plan {a} seemed so logical. practical. i took a train ride down to portland. wearing my favorite cranberry sweater. graduate school. portland state. an mpa. a new city. new routine. a step towards, well, the great future.

but then a week before i received the letter of non-acceptance, i began having doubts. not really just a week prior; i had been doubting the path for a while but they became stronger, revealing to myself that myself was not in plan a. my head spinned and

as the saying goes, i put some irons in the coals. and many of them are still heating up.

i have a logical/practical side which i tend to lean on for guidance when i am unsure of how to proceed. it looks at the general population, my general interests and makes a plan. but those of you who know me, know that is not my true self, as exhibited my many years of what seems like aimless wandering, endless moving, constant introspection. at the very last minute before giving into practical self, wildly rash self fights to make its thoughts heard.  wildly rash because though its seems irresponsible and inappropriate there is a level in which the wildness understands and challenges decisions that put me into box.

silencing my voice.

i have been fighting my silence for years. and it was been a brutal journey to listen to the foreign noise clamoring in my head only to discover its passion and liveliness was a sweet voice belonging to me.  this is coming across a bit as self proclamation and do understand there is also an outside presence strongly influencing my life. thus, preserving my voice had begun to take precedence.

which leads me to where i am physically:

“When despair for the world grows in me…I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief…For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”  Wendell Berry

the farm, henderson, nebraska, in the home of my youth.  picking, canning, storing up, running, reading, piano playing and yes,
writing.

i had wanted to come back to spend time with my family, with nieces and nephews growing up too fast, to be able to drink tea with my mother, to play skip-bo with my grandmother, to sew with my other grandma and mother.  to be near the support of my parents. and then i also needed to come home to make the next step. i needed to be somewhere i could let words catch up to my voice, allowing me to speak.  to take the time needed to process the last two years, making a decision that is a product not a bi-product of what has wearied my body.  finally allowing my words to become my stepping stones onward.

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