Sunday, January 20, 2013

To Begin Again

I know that one might call this blog 'personal' - it's about my life, my family, my interests, my ideas - but I typically do not write about deeply personal subjects here.  I have tried to keep it light and even fun.  But today I feel the need to go public with something that I have kept close to my heart - I guess it is the writer, the artist in me.  I have this need to express in a way that might form a connection with others.  Somehow that might make it settle down a bit and have purpose.  I haven't written here in nine months; I'm not sure why, but I think it's because I wasn't ready yet.
Now, I'm ready to move on from where I've been for over a year.  They say you shouldn't take your work home with you, but I'm in a profession that is completely and fully people-oriented; everything I do is for the service of other human beings.  As a result, there are very few moments when I'm not dealing with the stickiness of human emotion.  This has been one of those years where I've really questioned my choice to work in education over a hands-on, product-oriented trade (the visual arts).  I don't need to list the details here, but suffice it to say that I've taken on an immensely different job from what I've done before.  And then, in mid-June, my direct supervisor (and, more importantly, my friend) took his life.
What I need to express and accept is that I've been grieving.  I've been confused and angry.  And I've often been terribly sad.  I've wanted answers that apparently don't exist.  I've wanted closure, and all I've heard is silence.  I've thought it all shouldn't affect me too deeply, and yet I knew all along that I had been cut.
I want to write and create again.  I want to search again for answers that I might find.  I want to love what I'm doing, and, most importantly, I want to show my daughters how to find strength in adversity.  I know I can do all these things - that's the point, for me, in writing them down here.  I don't have any eloquent epiphanies to offer about death or grief.  I'm committing to move on and make purpose.

"This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
which is round but not flat and has more colors
than we can see.

It begins, it has an end,
this is what you will
come back to, this is your hand."
               from You Begin by Margaret Atwood


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