Stream of Consciousness Sunday: A Desk

I met Jana at the NonCon in Atlanta in October and am not sure how I'd never crossed paths with her before then. I'm glad that the blogging fates brought us together though because I need more people with whom I can discuss candy and the evil intentions of the Keebler elves. Jana does a thing called Stream of Consciousness Sunday which seems tailor made for my little gerbil brain. So, I decided to give it a go today. The basic idea is that you write for 5 minutes and do not proof or edit. Here is what came of my very first SOC Sunday.

I have a desk now, a writing place. I've never really had one. I usually write while lying on the couch which makes me feel kinda lazy if I'm honest. It makes me feel like I am just doing a little something instead of the big something that I really hope to do which is to put meaningful words down in print.  So, we finished moving Luisa's workspace down to the family room and cleared out her old, small desk and now it is mine. If you open the door that was originally supposed to hold a giant CPU, you will find paper and printed copies of a very old manuscript. My expandable file folder is in there now - it contains all the printed drafts of the essays that I hope will make up this book that I am writing. It makes me feel a little bit more like a writer, even thought it shouldn't matter at all. But I have a desk. And piles of my writing. And a new chair. And it makes me feel something...something that is just out of my reach to explain. This is the first thing I have written in this new space but I hope it won't be the last.

Twenty Two

Luisa and I were going through some pictures today and came across this one of me taken when I was 22 - half the age I am now. We age so slowly, in increments that we can't even see and then we find old pictures of ourselves.

I had forgotten about this picture until I saw it. It was taken at a concert on a beautiful summer evening.

My first thought at seeing it after all this time was, "My god, I've gotten old."

And I have.

It's not just that my hair has gone from dark brown to silver. In the current version of myself, my jawline is sharper, the skin on my neck less firm.  I wear glasses now and they are a fixture in every picture taken of me. In some ways, I am barely recognizable and in others I am unmistakable.

Looking at my younger self so pensive, I can't help but wonder what I was thinking. Was I thinking of the music or the weather or my impending move to Minneapolis and what my life might be like there. If I thought about my future at all that day, I could never have imagined the life I am living today.

I had not applied for graduate school. I had not yet met Luisa. I'd not given any serious thought to having children.

Twenty two years.

Twenty two years have passed and I have been with Luisa for almost 20 of them. We brought two children into this world. Our days are filled with a million details and responsibilities that I could not have foretold. I've lost friends and family - some to distance or misunderstandings, some to death. My life is full of love and laughter and a strong sense of community. Time has given me so much and continues to give me the strength to become ever more myself.

But seeing the concrete ways in which I have aged is not easy. I feel no different than I did at 22 except that I now have the wisdom that comes from life experience.

So how is it that I look so different?

Twenty two years.

What will the next 22 hold?

Wishes

Last Thanksgiving, my friends' daughter, Luca, brought us special ribbons from Brazil and explained that we needed to tie the ribbons around our wrists with three knots and with each knot make a wish. She told us that our wishes would come true when the ribbons fell off. I chose an orange ribbon and, though I don't remember who tied it onto my wrist, I remember each of my wishes clearly. My ribbon has not yet fallen off but one of my wishes has already come true.

This time last year, I felt trapped in my job, desperate and hopeless. Leaving my job seemed impossible, as likely as waking up to find a unicorn eating corn flakes at my dining room table.

But I closed my eyes and as the ribbon was tied tightly around my wrist, I wished.

So much can happen in a year.

I sit here in wonder as I reflect on the fact that I did, in fact, do the impossible - I walked away from my career and into the arms of the unknown.

For that reason, I am filled with gratitude today. I am thankful for my loving and supportive partner who pushed me along, for all of my friends who listened and patiently urged me to leave, for the privilege that has allowed me to do this.

I don't know what the next year will hold but I still have two more wishes.

The ribbon is fraying and I am ready to make those last two wishes come true.