A few mornings ago, I started researching MFA programs again. Absent-mindedly. While my brain was full of nothing much, and empty of any damning thoughts. I haven't done that in two years.
So far, twenty-four is feeling a whole lot less anxious than twenty-three did. I like where I live. I like the people I know. I like the job that I do. If there is one thing I learned in the last year, it is that life is long. And that's not to say that life is unbearable or miserable or unsurmountable. It's that there is time. I have time. I have time to be the woman I want to be. I have time to get to the places that I want to get to. This new piece of testimony is tempering the hungriest and sharpest parts of myself. In a good, good way. It's a softer, calmer way to live.
But this MFA business--it means I'm not dead and gone just yet. That things aren't so set and sure. It means that every intimation in my full-of-nothing head can still be an alternate life. That part of me still believes I can have it all. Everything and anything. And everything.
I feel like I've rediscovered a most loved part of my self. And I can't tell you what that means to me. The relief, alone. I don't know how long this head-in-the-clouds, world-is-my-oyster feeling lasts (I'm hoping forever), but I'll take it while I can get it.