Life comes in stages; it ebbs and flows with elation, despair, trepidation, boredom, adventure. There have been a few times where I felt myself in a liminal space. I won’t revisit each of them, but last time was a similar transitional period to where I find myself right now, albeit much more daunting. The idea of being stuck between youth and “adulthood,” (assuming any of us ever really get there) is like being in a sort of purgatory. Last time, it was especially precarious seeing that I couldn’t even access health insurance. Reminiscing on that era reminds me of the things I am grateful for now, like being able to go to the doctor. (Although that, too, is still not perfect, but I digress. That’s a blog for a different day.)
Here I stand again, on the brink of something new. Something just does not yet resonate with me in my life. I’m, all things considered, an adult, I suppose.
I’m married now. I’ve bought a home. I’ve been teaching for a few years in a high school. I pay my bills on time. I cook meals at home. I have a glass of wine in the evenings to curb the day. I care for my pets. I clean. Typing these things out is boring (remember, I warned you some of this would be mundane. You awake, still?)
I’m fortunate and happy with the life I’ve delicately carved out for myself, but I can’t change the core of who I am: a dreamer. I’m settled, but I refuse to settle. I thought as an English teacher I would be fulfilled in my passions of reading and writing, but you discover quickly that role turns into mother as you shape person after person, nurture them, guide them, advise them, sometimes let them cry on your shoulder, feed them, love them. You give and give of yourself until you come home, and there is not enough of you left to pour out the words of your heart. (There is barely enough to pour the glass of wine, if I’m being honest.)
I’m not here to knock my career. Teaching is an exceptionally heroic career and, in moments, more rewarding than any other feeling – it’s a service to humankind; that magic is not lost on me. I’m simply saying that it does not fill the hole like I thought it would, that there must be something else on the side to enhance my artistic nature.
This blog is the beginning of me figuring out exactly what it is that I need to soothe my soul. I know what it is not. It’s not a child (Sorry if you’re reading this hopeful that this desire is motherhood.) I can’t bring a child into this liminal space. Ask me again in 5 or so years (yes, really).
I don’t know where this blog will take me. I don’t know what I’ll write about day to day. I don’t know who, if anyone, will follow me on this journey, but I know that it’s necessary – it’s the rope I cling to, pulling myself out of this liminal space one keystroke at a time.