I have spent an extraordinary amount of money this season. Some of it was necessary to spend but a significant amount I spent simply in some vain and desperate attempt to rebuild myself. Remember those ghosts of mine? They needed a new wardrobe. I needed a new wardrobe. I needed to make myself anew. I still do. I still struggle with wanting to discard permanently relics from an upsetting time and replace them with delicious books or swank new corduroy pants... or stash those relics away, out of sight until I am stronger and wiser and much much calmer. More appropriately able to handle them.
Don't worry, I am indeed long-windedly getting to a point of sorts. The other day I splurged (again) on a tiny folding wallet- one of those you put an ID card and some cash in, shove it in your back pocket, and think 'sorted, I am streamlined.' The reason I just couldn't help myself this time was the material. The wallet has tiny silver stags all over it. I am drawn to stags, amongst other wild creatures, and feel a strong desire to represent that a little more clearly and abruptly in my day-to-day comings and goings. People should know- they should be a little more aware of the importance of wild things.
The point of the wallet and my musings?
When was the last time you saw a deer, a stag, and thought 'that's a wild creature'? When is the last time any of us have stopped to really consider the meaning of domestication and domesticity? Last fall, on a visit to my parents' house, I watched an eight-point buck leap a six-foot fence with no running start. He just took flight into some unsuspecting suburbian's well-tended backyard. An eight-point buck. In the middle of Southside Charlotte, North Carolina. Just using his incredibly powerful hind muscles. That was no domestic creature. That buck represented the wild things that we daily pretend are domestic but are in fact something else entirely.
Right now you are thinking... 'how exactly did we go from wallets to wild things?'
It's all part of this reclamation process of mine- which has admittedly had some setbacks of late- but I suppose all do. I was a domestic creature for a little while. I wore that label without fully understanding what it truly meant for my identity. I disappeared. I became routine and lost the identity that made me me. Domestic animals are overlooked, in a way, by their frequency in our lives. So while I became domestic to one person I became anomalous to everyone else, including myself in the end. I wasn't wild, as I have lamented in past blogs: in fact as I grew increasingly more domesticated I inversely and perversely grew increasingly less noticeable.
But becoming stag again, the solo version of Kate, has given me this strange opportunity to learn about myself again. At a time when most people are settled into their identities as young execs, bank tellers, park rangers, mothers, wives, whatevers, I was a blank page. I remain largely so because this process is necessarily slow, excruciatingly so. I meet some new part of me, everyday. There are days I don't like those parts that I meet- but they are mine and me so I take them. For example- I can be a real bitch when I want to be. But I can also admit to it. Being stag lets me accept those things with much more grace and humility than I ever had before.
So there you have it. The stag wallet. I know, it's all so silly in my head. Then again, I have never claimed to be anything but.
Until next time, Cheers Friends.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Burn a Black Candle
Because black protects. It absorbs and repels negative energy. It perfectly represents duality and balance. And because black protects.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Bittersweet... and then I made Lentil Soup
My roommate in college, who also happens to be one of my dearest friends in the world, wrote me a note on a post-it one night and stuck it to my computer. When I read the note, I taped it down so that I would see it every day. It was during our senior year, we were still suffering each other in the dorms, and I was slowly but surely self-destructing between working, writing a thesis, and carrying a full coarse-load. To this day it surprises me that Suzannah put up with me for so long. Shout out, Suz.
By now you are asking yourself- and the computer- 'well.. what did the note say?'
'Forget Regret or Life is Yours to Waste.' My roomie... she sure does have a way with words.
I have been thinking about regrets lately. Quite a bit today because it is beautiful outside and I am only now remembering what it is like to experience and live in such beauty. This park season (my life as a ranger takes on strange schedules and time tables) has mostly been a battle to find a person in myself after losing... a lot of things. I have kept quiet (sometimes), raged and wept (sometimes) but have always always stayed protected. I patterned my day-to-day existence around isolation, providing myself with an insular life and building and rebuilding fortress-like walls around my heart, brain, and spirit. I do not regret any of this. I needed, and still desperately need, the quiet. I need peace to sort through this... this.
