My Own Geography

David Brooks just made me cry. Not surprising that he did, but how he did, and the type of crying. He often says things that frustrate or depress me. This time it is maybe the opposite.


The key point: Don't try to be everyman. Be yourself. In particular, know where you are from, even. A simple thought. A good thought. Based on Springsteen, somewhat surprisingly (or not, depending on how much you know about Springsteen).

And this is hard for me, because part of who I am is inherently pluralistic, sampling styles. It's a huge part of how I learn what I like and don't like - I take pieces from the people I meet. I merge into their world to see how it feels. I guess what reading David's essay made me realize is this: that can be my way - the eternal explorer, but at the end of the day I still need to know who I am. Where I come from. With my own concrete story.

I currently live in the 13th home of my life. Ooh, that's not a good number. Moving on... Consequently, I have sometimes struggled with the results of the many moves during my life. But actually, I tend to think of my wandering past as a good part of who I am - why I appreciate the friends I have and keep in touch well (ok, better than most at least)... why I enjoy going to new places and don't fear the unknown... why I have a good sense for different parts of the country... and so on. This history is a part of who I am that I value. So the question is, how does that fit into what he's talking about?

Specifically: what is my paracosm? A place where all are welcome, with intuition guiding me, full of heart, proactive, thoughtful... and I needn't change that. The question most plaguing me is, how do I fully HONOR that? Integrate it.

I've been having competing ideas about my writing recently. Specifically, my poetry. Should I try to publish/sell my poems, or just let them be? Should I compile them all into one place so they don't get lost? (Yes.) The tricky part about publishing is that I don't write poetry the way some people say you are supposed to write. My poems aren't about plants and natural phenomena. Or images, necessarily. But neither were Bukowski's! I recently considered submitting to a local poetry publication, until I learned they only accepted poems if they didn't have "I" statements. So I didn't submit. I think all my poems either have an I statement or are about me.

But last winter I discovered Christian Wiman's poetry, who it turns out is also the editor of Poetry itself.... and his poems were reminiscient of mine - spiritual, emotional, personal. So I had the crazy thought that maybe I should submit something to Poetry magazine. As a gift to myself, honoring the importance of my voice, honoring the gift of my writing.

This past weekend I had the great luck of hearing an exceptional poem read (by the author himself) at a wedding. It stunned me with its personality, its poise, its insights. Afterwards, I told the author so and said that it made me reluctant to say I write poetry, since I am not sure I can achieve such awesomeness. And he emphatically said no, no, don't say that. So I won't. I have to respect the man's advice.

The hard part is loving your own gifts enough to put them into the world without also adding your own judgment. There's a difference between working hard and preparing well, and hiding.

I have some hard questions to face about whether or not I've been hiding my gifts by being a mirror of the gifts I see in others. Recently my gifts have been becoming apparent to me inadvertently, one by one, showing up and saying hi. And for now, I am just trying to take note of them so I don't forget who I am. Where I came from. A home that goes back before the moves ever began, and was with me throughout every step.

What's really crazy is that now I'm all out of free NYT articles for the month. Good thing that's just a few more days.