Just some thoughts...

I haven't been writing much lately, partly because I have this feeling that nothing I have to say is valid and a lot of my perspective is based on a fairly privaleged beginning. We all try to see things realisitically, to have a clear view and avoid prejudice, judgements and preconceptions. Except that all of my deeply rooted optimism and belief in the beuty (yes, I know) of the world is based upon a comfortable, nurturing childhood where I had the luxury of considering beuty. So that faith in the nature of people and the world and living is pretty strong, but I am beginning to question the fertile soil in which it was rooted, and wonder what kind of skew it has thrown on my perspective, and how this might compare with the kind of skew my kids have on theirs.

Most of my writing is somehow tied in with feeling; that is why, after all, we have something to say. It feels now like we have no right to analyze feeling, I guess, when our kids are deciding where to sleep tonight and wondering whether something bad will happen in the morning.

Please forgive the selfish introspection.

Which brings me to something else. This is a professional blog. I am often reluctant to write because it is so personal, and doesn't really adhere to the conventional sense of the professional. We are, after all, professionals, and expected to conduct ourselves as such. (Okay, and I'm still feeling like that's sort of an affected role, and a little shakey on the guidelines. And hate admitting it.) Here's the thing. Our professional lives are completely wrapped up in our personal lives; it is emotional. We don't give it permission to be, we don't invite it to seep under our skin until we think about nothing else, or at least until it is always knawing away someplace like an unsolved puzzle, a failed and guilty endeavor. It is difficult, for me, at least, to separate the emotional from the professional.

I went for a drive tonight to try to find a little bit of freedom, feel human again (it's amazing how quickly you forget to be a person, even after one day of school). I turned around when I realized that I was driving through thick, blinding (and dangerous) delta fog. Everything seems somehow deeper in the delta, beyond comprehension, like it's driven by something we can't understand that somehow controls everything; blame it on my sense of poetry and some kind of vague historical consciousness. Anyway, I rolled down my windows to listen for other cars since I couldn't see a thing, and I had to turn around in the middle of the road. It wasn't cold, but it was silent and moist. It felt like the night was coming in. The music, the car-heat, the lull of movment was temporary and artificial shelter. Like a chosen lie. Like the comfort we pursue. I guess somewhere I feel like finding happiness will make us more productive, will allow our best to come out and any true creativity or inspiration will come when we are not ourselves torn apart by circumstances. Of course, it feels like an excuse; happiness is selfish. But what is the alternative? To look only at pain?

So I'm a little analytical. Time to try and focus......