What I do regret is that I became a zombie. The isolation was complete. I was protected. I was alone. I still am alone to a degree that I believe most people would be uncomfortable with. What I regret the most is that I was absent. How can I possibly explain such a regret? I smelled the salty-brackish water of the sound today, coming back from a run, and remembered the beauty of nature. I stood in the sunlight at work today and felt warmth. These are things I did not experience- things I did not let myself experience- for such a long time. I feel such happiness to reintroduce myself to sensations- but such regret that I let so long pass without them. Such deep, weeping regret in soul area of me.
Some things cannot be helped. Sometimes we have to go away, all of us if we are totally honest. We have to, we need to, be absent. But when we come back, when we reenter the atmosphere of our worlds, our loves, our lives, it is such a bittersweet experience. Such a brilliantly and brutally bittersweet experience. Everything that was there before we left is still there but it is vivid and strong and beautiful in a way that makes us hurt impossibly and individually.
So yeah, I've been thinking about regrets today. I'm hoping to have fewer.
Cheers Friends. Take a deep breath, it's the Fall.
By now you are asking yourself- and the computer- 'well.. what did the note say?'
'Forget Regret or Life is Yours to Waste.' My roomie... she sure does have a way with words.
I have been thinking about regrets lately. Quite a bit today because it is beautiful outside and I am only now remembering what it is like to experience and live in such beauty. This park season (my life as a ranger takes on strange schedules and time tables) has mostly been a battle to find a person in myself after losing... a lot of things. I have kept quiet (sometimes), raged and wept (sometimes) but have always always stayed protected. I patterned my day-to-day existence around isolation, providing myself with an insular life and building and rebuilding fortress-like walls around my heart, brain, and spirit. I do not regret any of this. I needed, and still desperately need, the quiet. I need peace to sort through this... this.
What I do regret is that I became a zombie. The isolation was complete. I was protected. I was alone. I still am alone to a degree that I believe most people would be uncomfortable with. What I regret the most is that I was absent. How can I possibly explain such a regret? I smelled the salty-brackish water of the sound today, coming back from a run, and remembered the beauty of nature. I stood in the sunlight at work today and felt warmth. These are things I did not experience- things I did not let myself experience- for such a long time. I feel such happiness to reintroduce myself to sensations- but such regret that I let so long pass without them. Such deep, weeping regret in soul area of me.
Some things cannot be helped. Sometimes we have to go away, all of us if we are totally honest. We have to, we need to, be absent. But when we come back, when we reenter the atmosphere of our worlds, our loves, our lives, it is such a bittersweet experience. Such a brilliantly and brutally bittersweet experience. Everything that was there before we left is still there but it is vivid and strong and beautiful in a way that makes us hurt impossibly and individually.
So yeah, I've been thinking about regrets today. I'm hoping to have fewer.
Cheers Friends. Take a deep breath, it's the Fall.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Making Deals with the Devil*
*And the Devil Don't Deal.
Once you have waltzed yourself precipitously close to the double-door of death and insanity, and then slammed full tilt into reality, things change. But they change only after you violently, tearfully, and defeatedly realize that it was you. It was only you single-handedly dismantling your own life, throwing yourself into a sickness-inducing tailspin that seems to go on and on and on.
But when it stops- now that is something else entirely.
I have been self-indulgent, self-effacing, self-loathing and destructive, and all of the other 'selfs' you can think of, for a long time. Too long actually. But the 'selfs' have been extraordinarily present in the past couple of months. And I let them have whatever was left of me after a series of unfortunate events (to borrow a phrase). I let them become something that passed for a personality- for a person. A bare minimum of a person in every single definition of minimum. That's the realization that stopped the spin.
Well, slowed the spin.
