Nothing else matters

I've rediscovered a real delight in reading aloud, curled up in a warm blanket, in the privacy of my room, on a day like today—sunny, refreshing. Reading as though before an audience, listening to myself breathe, pause between words, listening for a voice that is calm and collected, deep, commanding, aware of each and every nuance of a word. I envision myself having a powerful presence, captivating my peers.

This afternoon I read Kingston’s “No Name Woman,” a short story I quickly read as an undergraduate during my last semester. In retrospect, it was a chaotic time of speed-reading, spinning through classes and juggling books—doubtless, the stories have become a lost memory. Now, however, listening to Kingston’s voice, something—her tone, perhaps—resonates in me. Familiar and entirely new.

Waiting

Stayed up late last night to write a short paper on Wordsworth. Found it all so strange a feeling to write about poetry again, or write in general -- familiar and yet dreadful. I even thought perhaps I don't want to write at all; I could simply leave it all behind me, because it is easy to leave. Sometimes I think that in itself is already an indication of my (lack of) commitment to many things I do -- and it is scary. So I'm not totally adverse to the thought that perhaps a day will arrive when I might realize that a life in academia is not for me. Alas, only time will tell.

hope

I've been trying to find a moment in which to write and introduce myself to the blogosphere, but I realize now -- one week after the birth of Infinitely Fleeing -- that the fear of finding the "right" moment hindered me all along from writing my first post. And this isn't just a post -- but my whole approach to writing, which is why, I feel, I easily hit bumps and immediately arrive at a ridiculous conclusion that I am paralyzed. When I am in that frame of mind, all my doubts seem magnified, and I feel unable to cope.

Tonight I felt a distance: I ask myself so many times why I always already feel a distance between myself and what I do and I aim to do; it seems an impossibly heavy feeling to carry around, but it always there. So hope #1 is to be able to articulate and track my pattern of thought and see if I couldn't make the slightest bit of change.