Good afternoon,
It’s a typical middle to late Pennsylvania fall day; the morning revealed a variety of window scrapping options, depending on altitude of your location. It’s amazing how a few hundred feet, or even less, affects what kind of precipitation occurs. I remember living in Laurium , MI, 11 miles north of Houghton, which only has an elevation difference of 594 feet. And yet Laurium would get 30 to 40 more inches of snow a year. I remember the first year I was in graduate school at Michigan Tech, we had a winter snowfall of 370+ inches; I think it was the second highest seasonal total and the most in some time. The average is somewhere in the mid-200s of inches annually. You learn to appreciate snow in a way I could have never imagined.
For those who know me, I am a creature of habit, and I need to have a space that creates a sense of comfort and safety to feel hopeful. I think the most difficult aspect of this first year of retirement is a lack of place, space, or consistency. All three things have created a great deal of difficulty. Even now as I am back in Bloomsburg, and it appears I will be here for a bit, it has been perplexing for me. Let me begin, however, with the reality of feeling grateful. First, I am grateful to Andrés because he has taken me in as a guest and been beyond gracious. Second, I need to give some significant thanks to Matt and Roxana as they have allowed me to stay as a guest in the hotel, as it is ultimately their building. So, I am continually aware of how fortunate I am for all of this. Part of feeling displaced to some degree is I still have things in Iowa (most of my personal effects are in Mallard, and the bug is in the Quad Cities), and most of the bus building materials are in Tennessee in storage at the moment. They need to get back to Pennsylvania, and then there is the weather and the reality of winter. I believe there are two things that need to occur if I am going to create some degree of comfort and safety. As mundane as it seems on one level, having a space that I can call my own is central to what I need. Second, having the great majority of my stuff in one place is another element to that stability. There has been some question of whether or not I would even stay in Bloomsburg, which is currently the plan, versus another Pennsylvania town. What the last few months have demonstrated beyond anything imagined is the way hindsight shows how many things I would do differently (and there are a ton of things, some small and even a couple of major things).
In a conversation earlier today with a new acquaintance, and someone for whom I have some very positive thoughts, we talked about why I write. It is something I have reflected upon for a multitude of reasons. Writing is something that is integral to who I am; how I spend a significant amount of time. Writing is how I communicate thoughts, but on a personal level it is how I make sense of my feelings. Feelings are an interesting thing. You can discuss and debate thoughts, but the same is not true about feelings. And yet feelings are not unique to us as human beings. There are many animals that have emotion. The basic emotions of anger, fear, or joy are, once again, not unique to the human condition, but what is perhaps distinctive is the incredible complexity or the interconnectedness between emotion and thought. For me the communication of thought, as noted what occurs in my writing becomes intrinsically connected to the feelings, the emotions. And that interplay, if you will, between the cognitive, the language or words, has developed an awareness of that connectivity that makes it all function rather effectively for me. It requires both critical thought and analysis, something I regularly asserted my students needed to do, and through those two things, I begin to both understand and make sense of the emotional responses that are occurring within me. For much of my earlier life, I was afraid of my emotions, afraid of coming face-to-face with my own limitations. On the other hand, emotions are the basis of our creativity as well as providing the foundation needed to establish meaning to our existence.
It is in meaning that we find our ability to exist from day to day, to manage our social interaction from person to person. Coming to terms with the connection between language and emotion, we develop the ability to empathize because we can see more clearly how our lives are established within a larger context. In our realization of how the individual and the collective function, the uniqueness of our own unrepeatable life becomes apparent. Too often emotions might seem to be burdensome, but in reality, they protect us. It is our emotional response that allows for a rather immediate response, particularly when the circumstance necessitates it. If we were to depend on a rational, analytical, response, in a dangerous situation before we could calculate what is needed, the consequence is long past.
One of the things I often heard from my students is how reading and writing takes too much time; it is too laborious, too boring, too arduous (seldom did they say arduous, just so you know). Writing was not always a simple task, and even now, in spite of my writing regularly it takes consistent effort. There is nothing that simply pours out of my fingers onto the screen. Certainly it is easier than that senior in an honors English class who struggled to get something on the page. I would like to believe it is more worthy than when my seminary professor wrote on my semester paper that he hoped I learned more than was exhibited by my paper (that was a definite ouch moment). It is definitely less of a task than that new pastor who labored over every word before his Sunday sermon was ready for public presentation. And yes, even when I had only 24 hours of sleep over eleven days that August summer when I was trying to finish my dissertation, I believe writing now is much more a privilege than a task. Perhaps it is that evolution that has allowed, created, fostered my ability to connect thought (analysis) to feeling, thereby establishing my desire to share my humanity, my vulnerability, my life in this way. I assert in my title it is a gift.
I believe that to be true because it has helped me come to terms with many of my life experiences, regardless their consequence. It has compelled me to consider the reality of how the beginning of my life has affected everything. It has offered an opportunity to reflect upon my place in the world, consider my travels, experiences, and imagine what dreams and hopes I still have. At this point, I have posted over 500 times since February of 2013; I have had more than 70,000 views, which stuns me. The comments offered by so many people are also humbling and kind, offering a sense that what I have written matters to others. There is little more I could ever ask. I believe everyone who writes hopes that the words might resonate, might offer some insight or sense of community for their reader.
What will your verse be? Thank you as always for reading.
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 