Because when you lose your real self to these things that pass as 'self' and then wake up to find your 'self' living a life that is not yours and can, honestly, barely fit the description of life and living, a vivid, surreal blossom of fear spreads through every fiber of the being that is yours. It stole my breath. To finally understand what I had done TO MYSELF, it literally stole my breath. It is a hard thing to describe, the awakening after a long slumber of numbness and disaffection. It is an exponentially harder thing to describe, the distressing (but somehow refreshing) knowledge that it was only ever me allowing myself to fracture, to shatter, to slide into numbness and disaffection and then not bothering to pick up the pieces. I left the bits of myself on the floor with whatever desire I had to be a real girl.
Over the past week, however, I have somehow survived a second series of unfortunate events. They are the Devil of the title. But they are also the trigger, the gun that finally went off in my painfully dislocated brain and body. The devil is in the details but right now the details are less important that the overarching view: there is a person here. She is still (too) small and still a bit disoriented. But she is finally, finally here.
Cheers Friends.
Oh, and Happy October.
Once you have waltzed yourself precipitously close to the double-door of death and insanity, and then slammed full tilt into reality, things change. But they change only after you violently, tearfully, and defeatedly realize that it was you. It was only you single-handedly dismantling your own life, throwing yourself into a sickness-inducing tailspin that seems to go on and on and on.
But when it stops- now that is something else entirely.
I have been self-indulgent, self-effacing, self-loathing and destructive, and all of the other 'selfs' you can think of, for a long time. Too long actually. But the 'selfs' have been extraordinarily present in the past couple of months. And I let them have whatever was left of me after a series of unfortunate events (to borrow a phrase). I let them become something that passed for a personality- for a person. A bare minimum of a person in every single definition of minimum. That's the realization that stopped the spin.
Well, slowed the spin.
Because when you lose your real self to these things that pass as 'self' and then wake up to find your 'self' living a life that is not yours and can, honestly, barely fit the description of life and living, a vivid, surreal blossom of fear spreads through every fiber of the being that is yours. It stole my breath. To finally understand what I had done TO MYSELF, it literally stole my breath. It is a hard thing to describe, the awakening after a long slumber of numbness and disaffection. It is an exponentially harder thing to describe, the distressing (but somehow refreshing) knowledge that it was only ever me allowing myself to fracture, to shatter, to slide into numbness and disaffection and then not bothering to pick up the pieces. I left the bits of myself on the floor with whatever desire I had to be a real girl.
Over the past week, however, I have somehow survived a second series of unfortunate events. They are the Devil of the title. But they are also the trigger, the gun that finally went off in my painfully dislocated brain and body. The devil is in the details but right now the details are less important that the overarching view: there is a person here. She is still (too) small and still a bit disoriented. But she is finally, finally here.
Cheers Friends.
Oh, and Happy October.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Happy Birthday to Me
I awoke this morning to the distant rumble of thunder- just one, long, low roll of it. I take it as Mother Nature's sweet birthday gift to me- she knows I love storms. She has a weird way of presenting her gifts. This time last year, I was sitting in our warm kitchen in New Hampshire eating oatmeal, staring out the window at a frost-covered field and thanking my stars that I was lucky enough to be in a place that I love (to have found a place that I love) when a horse emerged from our dilapidated barn.
We did not have horses.
But that's Mother Nature for you. I fed the horse an apple and sent it home. This was life.
Now I am looking at another year and things have changed profoundly. A beginning and an end. But what is beginning and what is ending? Summer has ended, fall begun, as of yesterday. It signals the slowing down of the world- an increasingly introspective and quieter time of taking stock, storing goods, and preparing for winter. Well, that was the original signaling of the fall. Things have indeed changed these days. But I am getting off-topic. This is not a post about the inevitable tendencies of humans to change, destroy, and forget. It's about birthdays.
