Lately, there have been a lot of feelings. A lot of ups and downs, of all kinds. I’m beginning to get used to this whole MFA thing (which I am simultaneously loving, and being inspired by, and also feeling as though I completely do not deserve to be here).
I hear that if you’re in a group meditation, sometimes you can kind of coast the meditative, collective high, that it and those around you elevate you. This MFA thing kind of feels like that – like I’m surrounded and stimulated by all these talented poets, and the little sparks I do have are sort of coasting by on the brilliance of others.
Another thing: I am completely not used to saying “We’re poets,” “I’m a poet,” etc. etc. If anything, “I’m studying poetry” has felt like the most accurate thing I could say, but then I’m in this group and we’re out after class last night, and when talking to strangers they say, yes, we’re poets, we’re all poets. And it’s so weird and amazing and also I still feel like I do not deserve this, like maybe I somehow tricked my way past admissions, and here I am.
But here I am. And Dorianne and John must somehow know what they’re doing. But it is still so strange. And these people are so talented. And it is still amazing to me how many different facets of identity can exist in a single body: the facets that write gut-wrenching poetry about loss and parenthood and suicide, meshed right up against the facets that jam out in Irish bars and belt sultry lines of karaoke without taking any of it seriously.
Even though on some level I know that all of humanity is like this – all our complicated facets – it is still so strange to me. Today, in the morning light coming through my porch, with my mug of coffee balanced on the bookshelf beside my chair, it is still all so strange to me.