More on Reality, Dreams, and the Space In-Between

I am going to dream for a moment without edits. I am going to pretend I have a full pallete of paint available. I am going to get rather messy with it and cover my hands and fingers, so I can fling it on the canvass rather un-carefully and watch the colors collide. There is something in me that wants to learn to create without reserve, to see what happens when I let go of controlling the substance. I feel that way about words on a page and I feel that way about life and my dreams. Where is the balance of technique and freedom to all of this? How much of a story, a relationship, a dance, a life’s dream ought to be crafted and planned, and how much of it must come by surprise?

This morning, I find myself in the midst of planning the future of my dreams, or at least trying to connect with the dreams gestating in me. With the fall approaching, there are so many decisions to be made about school applications and what I am going to do with my business and where I could potentially see myself living if school takes me away from Seattle.

As I think about my next steps in life and where I might possibly be a year from now, I am stuck between several thoughts: the practicalities (money, primarily), how much I appreciate my life here in Seattle and the people with whom I am journeying, and the need to allow myself to enter the expanse of my heart’s desires. There is so much to consider as I come to these next steps. I can’t throw out either practical needs or the depth of my connection to Seattle, but I also can’t shut out the quickening of desires.

I think that when we speak the words that are true of our desires, we help actualize those desires. So what do I want? It has been nearly two years since I quite a job that actually gave me health benefits, a regular schedule, and a good-sized salary. I journeyed through a grad program that gave me invaluable gifts, but ultimately was not a program I wanted to finish. I started writing a book, which is leading me deeper into the practice and struggles of the craft of writing. I find myself in the midst of this demanding book project, but I am also realizing I am in the midst of something quite larger than a book: I am trying to figure out what my writing will mean to me. How has it become the rhythm of my days? Sometimes, I have to check in with myself. Am I just obsessed and that is why I work so hard and prioritize so much of my life around writing? Or have a found a path that is truly part of my life’s most significant work, and I need to allow myself the freedom to keep plunging into it?

This morning, I have been researching MFA programs, which is a rather significant shift in thought from pursuing PhD programs in interdisciplinary studies. I am torn between the two, but for a time this morning I let myself skip around in MFA websites. I don’t have conclusions, but I did experience a clarity of desire:

I want a program with diverse faculty and staff. I want to talk with writers from other cultures and parts of the world.

I want a program where I get to travel. I want to be able to write in settings that inspire rest, contemplation, and risk-taking. I miss England and quaint cottages and ivy-laced buildings.

I want a program where I get to study and learn and practice teaching. Apart from writing, my other truest passion is teaching, and I want to be in a place with freedom to explore different approaches to pedagogy.

Whatever my degree ends up being, I don’t want to be locked up in academia. One day, I want to walk into a jail or a room of unruly adolescents or a retirement home and work with people on telling their stories and finding their voice. I want to teach at a college, too, but I need to be able to work outside of typical classrooms.

(If you happen to be of the praying type, I would love your prayers and thoughts for these decisions about school and life that seem to be waiting these days on my doorstep.)