Birthdays and seasonal change. I am not one to make a huge deal of my own birthday. I refuse to bake a cake for myself (I gleefully forced my roommate to do it this year), I tend to celebrate with my family, it is what it is. But it necessarily had to be different this year. Not that 27 necessitates anything special- no, not even close. My birthday follows the Autumn Equinox every year, as I age this fact takes on more meaning. This year it is another weird birthday present to me. Because I can revel in the symbolism as it applies to my life. The perfect balance of night and day was struck yesterday, a reminder that balance is universal, elemental, and not-so-subtlety lacking in my day-to-day existence. It is an even more powerful, visceral reminder that time is the constant. It moves everything. It changes everything- seasons, heartache. But it remains. And I cannot exist outside of it, as I have been attempting for so many weeks and months now; I cannot protect myself enough to fool time.
Happy Birthday to Me.
Cheers Friends.
We did not have horses.
But that's Mother Nature for you. I fed the horse an apple and sent it home. This was life.
Now I am looking at another year and things have changed profoundly. A beginning and an end. But what is beginning and what is ending? Summer has ended, fall begun, as of yesterday. It signals the slowing down of the world- an increasingly introspective and quieter time of taking stock, storing goods, and preparing for winter. Well, that was the original signaling of the fall. Things have indeed changed these days. But I am getting off-topic. This is not a post about the inevitable tendencies of humans to change, destroy, and forget. It's about birthdays.
Birthdays and seasonal change. I am not one to make a huge deal of my own birthday. I refuse to bake a cake for myself (I gleefully forced my roommate to do it this year), I tend to celebrate with my family, it is what it is. But it necessarily had to be different this year. Not that 27 necessitates anything special- no, not even close. My birthday follows the Autumn Equinox every year, as I age this fact takes on more meaning. This year it is another weird birthday present to me. Because I can revel in the symbolism as it applies to my life. The perfect balance of night and day was struck yesterday, a reminder that balance is universal, elemental, and not-so-subtlety lacking in my day-to-day existence. It is an even more powerful, visceral reminder that time is the constant. It moves everything. It changes everything- seasons, heartache. But it remains. And I cannot exist outside of it, as I have been attempting for so many weeks and months now; I cannot protect myself enough to fool time.
Happy Birthday to Me.
Cheers Friends.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
To Have Strength, One Must Be Strong
Over the course of two hours this morning, and by two different medical professionals, I was referred to as 'intuitive, insightful, aware, and intelligent.' These are not bad things at all. On the contrary, I have been called much, much worse and by many, many people.
But none of these qualities that apparently (currently) describe me are what I have need to be, what I want to be, described as: 'strong, resilient, undefeated.' Understand (I do) that these are the musings of a silly, sad girl whose silly, sad world is trembling. I need strength. I crave strength- an inner power which holds that silly, sad girl in place while that silly, sad world trembles away. I desperately wish for those around me to remember me as a person with a backbone... Hell, even to be remembered (remembered!) as a person with a personality would be nice.
Let's face it. My intuition does not come from some grand intellect but from half a lifetime of living with ghosts. And if I were truly insightful, truly aware, and truly truly intelligent, I probably would not be traveling down this earthshaking road (maybe a stronger word than 'trembling' is necessary) that I am on today- gleefully destructive, ruefully and distressingly marching with purpose.
But none of these qualities that apparently (currently) describe me are what I have need to be, what I want to be, described as: 'strong, resilient, undefeated.' Understand (I do) that these are the musings of a silly, sad girl whose silly, sad world is trembling. I need strength. I crave strength- an inner power which holds that silly, sad girl in place while that silly, sad world trembles away. I desperately wish for those around me to remember me as a person with a backbone... Hell, even to be remembered (remembered!) as a person with a personality would be nice.
Let's face it. My intuition does not come from some grand intellect but from half a lifetime of living with ghosts. And if I were truly insightful, truly aware, and truly truly intelligent, I probably would not be traveling down this earthshaking road (maybe a stronger word than 'trembling' is necessary) that I am on today- gleefully destructive, ruefully and distressingly marching with purpose.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
The Only Difference Between a Rut and the Grave is its Depth
Classy.
While I am not entirely sure who first said this gem, I am absolutely sure that it applies to my current state of being. Absolutely sure. The only difference between a rut and the grave is its depth? Yes.
