But I had a good Thanksgiving weekend... did you?
It was wonderful. There's nothing like time off to help me feel more like myself.
It's interesting, though, when I think about it--how my perception of myself and what I'm like has changed, even in the last year. I don't think of myself in the same way I did a year ago. Sometimes, I feel like a stranger, even to myself. I don't fully understand how I change so often, or where I go, but I know I've changed a lot.
I was thinking the other day about my dream job. What would that be? I thought of writing and photography, or both, and I decided I don't know. Maybe it's my current state of mind--that I'm not good enough, or that I need a little break. Then I'll make a comeback.
One of my final professors wrote me a long note on the back of an essay I wrote in her class; I asked her to mail it back to me with her comments at the end of the semester. It was a nonfiction piece, something that I wasn't particularly proud of; there was a lot of work left to do on it, and I knew that. I just didn't have it in me to complete it then, and I felt horribly lost about the direction of the whole thing. She told me a lot of wonderful things, things I really needed to hear. She asked me to never stop writing... and honestly, I was really moved by the whole thing, by all the things I needed somebody to tell me; yet nobody did, except for my former professor. I fear that I've failed her in some way. My inspiration has been lacking lately. I feel kind of numb to a lot of things, and I'm not sure if it's the after shock of life changing so completely in just a matter of months. I am no longer a college student. I am an adult. I am married. All of these things, while good, are so startling when wrapped up in one little package. I don't know that I'm good at handling change. In fact, I know I'm pretty terrible at it. I'm doing my best, but sometimes I feel my best is lacking a little. I know I'll get there--I will, but I don't know when. Please be patient with me.
I had a dream I was 18 again the other night. I don't know why, particularly because 18 wasn't my greatest year, but it was so wonderful. It was a dream like a music video: I walked the streets of my neighborhood, I canoed until my canoe sank and my friends pulled me out of the water serenely. I felt so free. I wonder where it came from?
I was 17 when I first fell in love with words. I remember the way I first felt about reading something that really got to me in a way words never had before, like Jack Burden's philosophies from Robert Penn Warren's All the King's Men, and at times it's the way I feel about life: scared in the face of it, thrilled by the possibilities. But more importantly, I feel the way I used to feel when I write. I get nervous about what I'll come up with; I hang on every moment of surprise at what comes from me, unconsciously or not. I love writing.
I think I'll do it more often.
Sorry this is so long. I have more to say, but I am going to keep thinking about it.