As most of you know, the last few days have been quite exciting for me. They have left me thinking about new adventures and the inevitible amount of change that will bring to all areas of my life. I remember when I first started this blog, Mandy told me not to worry about feeling like I didn't have a lot to say, because writing about the transition to change is often as interesting as the change itself.
I have been reading through my old journals, somewhat terrifying little glimpses into my life. From a pseudo-historian's eye it is interesting to see now those things that at one time I absolutely felt indebted, committed, to write down. Events, people, feelings that at a certain point I either felt I would remember forever or that I would forget if there were not some sort of written record. I'm sure the same will be true of my writings from this weird mid-20s period of my life! While reading through the many journals I have kept - some in nicely bound volumes, others in tiny dollar store writing pads, last year's in spiral bound Hilroy schoolbooks - I noticed how often I have written down poems and lyrics. I am a sucker for the written word, as anyone who gets to know me can easily tell. Some people are actions people, I am a words person. It is funny how you connect with particular words at a certain point in your life.
When I first read the following poem, probably 5 years ago, I remember feeling the most overwhelming connection to it. Particularly the first bit of it. I still relate to those sentiments, and probably always will, but I know that something has changed because I read it now and connect with the last part.
Here is to new voices...
The Journey by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations--
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late enough,
and a while night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
