. She’ll probably forgive me.

I have one more week to finish packing and cleaning and visiting a few more places I ought to visit. Mere days to write and read and apply to more jobs. To spend time with friends and sketch out to some degree the next part of my life. Hours and hours to spend sitting at my computer or standing out on the beach, hoping wretchedly for something to happen soon.

As before, I know intellectually that something will happen. Eventually. And not necessarily something that I will want. But right now, it’s the soon that is the most scary. Because, while I’ve had to go home before, I’m not going directly home. I’m roaming around near-aimlessly for a sec. And I know that I have some places to land but still. Sooner would be better than later.

To conclude, a small poem I’ve just now written, in the vein of all that’s come above. A special thanks to Emily Dickinson and all her weird capitalization and punctuation.


Oh God of the Universe:
Hear my prayer and help
me with my Soon.
Grant the patience until such time
as a Soon becomes a Now.

Be with me
Whatever comes
Draw near

in the great, unknown
Next.
Be the God of Waiting
and help me survive
all these dashes–

And I Know Things Now

This Saturday is graduation. Instead of having end-of-job thoughts, it might be nice to take a sec to have some graduation thoughts instead. Graduation thoughts are hard, though, so I’ve taken some inspiration from a book and a song. Because, you know, that’s how I do.

Yesterday evening, I finished reading the first in a new series. Senlin Ascends by Josiah Bancroft. A really interesting book, a fantasy set in a world inspired by the kingdom of Ur and the Tower of Babel, but steampunk. Adventure and romance and conspiracy. It’s a fun read, and well-written. Would recommend, though we’ll have to see how the rest of the series pans out.

At the end of the book, there was a brief author interview. Mr Bancroft had this to say about his main character, Senlin:

He rushes when he should linger, and he is patient when he should insist. He does learn, but slowly; he grows, but not in a straight line.

When I graduated high school, I felt pretty good about where I was going. I tried to be open to the possibilities of the formless future, but I had a pretty good idea of a direction. Not a detailed plan but some strong, if general, convictions. I had fairly concrete goals, which started with a course of university study but continued after I received that diploma. I was going to go places and do things and it was going to be great.

Then, I redefined my goals, what I wanted my life to look like. A valid thing to do, but what I came up with as a replacement was exceedingly vague and, in response to the pushback I’d been given by the world, a little more half-hearted because I wasn’t sure that I could really accomplish much. Not that I’m entirely lacking drive or purpose, but they’ve both been tempered by setbacks which, I suppose, are inevitable to most people with dreams.

I’m not about to fill this blog with a bunch of advice for graduates. I’m not far enough removed from it myself, for starters, and I’m not sure that advice of that sort is as helpful as we’d wish it to be. Experience is sometimes the best teacher. I feel like parents can attest, sometimes children just do dumb things no matter how persuasively you explain that it definitely won’t end well. We will, like Senlin, learn slowly, misjudge, anticipate inaccurately, take lessons from situations that are not perhaps the lessons we ought to take away.

And in this, there is a constant kinship with the recent graduate. I’ve spoken with some older people recently, those who seem to have normal real-person careers and whatnot, and it seems to me that we’re all just bumbling around pretending that we know how to do stuff but in fact, we are still rushing when we ought to linger, being patient when we should insist.

Can I just take an extra moment here? I love that phrasing. So poetic and so exactly right.

I’ve had things pretty good. My trials have been trials, but they have been small trials. And for that, I am exceedingly grateful. I am not afraid of growing slowly (at least, not in my best moments). No experience is ever wasted, as I was always telling myself in Korea. I do know things now, many valuable things, that I hadn’t known before.

And take extra care with strangers,
Even flowers have their dangers.
And though scary is exciting,
Nice is different than good.

Now I know:
Don’t be scared.
Granny is right,
Just be prepared.
Isn’t it nice to know a lot!
And a little bit not.

May we know the difference between nice and good. May we learn to linger and insist appropriately. May we grow, be it ever so slowly and circuitously, into more compassionate, wise, and humble human beings. And may the growing never cease.

Mostly They’re Darked

The school year here is rapidly, terrifyingly, drawing to a close. For me personally, the end of the year doesn’t exactly necessitate any additional work or stress in the way that students and teachers experience it. However, seeing as I will be minus a job in a few short weeks, I have plenty to stress about. The proper phrase is job hunting, but I feel like the anxiety is more like running away from a hunter named Joblessness.

Days here in northern Michigan have lengthened considerably and I do love watching a flaming sunset over the lake. It is very calming and even the veritable hoards of midges cannot lessen my enjoyment of the moment (at least, not too much). I have posted pictures of the Lake Michigan sunsets before so I won’t trouble you now but, rest assured, I am enjoying them as much as I am able.

On the note of pictures, though, I will definitely come through with some cat pics. That’s why you’re here anyway, and I know so many wonderful cats. I also encountered this superb human/cat pair, both of which are very alluring to me.  Can I please move to Australia and travel with that man and his cat?