In other news, it is the first day of September. And September is my month. All mine. I selfishly and wantonly claim this month. Yes yes, I know that it's my birthday at the end of the month and so it's really not surprising that I would have such an affinity for it. But September is the beginning of Fall, it's the start of goodness and apples (and apple cider!); of fires and feist and witching.
Am I still inching my way toward the grave? Yes. But maybe it will become a little more shallow for September.
Cheers, Friends.
While I am not entirely sure who first said this gem, I am absolutely sure that it applies to my current state of being. Absolutely sure. The only difference between a rut and the grave is its depth? Yes.
In other news, it is the first day of September. And September is my month. All mine. I selfishly and wantonly claim this month. Yes yes, I know that it's my birthday at the end of the month and so it's really not surprising that I would have such an affinity for it. But September is the beginning of Fall, it's the start of goodness and apples (and apple cider!); of fires and feist and witching.
Am I still inching my way toward the grave? Yes. But maybe it will become a little more shallow for September.
Cheers, Friends.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Two-fer- Decisions, Decisions and Songs
I decided to do a two-fer-one today. Two blogs, one post. It has been a long week, a longer night and the longest time. Enjoy:
Decisions, Decisions
It's funny, but every time I write a blog I have some difficulty coming up with a title. Today's options included: 'Wearing Thin', 'Setbacks', 'Bravery', and 'Integrity', amongst others. None of those have the effect that I want for this entry in particular. So I went with the considerably more neutral 'Decisions Decisions.' Because that is my life lately.
At any rate, let me get on with it. I have begun the process of phone-calling, refunding, promise-breaking. The promises I am breaking are mostly ones that I have made to myself over time- be strong, be a fortress, keep what is yours and yours alone to yourself. Be better. Go to Maine once a year, every year, for as long as you both shall live. These promises I made... I made over time and as a result to many odd and probably mostly juvenile events in my life. But they are mine. Which is why these decisions that I must make now are so difficult. I do not want to break my word. Especially not to myself.
But some things, I suppose, break.
The decisions that have been left to me, and I mean really left to me alone, are few and far between. Most of them have been taken from me one way or another. Return to work? How about a hurricane instead? Move to New England? How about you'll freeze to death by your second night because there is nothing left of you? Do yoga...? mmm... I don't think so- you have tendinitis in your wrist! So I make the aforementioned phone calls and ask for said refunds. And then I grin and bear another promise that I have broken. And I don't have the heart to make any more to myself just yet.
The decisions I get to make are more along the lines of... run two miles today? or Four? Clean room? Or attempt to bake banana bread? Pretty low-key decisions. I suppose that's just the way of things right now. I hope only for right now.
Songs
I know that everyone has moments that are defined by songs and songs defined by moments. So here is my current list:
I have been listening to a lot of Mumford and Sons lately. Especially this song. Listen carefully- there is a line which states 'it seems that all my bridges have been burnt- you say that's exactly how this grace thing works.' That line, that line sums up what daily runs through my head. Especially now, especially after all these decisions. If you get a chance, this song makes me cry every time I hear it. In a good way, I guess, because it is hopeful in it's own very British, very dour way.
Bon Iver, Bon Iver, Bon Iver should have first billing on this list of songs. He's been saving me, of late, without knowing me or caring for me. I can't stop listening to Holocene. Because I am not magnificent. And because I have never cried so hard in my life and because hearing a male voice say these words is so much more emotive and heartbreaking then even she could be: his cover of Bonnie Raitt's classic. If I could pull the covers over my head and sleep the rest of the year away, I'd have Bon Iver singing my lullaby.
Adele's second album 21 kills it. The angry girl in me likes to blast Rolling in the Deep. Of course, then I run out of energy and need something a little more restorative. Enter more Bon Iver. Really, you don't even need a link here, just youtube Bon Iver, pick a song, and it will be amazingly intuitive.
For the pop addict in me... Oi.. I am loathe to admit it but... The Script have my ear.
Cheers Friends. Alas, I am not able to report on the Jesus Christ University signage of late. I do wonder what they have to say about the 'Monster Hurricane.' Probably something incredibly deep and powerful. And damning.
