From: Les-Be-Friends on Apr 30 13, 09:52
It has been over a year since my last note, dear friends, and so much has happened. I am engaged now, and am shifting from one graduate program to another (and across the country at that). My life is a whirlwind of change and work and excitement and deadlines and anxiety. So what's new with you?
I am awake, past 3am, and though I desperately need to sleep I find I want to write. How I miss writing. I miss sending my words out into the void, only to find the void is peopled with many who seek the same sort of refuge...who look for like minds, listen for voices that speak their language, and want to know that someone else can understand them.
I suppose it is only natural to retreat to something familiar on the eve of so much change. I am beginning anew (as I have before and will again), and as ever it fills me with uncertainty. I am not unique in this respect, I know, but the sensation cannot help but make one feel as though she is alone. (Though gratefully I have someone along for the ride...) I have walking dreams, of driving across landscapes I've never seen with my own eyes...being closer to a much beloved and very missed sister....settling into a new home and making it ours...the very first white Christmas. At the same time, I am already becoming nostalgic for torrential summer rains...days at the beach and endless other diversions...being a few hours' drive away from friends and family I've never had to be wholly without...living in the only region I've ever called home.
We will make our own way. I will work hard to do well, as will she. And it is all a matter of getting there. Today marks the first of a hundred days that will count down to this new life. I am excited and looking forward, but I would be lying if I refused to admit that some part of me, that hides itself in the quickening of my heart, is terrifed.
Sometimes, writing is a thing you do just to do it. If someone takes a piece for themsleves, so much the better, but it can't always be poetic drama or poignant revelation. This wasn't terribly poetic, nor especially revealing. It is no work of art. But it's my life.