I started a blog today.
And of course, I instantly feel awkward because the title and the first line rhyme… but that was accidental so I’ll leave it.
Anyway, I suppose you’re wondering who I am and why I’m here. I suppose I’m wondering the same thing myself. I’m wondering how it is that after what feels like eons of trying to leave this place the universe has continuously conspired to keep me here. I mean, home is a strange place. I’ve often described mine as the place where they use my name as the best way to describe me.
“That’s Cole. That’s just how she is, she’s just being Cole.”
This place, this well I’ve been trying to claw out of is the only place in the world where they say my name and mean it. This is where my sister laughs at my ‘attempting to adult like an adult’ struggles:
“Aw Coley, you’ll be fine.”
It’s where my father tells me in a pleading tone:
“Just be careful honey, you scare sometimes.”
It’s where I reply,
“I know Dad, I scare myself.”
I honestly don’t know where I’m going with any of this. I guess that’s the whole point though. I’m a Twenty-Six-year-old MFA student who has worked tirelessly for years to ‘get out’ not only of my hometown but also my mother’s house. And yet, here I am making plans to turn the basement into a studio and live here for another year. Inside I’m screaming, I thought tortuously getting drunk by myself last winter was going to pay off as an escape… I thought, getting into graduate school meant that I would be encouraged to leave. I thought that leaving would finally feel honorable.
Instead, I was told that I ‘had something going’. That I should ‘finish what I started’. So here I am- sitting in my high school bedroom smoking cigarettes and drinking wine in the middle of the night starting a blog about home. I feel like a failure (I think this is the most honest thing I can say right now). I feel like a failure… but I’ll do it anyway. I’ll keep this blog (God willing), and I’ll chronicle my struggles here for the world (or no one) to see.
I just think that there must be a reason for all of this, and maybe if I face all of these things head on… I can finally let go of the things that have brought me here time, and time again. Maybe then, the water in this well will rise and I won’t have to tread any longer.
Until then, I will do my best to love the clasp this place has on me.. even if it’s through gritted teeth.
Lord Whoever, thank you for this air
I’m about to in- and exhale, this hutch
in the woods, the wood for fire,
the light–––both lamp and the natural stuff
of leaf-black fern, and wing.
For the piano, the shovel
for ashes, the moth-gnawed
blankets, the stone-cold water
stone-cold: thank you.
Thank you, Lord, coming for
to carry me here–––where I’ll gnash
it out, Lord, where I’ll calm
and work, Lord, thank you
for the goddamn birds singing!