 

Quite a rogues’ gallery of cuties this week. Love them all. Even the poorly-photographed, screaming Copper. (Copper was one of two cats that I briefly cat-sat last Friday for my neighbor/coworker/friend).

Anyway. I had an interview yesterday, which was a nice change of pace from the usual direct-to-rejection pipeline. I’m not getting my hopes up too high because, you know, I’ve been burned before. But it was nice. Made me feel valued. It annoys me that some part of me derives feelings of value from a corrupt and corrupting system of morally bankrupt capitalism but what is a poor twenty-something gay to do.

As an aside, I kind of hate the construction behind ‘twenty-something’ but whatever, I am what I am.

Thinking about places I might be going. And having truly, absolutely no idea where those places might be. It’s easy to get discouraged. Even with the giddy high of having an interview with a cool place, immediately after I felt like I might have squandered the opportunity. Not that it went poorly, but it just didn’t seem like I made myself exemplary and so might not get this cool job. Too early to say, but it just was sad to take a second and go over the 48 hours between confirmation of the interview to its completion: ecstatic to morose. Yech.

I have quoted before Dr. Seuss’s Oh, the Places You’ll Go and I would like to do so once more today. Near-ish to the beginning of the book, as you’re getting on your way with brains in your head and feet in your shoes, there is a brief warning about some of the places you might encounter. The narrator says:

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you can sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?

I feel a bit like I’ve wandered into some town way out there in an unknown land. Walking through the gates, seeing window after window darked. Not even because they are paths that are closed to me, but more because they are just obscured. And in that darkened obscurity, I very much feel like I might sprain both my elbow and shin.

There is no question, for me, about daring to stay out or go in. I am not staying here and so, necessarily, I am going. The question is also only partially whether to turn right-and-three-quarters or maybe not quite. There’s only so much I can do, applying to jobs. I feel justified, having this education and experience and living in this current economic climate, not taking a minimum-wage-ish position. But maybe it’ll come to that while I move somewhere and continue applying. Let’s hope not.

I think what I’m trying to say is that things are a little bit scary, but I’ll survive. The streets are not marked. The windows are not lighted. But the streets and the windows are there all the same and I’m learning that, while I may not be too smart to go down any not-so-good street, the not-so-good streets that I’m faced with don’t have to be doom, gloom, and slump.

Sometimes, it’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness, as they say. But sometimes, I think it might be better to step into the darkness exactly as it is and find that maybe it’s not so bad. That’s the hope, at least.

 

Avatar Aang

My sister requested more cats and it would be unforgivably remiss of me if I did not comply. Here are a couple pictures of her precious ones. How are cats so cute. I for real cannot handle it. Yes and forever.

If you have not seen Avatar: The Last Airbender, I highly recommend it. Both because it is, in my humble estimation, deeply excellent, and also because this post is going to have pretty much the largest spoiler. You have been warned.

The show is great because it’s a goofy children’s show that takes place in fantasy land. But at the same time, it takes on a lot of heavy issues. Not just things like bad parents and awkward relationships. Literal, actual genocide. The whole premise of the title comes from the fact that all the other airbenders were massacred in a war a century ago. It may not look at genocide as deeply as an adult show could, but it definitely doesn’t shy away from it.

This week, I had a sudden and intense urge to rewatch the grand finale of the series. It’s a four-part, hour and a half, episode that includes the culmination of all the storylines and a happy little denouement. In particular, I was interested in seeing again the titanic battle between Fire Lord Ozai and Aang. Because of how it plays out.

And here’s the spoiler (that really makes sense, in the quasi-Disney children’s entertainment sort of way): Aang doesn’t kill Ozai. They spend three seasons trying to come up with a way around murder and come up empty. Aang asks a bunch of his past lives and they were all telling him to do it. Even the peaceful airbending Avatars. Something about needing to sacrifice your own spiritual wellbeing for the sake of the world.

But Aang, this random twelve year old gentle soul, refuses. When it comes down to it, even in the midless Avatar state, he does not kill. He does something probably no human has ever done–he takes away Ozai’s bending. He’s not just thought outside the box, he’s done what had been heretofore impossible, unthinkable, and unknowable. But he did it, and it was perfectly executed (pardon the pun).

I just think it’s kind of an incredible feat. Not just the act itself, which is obviously avatar-awesomeness. But that someone was so utterly convinced all life was sacred that, even on the brink of essentially the end of the world, he refused to bend the principle. Not saying that we should precisely follow in his footsteps.

But it is a heartening reminder that principles matter, integrity matters, even when it seems like they’re barely the dust on a villain’s shoes.

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I have been enjoying some lovely days (we’ve had some pretty trash days, too) though for the most part it has remained rather more chilly than I’d prefer. On Sunday, we had surpassing good weather, pure sunny and even getting up above 70. Now, of course, we’re back in the upper 40s, but still some sun mixed in with the rain.

Flowers have been blooming and that has been a great comfort to me in this trying season. Trees haven’t quite gotten the message that they’re meant to have leaves by this point but they’re getting there. Deciduous trees. I know they can’t help it, they were born that way, but couldn’t they just try to be coniferous?

