Let me tell you a story.
I was never the girl that boys wrote love songs for
never the girl that had the world yoyoed around her fingers,
never the girl that spent midnights on the beach
with red plastic cups in her hands
I was the girl that spent recess on the swings,
my palms stretched around chains that locked me to the earth
and swung me to the stars
I was the girl that hid behind four corners of a novel
because words have always been more patience than people
I was the girl that held the superpower of invisibility
behind the cloak of indifference
On my yearbook, they would write:
“You rock, don’t ever change.”
But how do you listen when you stare at your reflection in mirrors
and only see a paper crane falling apart at the seams?
I told myself what no one else would tell me,
“Your body is made of ivory bridges
beneath the pavement of skin,
You are the causeway to every destination
where you go and what you do is entirely up to you.”
“If you don’t like the route you’re taking,
the car you’re driving, the world you’re in,
you can change it.
If you don’t like you,
you can change it.
You want to be a writer, so let this life be your work of art.
You are the poet and the poem, the conductor and the orchestra.
Write your life like you would read it.
Remember that every line within you can be crossed out,
every noun not needed, every adjective all wrong.
Throw yourself down unexpected roads,
turn right when you want to go left.
Remember that it’s okay to take more than one route,
it’s okay to be more than one genre.
You’re allowed to sit down on park benches
reading Bukowski at midnight and stand up listening to Kayne.
You’re allowed to always wear black when your favorite color is pink.
You’re allowed to be a sonnet and also a country song.”
I told the girl filled with self-hate,
“It’s okay, this is only the first draft.”
Walking Season and Revisiting Books Again and Again
It’s walking season again in Denver—that time of the year that demands shoelessness and leaving extra early to stroll or bike to the office instead of trekking via bus or train—and I’m anxious to retire my socks and non-loafer shoes until late September, if I’m lucky. Winter and spring all too oft last too long or perhaps not long enough in Colorado. Anyone that’s lived here long enough know this—both seasons can’t decide who they want to be and whether or not they ought to vacate the stage for summer and when. Needless to say, by the time walking season arrives, I’m more than ready.
This summer marks not only a new season, but a new chapter and the beginning of the end of my time in Denver. With a year left on my creative writing degree, I’m taking over as senior editor of the Metrosphere literary magazine—returning to the life of a non-freelancer for the first time since 2009.
Revisiting a life that includes an office again is like revisiting books you enjoyed in younger years. Certain books you find that you have to reread again and again, flicking through the yellowed and dog-eared pages, flicking through memories of the story mixed with memories of the last time you read the story, and finding older versions of yourself building on the current version of yourself…it’s a familiar and almost comforting exercise.
I’m looking forward to some stability that freelancing works against, looking forward to taking Play It As It Lays to the park where I’ll cruise shoeless over the summer, looking forward to banging out a final year in Denver before relocating to…wherever I end up at the end of next summer.
Hopefully I end up in a place where walking season lasts all year.
“At forty-five, I feel grateful almost daily to be the adult I wished I could be when I was seventeen. I work on my arm strength at the gym; I’ve become pretty good with tools.
At the same time, almost daily, I lose battles with the seventeen-year-old who’s still inside me. I eat half a box of…
A cozy Ellie Goulding meets orchestral cinematic composition, Sarah Hezen’s project, “Atlas,” is a delectable listen.
Source: SoundCloud / ATLAS Music
Maybe I’m feeling a wee bit nostalgic today or this week or maybe I’m just bored with the new sounds of late, but Concrete Blonde can always holiday on my speakers. Granted, “Joey,” isn’t my all-time favourite track from this group, but it still takes me back.