And not at all intelligent.
Okay, until next time.
Decisions, Decisions
It's funny, but every time I write a blog I have some difficulty coming up with a title. Today's options included: 'Wearing Thin', 'Setbacks', 'Bravery', and 'Integrity', amongst others. None of those have the effect that I want for this entry in particular. So I went with the considerably more neutral 'Decisions Decisions.' Because that is my life lately.
At any rate, let me get on with it. I have begun the process of phone-calling, refunding, promise-breaking. The promises I am breaking are mostly ones that I have made to myself over time- be strong, be a fortress, keep what is yours and yours alone to yourself. Be better. Go to Maine once a year, every year, for as long as you both shall live. These promises I made... I made over time and as a result to many odd and probably mostly juvenile events in my life. But they are mine. Which is why these decisions that I must make now are so difficult. I do not want to break my word. Especially not to myself.
But some things, I suppose, break.
The decisions that have been left to me, and I mean really left to me alone, are few and far between. Most of them have been taken from me one way or another. Return to work? How about a hurricane instead? Move to New England? How about you'll freeze to death by your second night because there is nothing left of you? Do yoga...? mmm... I don't think so- you have tendinitis in your wrist! So I make the aforementioned phone calls and ask for said refunds. And then I grin and bear another promise that I have broken. And I don't have the heart to make any more to myself just yet.
The decisions I get to make are more along the lines of... run two miles today? or Four? Clean room? Or attempt to bake banana bread? Pretty low-key decisions. I suppose that's just the way of things right now. I hope only for right now.
Songs
I know that everyone has moments that are defined by songs and songs defined by moments. So here is my current list:
I have been listening to a lot of Mumford and Sons lately. Especially this song. Listen carefully- there is a line which states 'it seems that all my bridges have been burnt- you say that's exactly how this grace thing works.' That line, that line sums up what daily runs through my head. Especially now, especially after all these decisions. If you get a chance, this song makes me cry every time I hear it. In a good way, I guess, because it is hopeful in it's own very British, very dour way.
Bon Iver, Bon Iver, Bon Iver should have first billing on this list of songs. He's been saving me, of late, without knowing me or caring for me. I can't stop listening to Holocene. Because I am not magnificent. And because I have never cried so hard in my life and because hearing a male voice say these words is so much more emotive and heartbreaking then even she could be: his cover of Bonnie Raitt's classic. If I could pull the covers over my head and sleep the rest of the year away, I'd have Bon Iver singing my lullaby.
Adele's second album 21 kills it. The angry girl in me likes to blast Rolling in the Deep. Of course, then I run out of energy and need something a little more restorative. Enter more Bon Iver. Really, you don't even need a link here, just youtube Bon Iver, pick a song, and it will be amazingly intuitive.
For the pop addict in me... Oi.. I am loathe to admit it but... The Script have my ear.
Cheers Friends. Alas, I am not able to report on the Jesus Christ University signage of late. I do wonder what they have to say about the 'Monster Hurricane.' Probably something incredibly deep and powerful. And damning.
And not at all intelligent.
Okay, until next time.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Bodies in Motion
So this Sir Isaac Newton fellow may have been onto something. Bodies in motion remain in motion until acted upon by an outside force. First(ish) law of physics.
I am not, by nature, a still person. Once upon a time I hummed with vitality and power- I was a Newtonian constant- always in motion, always moving, always always alive. And my oh my, how the times have changed. For now I am sitting at my parent's kitchen table, nursing a glass of wine and pondering that first law, oh Newton. And what an important law it is.
You see, I have recently kept myself semi-alive (a kind description of my current state of being) through a series of events (the outside force) that have not only stopped me (remain in motion until acted upon by...) but have literally halted my previously powerful motion so completely that I have to worry whether or not I will ever start moving again. It strikes me as so odd because I went for a long run today. The physical motion is there. It's here in my fingers as I type and remain true to my promise of honesty. It's here in my foot that keeps bouncing in worried energy. It's here in the goosebumps that raise on my arms under the kitchen fan.
