Anguish as a Second Language

I came across the title of this week's blog from a website that I found when I was cruising around looking for peer revision strategies to use in class. It really tickled me, so I thought I'd share it. It wouldn't let me really investigate the website without having a login, so I couldn't see more of what they were talking about, but again, I just loved it.

It also made me think about the way I've been living my life lately. The stress level has been more than a little bit elevated, on multiple levels. And yes, I've been whining about it. I think one could safely say that anguish has been a second language for me over the years. I didn't realize until recently that I didn't like that about myself. That's not to say that it isn't theraputic in small amounts (clinging to Ryan when I don't feel good physically, for example....it's soothing to be held and comforted), and likewise I don't want to not honor my own feelings--I don't want to tell myself that feeling any given way is BAD, in itself. But perhaps it's not the most constructive choice, particularly when it becomes prolonged.

I do appreciate the kind and constructive responses I got to my last post, when I was whinging about my creative life feeling stalled. I still feel somewhat stalled, but I'm being kind to myself about it now. Honestly, this just may not be the best time to devote hours to writing. I have a whole household to purge of unneeded stuff, to pack up, and to move to a new town; then to unpack it, after decorating the new place. And it needs to happen in the span of a couple of weeks. That's just a priority right now. No getting around it.

I like what Chad said about it boiling down to putting in your time at the computer (or wherever you choose to write), creating and revising. I think it's true. I have to make space for that in my life, once the move is over and we're relatively settled. It has to become a priority, right along with my physical health, if I want to be successful at it. I know I have it in me. I just have to do it.

But I also do, as I said, have to be kind to myself and know when I'm approaching overload. I am right now. It will all be worth it, but it's overload nonetheless.

What Really Works

I just got done reading the most recent postings on the blog for my MFA program, Tyger Burning. It's been updated to include pictures from alumni and lots of postings about what folks are doing these days. Some I don't know because they graduated from the program before my arrival in January 2005, but many I knew (know) and love. I'm so happy for their successes.

And insanely jealous.

I feel as though my creative life is stalled. I feel as though all the publications, awards, all of that--it could be mine. I know I have the potential to achieve great things in the field. But ever since graduation, it has been like pulling teeth to coerce myself to invest the time and energy into writing truly noteworthy poetry--let alone sending it to people who would note it. I've made some halfhearted attempts over the past several months, most of which have come back as rejections. I understand that this is the game--you submit, submit, submit, like throwing jelly at a wall and hoping some will stick while the rest runs off. I know that it takes more than one try. And in honesty, I know I have not given it enough tries.

That doesn't make it easier to receive those rejection letters, or to see the success of an acquaintance. I'm proud to say I know those people; proud to say I come from the same stock as them, that I was taught by the same esteemed teachers. But I worry that it didn't rub off on me in the same way. Continually, I return to the question: "if this is what I love, why is it so hard to make myself commit to it?"

And the usual answers surface: work takes a lot of time, as does the commute to and from. The miscellany of preparing to buy a new house. My need to also devote time to my physical health and well-being. My investment in my marriage. Wanting to be there for family. All of those things are legitimate distractions. But it feels like my creative life is suffering from neglect, as well as the non-paying profession that I'd like to turn into a more lucrative one. I love being at Davenport, the feeling that I have gotten my foot in the door of academia, but it would be nicer to teach more creative class, literature, all of that....

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to go bust some students on Facebook.