Changes
I've lost about 40 pounds over the last six months. Gained a lover for the last six months. Fallen away from writing over the last few months. I went to my writing conference last month and came to the conclusion that I am not a poet. I changed my assignment at work a couple of months ago. My younger son moved away from home permanently earlier this year. My older son (all of 23) is doing so well in his job back East that he is earning more money than I do. Lots of changes. Much to absorb. Much to assimilate.
The weight loss has everyone talking - "You're so tiny!" "How did you do it?" "Wow, I didn't recognize you!" I'm happy and proud, but embarrassed too. Much attention that is so unwonted - I'm not used to it. But still, I luxuriate in my new body. I feel sexy and young, and alive.
Having my lover makes me smile a lot. "You're glowing," they exclaim. "You seem like a different person," they say. I am, it's true. I am happy and fulfilled, though the anxiety to which I can be prone swims to the surface from time to time. I remind myself that he is a wonderful, sensitive, and caring man. That we are good together. To live in the now and let the future take care of itself. Easier said than done sometimes, and it's a work in progress.
I have been so absorbed by all these changes that writing has taken a back seat in my life. The writing conference (where last year, as it happens, I first met the man who was to become my lover) jump-started some inspiration for a while, but then that, too, faded, and I resorted again to writing about not writing. Which I was determined for this piece not to be. But I guess it is. Again.
A friend who is a writer stayed with me last night, and we fell to talking about writing as a priority. She acknowledged that we have to shift our priorities from time to time. That we can't always put writing first. I have put my love affair first recently. I would like to bring my writing further to the front, though. I think it would be healthy. My lover lives in a different town, some seven hours drive away from here, and there are hefty chunks of time when we are not together. I could use that time to write.
As for not being a poet: my efforts were so very pedestrian that I could not bring myself to share what I wrote in the poetry workshop I attended at the conference. Pedestrian in comparison with what I was hearing from my fellow participants, who were so very talented. I know when to shut up. Maybe I will write poetry again, but probably just for personal consumption. So I want to focus on prose, where I feel safer, more comfortable. But is that what writing is about? Safety and comfort? Oh, gee, I hope not! Maybe it's time I took some risks. Although, to be honest, it seems as if for the last six months I have been taking many risks (like going to the concert on my own). So maybe this work in progress should include risks in the realm of writing. Just posting this rather personal entry is a risk, I guess. But it's time to strip away the dross. Time to allow myself to access what really matters to me, and then maybe the words will start to flow once more onto the screen before me. I can feel something loosening even now.
I have been watching DVD's of "The Sopranos," a series I never saw when it was on TV. It's addictive! But I chose to write this entry instead of watching Episode 1 from Season 3 this evening. It's a start. Maybe those priorities are beginning to re-organize themselves.
Watch this space.
The weight loss has everyone talking - "You're so tiny!" "How did you do it?" "Wow, I didn't recognize you!" I'm happy and proud, but embarrassed too. Much attention that is so unwonted - I'm not used to it. But still, I luxuriate in my new body. I feel sexy and young, and alive.
Having my lover makes me smile a lot. "You're glowing," they exclaim. "You seem like a different person," they say. I am, it's true. I am happy and fulfilled, though the anxiety to which I can be prone swims to the surface from time to time. I remind myself that he is a wonderful, sensitive, and caring man. That we are good together. To live in the now and let the future take care of itself. Easier said than done sometimes, and it's a work in progress.
I have been so absorbed by all these changes that writing has taken a back seat in my life. The writing conference (where last year, as it happens, I first met the man who was to become my lover) jump-started some inspiration for a while, but then that, too, faded, and I resorted again to writing about not writing. Which I was determined for this piece not to be. But I guess it is. Again.
A friend who is a writer stayed with me last night, and we fell to talking about writing as a priority. She acknowledged that we have to shift our priorities from time to time. That we can't always put writing first. I have put my love affair first recently. I would like to bring my writing further to the front, though. I think it would be healthy. My lover lives in a different town, some seven hours drive away from here, and there are hefty chunks of time when we are not together. I could use that time to write.
As for not being a poet: my efforts were so very pedestrian that I could not bring myself to share what I wrote in the poetry workshop I attended at the conference. Pedestrian in comparison with what I was hearing from my fellow participants, who were so very talented. I know when to shut up. Maybe I will write poetry again, but probably just for personal consumption. So I want to focus on prose, where I feel safer, more comfortable. But is that what writing is about? Safety and comfort? Oh, gee, I hope not! Maybe it's time I took some risks. Although, to be honest, it seems as if for the last six months I have been taking many risks (like going to the concert on my own). So maybe this work in progress should include risks in the realm of writing. Just posting this rather personal entry is a risk, I guess. But it's time to strip away the dross. Time to allow myself to access what really matters to me, and then maybe the words will start to flow once more onto the screen before me. I can feel something loosening even now.
I have been watching DVD's of "The Sopranos," a series I never saw when it was on TV. It's addictive! But I chose to write this entry instead of watching Episode 1 from Season 3 this evening. It's a start. Maybe those priorities are beginning to re-organize themselves.
Watch this space.
posted by Vicky | 9:05 PM
6 Comments:
Vicky, Can I start out by lecturing you? :-)
Don't compare your work to others'. That's poison and not relevant. What's important is that you wrote.
Purists of form would wince at me, but I don't believe in saying, "I'm a poet" or "I'm a novelist" or "I'm an essayist." For me, the forms all run together and I use whatever form I wish, whenever I wish. If the writing isn't very good, I shrug and write something else.
Don't burn your bridges. Make more bridges.
Congratulations on the life changes. I am trying to picture your new body. I liked the other one! But if you feel better, more healthy and alive, that's the main thing.
Vicky, I want to second Theresa. I think writers of whatever stripe are writers first, poets, novelists, short story writers, whatever second. Don't limit yourself. The more comfortable body, the lover all sounds so wonderful. I'm happy for you.
Hi Vicky! It can feel good to make changes and take chances in life. I hope you're enjoying these transitions! Good luck with writing. I certainly look forward to reading more of your work. :-)
It's nice to read you sounding so happy -- and svelte -- and loved -- and -- and -- !
and wow, may I second and third the congratulations. My writing has seemed to be a lower priority, also, with a "l" person. Gosh, I can't even say it.
Why, Vicky, you lusty wench, you!
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