But it is suspiciously absent otherwise. The emotional side of me has stilled. The mental side of me has stilled. All in some desperate bid to survive against this opposite force. I know everyone goes through it. I know that. But who is really honest about it? Who really takes the time to expose themselves?
Newton was right. It takes a powerful, equal force to stop movement so completely.
I am not, by nature, a still person. Once upon a time I hummed with vitality and power- I was a Newtonian constant- always in motion, always moving, always always alive. And my oh my, how the times have changed. For now I am sitting at my parent's kitchen table, nursing a glass of wine and pondering that first law, oh Newton. And what an important law it is.
You see, I have recently kept myself semi-alive (a kind description of my current state of being) through a series of events (the outside force) that have not only stopped me (remain in motion until acted upon by...) but have literally halted my previously powerful motion so completely that I have to worry whether or not I will ever start moving again. It strikes me as so odd because I went for a long run today. The physical motion is there. It's here in my fingers as I type and remain true to my promise of honesty. It's here in my foot that keeps bouncing in worried energy. It's here in the goosebumps that raise on my arms under the kitchen fan.
But it is suspiciously absent otherwise. The emotional side of me has stilled. The mental side of me has stilled. All in some desperate bid to survive against this opposite force. I know everyone goes through it. I know that. But who is really honest about it? Who really takes the time to expose themselves?
Newton was right. It takes a powerful, equal force to stop movement so completely.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Wilderness
A few summers ago one of my many roommates and I were sitting in the kitchen of our New Hampshire cabin and discussing how to go about impressing self-important owners of a fair-trade coffee shop in order to procure some gainful employment there. If you have ever met self-important owners of a fair-trade coffee shop (especially one near an Ivy League) then you can probably imagine the direction this conversation took. One of the questions on her application demanded that the potential employee identify his or her "favorite three syllable word." I'm not kidding. It was a no-brainer answer for my roommate- or-gan-ic- duh. Beat that hipster Ivy-Leaguers.
The question led to a further pondering of favorite words, in general, and what those words mean. Think big- the ideas captured and conveyed in some single words are more powerful than any treatise of words in the world.
My favorite word is 'wilderness.' I adore that word. I am enraptured by that word. I identify with that word- I used to use that word to describe myself. It has been some time since I have been able to do that, but it was a part of me once, a strength that sat in the core of my being and sustained a part of my spirit that was, to be redundant, wild; the part of my spirit that was singularly unique, impossible, and entirely untouchable.
Wilderness; deep, dark, threatening, angry wilderness. The untamable other. The passion! The power!
I have loved it for so long, I think, because it's presence is permanent. To move onto a much more esoteric plane- regardless of the road humanity takes, wilderness is a haunting, hunting thing that follows us; traces our movements from some inky place in the dense shadows. It stays on the periphery, but it is there always. It's constancy is like a gift, in my mind.
In this context, wilderness is a measure of honesty- confronting it is an act of bravery.
The question led to a further pondering of favorite words, in general, and what those words mean. Think big- the ideas captured and conveyed in some single words are more powerful than any treatise of words in the world.
My favorite word is 'wilderness.' I adore that word. I am enraptured by that word. I identify with that word- I used to use that word to describe myself. It has been some time since I have been able to do that, but it was a part of me once, a strength that sat in the core of my being and sustained a part of my spirit that was, to be redundant, wild; the part of my spirit that was singularly unique, impossible, and entirely untouchable.
Wilderness; deep, dark, threatening, angry wilderness. The untamable other. The passion! The power!
I have loved it for so long, I think, because it's presence is permanent. To move onto a much more esoteric plane- regardless of the road humanity takes, wilderness is a haunting, hunting thing that follows us; traces our movements from some inky place in the dense shadows. It stays on the periphery, but it is there always. It's constancy is like a gift, in my mind.
In this context, wilderness is a measure of honesty- confronting it is an act of bravery.
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