there is time to learn how to analyze and break into pieces and structure and write thesis statements, to organize my life, to practice all of these bits and pieces. these are things I can learn: habits, practice, discipline, self control. self love.
but when I see the sculpture I made with the branch thrust through a page from a book on french history, I search for connections. what could this image mean? what else? what else? what else?
those answers can’t quite be learned.
it’s brave to do the hard thing that hurts in front of other people
i used to try to appear together, and i wasn’t. it hurt. i didn’t even appear together. sometimes we just don’t know how else to do it.
sometimes we’re in a place to reflect on what makes us upset, and sometimes we’re not. sometimes we spend inordinate amounts of time trying to figure out our inner processes, and sometimes we can just be, and sometimes, where we are, we can look at a lamp and compare its curves to our mothers’ curves and feel something and want to make something with it, but only sometimes do these sometimeses sometimes work out to make something other people see.
but i will say this -
i won’t be the next step away from the time you got lost in the mall
or the next step from that same time different time you wore your mother’s lipstick and looked at yourself and fell in love.
i want to write poetry, but i have only so little time i am giving myself today. i am going to do my work. then i am going to stretch, and then i am going to my job where i will work and try to hear people. it’s exhausting to work at the register because i am imagining each and every person, keeping in mind that they have lives and stories and so much for me to learn from - but i am also keeping track of everything that’s going on.
i’d like to be liked at my job, but i will not be a more productive worker if it means losing my connection to people and to science and to art and right back to people.
Syrian Refugees - Peter Hapak
“The Syrians have not stopped crossing into Turkey. Some walk for hours, others for days; most bring nothing but the clothes on their backs and harrowing tales of what they have fled. They speak of mass killings, of homes shelled and burned to the ground, of relatives marched in front of tanks as human shields.”