seeing

When I first told my father that I wanted to major in creative writing he was genuinely disappointed. He scoffed at my aspirations to pursue writing. His reason was simple. He loves me too much for me to gain an education and end up as a “starving artist.” My dad sees so many roadblocks and possible failures in the instable world of anything labeled creative. I’ve thought about this, about what it is to be a failure as a writer. What if I really don’t get it? Or if I don’t have that thing? You know…that thing that you can’t gain through effort, the little piece of the art-making puzzle that is nestled in your core when you’re born.
With all of those questions, I waste a lot of time wondering who I am rather than just being who I am. I spend time comparing myself to and aspiring to be like other people. And through this I have seen a type of writer that is far more sad than the “starving artist” that my father fears for me. Its far more despairing to be writer who is too busy or distracted to write. It is a cruel and unedifying type of self-denial and I have found myself caught in this whirlwind of everything before what I love. It is far much better to be a mediocre writer or an unappreciated writer than to be a writer…who doesn’t freakin’ write. Then, well, you’re not a writer by action…if that makes any sense. My distance from the act of writing makes me question my love for craft, or maybe just my discipline. My lack of intentionality or really, my indecision on what to truly focus on has made me -- confused.
The title of this blog is “I See Poetry Everyday.” But, sadly, that’s very untrue at the present moment. Poetry is within sight, I know this. But I’m moving so quickly, its all a blur. I pray for clarity of vision and the pace of a poet who stops to SEE. I miss seeing. Instead of placing a poem in here that is newer, I think I will revert back to “changing with the leaves” because I am obviously still trying to tear down the façade. My inward Autumn season is just longer than the earths. But being that I am seeing daffodils on the side of the road, Spring has come here, and it will come in me as well. Nothing stops the seasons, inside or out.

"changing with the leaves" --->
http://poetrymattersgwu.blogspot.com/2009/12/goodbye-fall.html

:) I just realized that I said “I see the daffodils.”