I am in the midst of intensely crafting a piece of writing I am proud of. It is going to be published this Tuesday sharing my experiences of the Boston Women’s March and sharing what I think the message of the march is, and how we cannot lost this momentum.
In the meanwhile I wanted to share a bit of my heart. Ah readers, these past few days have reminded me of how much I love writing, creating, and expressing my soul through art. I’ve stayed up late after the frustrating days at school crafting what I think is going to be a beautiful piece of writing.
Yet in this week my alum has decided to discontinue it’s English, Music, and Theater majors after the 17-18 academic year. I’m still not going to share what school I went to for privacy issues. It makes me sad though. Grateful as well too, I know my passion and skill for writing blossomed at my college.
I don’t know where I would be as an artist without those four years. I fully think artists can be made outside of four year programs, even without taking any type of formal classes, but at the end of the day I’m a very traditional student and I thrived in my college’s writing program.
There I was given a space to make mistakes. There I had feedback and ample doses of encouragement. There is where I really cemented what a semicolon was good for (I know, I know). There I practiced writing in genres I had never before thought of exploring. There I was able to talk with professors who were still finding new ways to explore their craft. There I sang in a choir because a good man saw that if you loved the Lord and could get yourself on stage you could be trained to sing. There I found that the stage was a new way to explore my creativity, and that it was a safe place despite my fears. There my voice was heard. There I bonded with others who, like me, were compelled to create.
It was my home away from home for four precious years, I think of them fondly. For me I’m even more committed to supporting my college’s arts as small as they are becoming (thankfully there still will be arts at the school even if they won’t be as majors). I will continue to go to all their theater shows. I will support young up and coming artists. I will donate my time and money when I can. As much as I’m disappointed with this decision I am grateful that I was there when they had a solid arts program and that I learned from some amazing professors in my time there.
Especially because some days lately outside of my loved ones, what keeps me going is my art. It’s something I can point to that is adding meaning to this world. It’s one way I can truly express my voice. While teaching is a worthy meaningful contribution to the world, it’s been meaning a bit less lately, after all, I don’t love it. It’s a little emptier than I was hoping for. I love my teenagers, but teaching them is not how I want to go about my days. I’m not quite struggling anymore, but I know at least professionally I’m quite a bit removed from thriving.
Yet I’m still here. I’m still loved. I’m still loving. And right now especially, I’m still writing.
Glitter on, my friends, glitter on.