Well, it’s most definitely not the “new year” anymore. Tomorrow is April and I’m honestly not sure how we are already so far into 2015. I remember moving here just like yesterday; remember chasing a blizzard over 2,000+ miles through corn fields and mountains–alone–not sure of what laid ahead. I trusted, with every single cell in my bones I trusted that the truth that had been presented to my husband one day during the dawn was the right answer. Because let me tell you, when you have spent your whole life living in burning ashes, in darkness, wanting so badly to see the light but knowing your eyes are far more attuned to the black than the sun, when an answer seemingly falls out of the sky, you will take the time to suck all of the sweet nectar from it’s fruit that is there to be had. And you will be grateful to have found the fruit. Finally. After all these years.
It has officially been a year. And what a year it has been. I was looking back today on this blog and realized that I had posted about my fear of money when I moved here. My human brain could not calculate how we were going to manage to make it work, only the second year we had ever been on our own in our six years of being together, so far away from home, and in a city that upon first look seemed more expensive when it came to the cost of living. We both got minimum wage jobs, and I honestly couldn’t imagine how this was ever going to work out. But we have not had one single late bill in the entire time we’ve been here and we have had room to spare. The only way to explain it all is to know that this has to be a work of faith, living and active in my life. It doesn’t add up. Like when I had to have emergency appendix surgery in July 2014 and we were still getting settled financially. Or the time my car broke down on the side of the highway around the same time and the bill was astronomical but we needed her still.
And I’m still here. I’m not drowning.
Some days, the sadness wraps around my wrists like rope, dragging me down into the ocean. But I’ve been treading water every day, pulling my way slowly up to the top to catch air again, even if that means tomorrow I sink back. But I am still here. The end is so very much worth the means.
I’m still working at a coffee shop. I’ve gotten more hours over the last few months so that has been a wonderful blessing.
And I’ve been working so very hard in the slam realm. When I moved here I wanted so badly to be able to get connected to my poetry/art community. I had no idea what I was in for. I started liking the slam page on Facebook and asked how and when I could get involved and then I showed up one week and kicked ass and took names. And I’ve been killing it ever since. I had no idea that I would get this far. In two weeks I compete in the grand slam, which is my attempt to make it to nationals this summer. They happen in Oakland, CA, and I would get the chance to compete with people from all over the country. This has been one of my biggest dreams since as long as I can remember–to be able to get somewhere with my dreams for poetry. And now it’s here. I keep imaging someone is going to pull the rug out from under me, so I am definitely having mixed feelings of the fear that I will fail because everyone else is so good, and the knowledge that I will probably be able to make it because it’s a good mix of people. Because I’ve pushed and grown and damn it, this is my year.
So yes, this year has been a year full of growing and spreading my wings. And it’s only going to get better. I know it. And I promise to try to blog more. Seriously.