Not much else to say, other than the (apparently, unfortunately) annual cycle of job applications has begun in earnest. So far, I’ve only applied in this country (sad face) but I’m up to seven states. Here’s hoping. I’ve given the Great Lakes a go, let’s see where to next.

Perhaps

E.E. Cummings wrote that “Spring is like a perhaps hand” and I think he was really on to something. Things haven’t been wintry this week, for which I am very grateful, but they have felt rather perhaps. Spring comes, I’ve heard, slowly and then all at once.

I have not seen flowers, really, but I have seen sprouted bulbs lengthen into mature leaves. I have not seen trees with their leaves but I have seen leaves budding, so very very tender. I have seen sun and rain and clouds and wind but I have not seen snow. I have heard the birds and the thunder and the small sighing breezes that mean life is happening.

Anyway, there has not been much going on in my life this week. Starting to apply to jobs, as one does, always a joy. Thinking about what it will be like to once again live elsewhere, start anew, uproot and replant. I would kind of rather not but here we are so.

I will say that the few sunny days that we have had truly have changed everything, winter-wise. It’s less that it’s warmer and sunnier (though those are both deeply excellent developments) and more that they are definite and delightful evidence that time is moving forward and we won’t be trapped in winter forever. Especially in the absence of much new green as of yet, I need some kind of promise that spring has arrived.

I guess there’s no way to know for sure, it’s entirely possible that we’ll get a little more snow yet. I really, really hope not. I’m not sure if I could handle anything more than the lightest of dustings at this point.

I’m going to keep this post short in anticipation of an extraordinarily long one that will be upcoming, probably in a few weeks. It’s about politics, wooooooo. I’ll leave you with the ending of the poem, one that I think is so gentle and inspiring. Spring comes to us and transforms the world, but it changes everything carefully.

May the perhaps of our spring blossom into a certainly of summer. Someday.

“moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and

without breaking anything.”

 

Snowdrifts and How Not to Be One

Here we are, the first full day of spring, following the equinox yesterday evening. Welcome, my friends. I am very much looking forward to the coming months. Though, even before those coming months, we have spring break beginning this weekend! And this school, being a fancy private sort of school, has two weeks off. Going to be great, can confirm. Even if it’s not great, it’ll be great.

The weather back home has had its moments of sun as well this week. The parentals sent this picture:

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Obviously, some furniture had to be moved in order to accommodate their needs for sun exposure. And sun napping, which I desperately wish I were able to participate in. I do so miss those kitties.

Don’t even get me started dreaming about reading in the sun. Oh Sun of Spring, warm us!

There remains some snow/slush/freezing temperatures in our forecast here in northwestern Michigan but, having officially started spring  yesterday, I feel confident that we are all on the up and up. Highs consistently topping 40°F. A great deal of melting has already occurred, revealing roadways and pathways and even some just plain ground. With the equinox solidly under our belt, true spring is only a matter of time. We’ve gotten some nice rain (you know I love a good rainy day) and some spectacularly comprehensive fog.

The thing is, there are still plenty of snowdrifts. Whether caused by ploughs or wind or who knows how else, the big piles of snow remain largely intact. Slightly smaller, from the sunny days we’ve had this week, but still pretty immobile. And they are dumb.

In the depths of winter, snowdrifts are still dumb, but they fit. Everything is snowy, some things are more snowy than others. It makes sense. It’s horrible when you’re walking along and suddenly the snow is two feet higher than the rest of the path but hey, che sera sera. The landscapes that they build make sense in a grand scheme. Some of these views of rolling farmland, antique farmhouses, barren trees all covered in a thick and glittering blanket of snow–it’s a strong yes from me.

But now we’re in spring. The ground is reemerging. Your snow is not wanted any longer. Get out. Go away. Get with the times.

If you’ll allow me a bit of personal unpacking for a moment. I’m a little contradictory on this front of change. I at once hate it and embrace it. If Facebook changes even one little thing, it’ll drive me up the wall. I wore essentially the same style shoe from maybe second grade until earlier this year. But I also didn’t really have any problem moving to a different continent twice, not knowing a single person.

Change as a concept aside, let’s talk about growth because this is definitely the season for it. I’m trying to be more conscious about how I want to be growing as a person. Not necessarily changing but taking who I am and refining and strengthening and committing. Most of the time, I’d rather just be an out-of-season snowdrift. But I’m working on it. And I’m telling you because working on yourself in secret makes it easy to just not.

I mostly eat decently, but I really want to commit to it. I’ve started exercising some but I really want to increase it. I’m trying to spend my time in more deliberate ways–not cutting down reading or Netflix or anything, but committing to a series, for example, and following through instead of just watching for a second when I’m bored. These are just a few examples of snowdrifts I’m trying to melt (I don’t care that I’m abusing that metaphor, it’s a metaphor and it can’t feel it).

All this to say: snow is beautiful, in its time, but when the air warms and the clouds part, let the sun shine in.