12/11/16
Dear Shannon (me):
I had an idea
earlier this week, and it went something like this:
I have always had a
fantasy of spending a summer in a rather secluded lake house, writing
on a laptop, breathing in clean, mountainous air. I believe this
image comes from a compilation of writers' stories that I've heard
and envisioned for myself. It's very romanticized and has a lot of
emotional depth to it. There's something about the seclusion and the
view and nature and getting ideas out through typing. It feels
cathartic and peaceful at the same time.
A few years ago I
was living in a house, in the desert, that was pretty crummy. I
wouldn't go so far as to say slummy or bummy, but definitely grimy
and in the least excellent part of a pretty moderate city. I wanted
to move. Not just from the house, but from the city. I had had enough
of the desert, where I had already spent 15 years. I believed (and
still believe) that location can change your experience.
I talked to one of
my mentors about this: “I live in a location and climate that is
harsh. It's dry. It's difficult for things to root and grow here. I
want to live somewhere that's wet and lush and where I can feel water
around me and inside me. I want to live somewhere that feels like I
could put roots down and it would feel like home.”
If someone else gave
him the same set of statements, he might have had a different answer.
But me, I'm a runner. When I'm uncomfortable, it has been my natural
instinct to drop it all and say “fuck this.” Maybe not the
greatest long term solution for life. So, he told me to find what I
was looking for exactly where I was. He gave me a spiel about how I
need to commit to where I am, and when I don't, I miss out on what is
already in front of me. If I can't be happy now, I won't be happy
somewhere else. This, of course, infuriated me. One, because it's
true. Two, because it's not the only thing that's true.
I decided to listen
to him. I changed my house around. Rather than living there with the
mindset of “I may move any day so why bother ____ (planting plants
in the yard, decorating in a way that's welcoming, etc.) I decided to
make my house feel like the lake house I had envisioned. Probably, if
I looked back now, I would think it was pretty cheesy. But, for the
time, it worked well. I rearranged and cleaned and added color where
before there existed only hand-me-down furniture and neutral tones.
In my mind I let it become the home where I would want to spend a
summer even without the lake.
I moved about a year
later. Through an interesting set of circumstances, the house kicked
me out. I moved into an apartment with a roommate, and now live in
the same apartment by myself. I've not had the desire to recreate the
lake house in this new home. I have nested and made it something I
appreciate it. But lake house, no. My vision has remained steadfast,
though.
The other day while
I was working, I got another image of how to create my dream. The
funny part is, I don't write. Not really. So, writing on the laptop
has all this meaning for me, with no content to actually be plugging
away into the computer. It's been about the rest of the image. And
when I've tried to imagine the secluded lake house minus the typing,
it just doesn't work. No other imagery has come forward to replace
the writing. And then, while I was working, I thought “A Life in
Letters.” Letters that I write to people and to myself that show an
unfolding of my life. For myself. For others. For anyone who has any
interest at all.
_________________________________________________________________________________
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