Thursday, September 17, 2009
As of this afternoon, we have an official home in Colorado Springs. The prospect of the move has actually lifted my spirits in ways that I truly did not expect. Having met new people, touched base with a fellow writer or two, and generally had the creative juices churned by the energy surrounding this transition, I feel optimistic for the first times in months.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
This day finds all three of my children settling into individual routines away from home: making new friends and re-establishing old connections; unpacking; rearranging; relearning how and when and where to tackle homework assignments; for my son, switching roles from that of the advisee to the all-knowing advisor. Here, on the Home Front, I struggle to--amid tentative anticipation--scrape together the remnants of hope, health, and happiness that somehow survived this New Haven purgatory and carry them with me into this very different life in Colorado. It is as though with the transforming of the seasons--summer into autumn--an equally astonishing alteration of existence came slowly, subtly into being. All about us the world swirls and changes, forcing us to reshape our own thoughts, attitudes, habits, and preconceived notions in order to accommodate those constant changes.
Despite it all, our little Quartet is moving forward. Somehow we have survived that which seemed insurmountable, too horrendous (at times) to be endured; and now it is as if the past traumas never existed, as though the wonder unfolding before us is all there ever was.
A friend of mine asked, "So, do you think you'll be able to write again? Now that you're finally getting away from the craziness?" The truth is, I have no idea. Ideally, I should have been able to sculpt words into distinct, delicately shaped images whether in the midst of insanity or tranquility. Talent should reveal itself despite the intrinsic interference of environmental forces, should it not?
I suppose only time will tell.
Still, one cannot help but--in the midst of it all--ponder the notion of New Beginnings...and how vital to existence they really are.
With the positive changes now taking place in life, I am aware of tiny, electric jolts of vitality which are quite invigorating. Last night, my hands reached for journal and pen, scratching out the sentences before my mind even registered the significance of it all.
So, maybe--just maybe--these changes, this transition (more than anything else) was what I, as a "writer" needed. Perhaps in a new environment surrounded by fresh energy, new faces, different stimuli, it will be possible to knock down this oft-lamented "block" and actually create again.
Am I banking on that?
Let's put it this way:
My son's expression says it all.