"I'd like to retire there and do nothing,
or nothing much, forever, in two bare rooms:
look through binoculars, read boring books,
old, long, long books, and write down useless notes,
talk to myself, and, foggy days,
watch the droplets slipping, heavy with light." - from "The End of March" by Elizabeth Bishop
The last line in this stanza from "End of March" was playing through my head while wrapping up my first ever manuscript to be sent to a publisher. It is one of my last major projects to finish up before leaving for the Peace Corps, although the project is long from done and I will need to work on it in some of my "free time" over the next two years. In regards to why the last line of this poem jives with me, I see everything in different tones and colors when I think about leaving. Everything significant and even things that were mostly insignificant are filled with a different light right now.
I am reticent to start counting down my time until departure in days (I'm still counting in months), but recent events have made me finally accept my impending move as a reality. In the past few weeks I have finally begun to think about the logistics of it all (i.e. packing, bank stuff, reading, figuring out electronics...etc.) In less than a month we will be contacted to arrange flight details to staging (popular thought is that staging will take place in San Francisco.) I have been feeling purposefully oblivious/mildly interested for the majority of the time since November 1st, when I received my assignment, but I suppose I recently digested the fact that this is the best thing for me to do next in my life. I feel a little panicked imagining how I will adjust once I'm actually over there, on the other side of the world, but I'm confident that I will adjust. I feel like I've had sufficient time to let it sink in, at least.
This morning as I submit my last few banking details to the Volunteer Portal I am listening to "Chicago" by Sufjan Stevens. It sums up my mood perfectly. I know that I sound a bit petulant when I talk about my qualms with leaving, because, good God, I'm going to an exotic place where I have the opportunity to meet and work with people who've lead very different lives from me. My greatest fears are not leaving my American lifestyle behind for 2+ years nor integrating into a new culture and job. They all boil down to the worry that the relationships I have built up so far in my life will stagnate or else wither away completely. I fear that I will not experience the following feeling that Jonathan Safran Foer describes: "the deepest intimacy, that closeness attainable only with distance" with those important to me right now. I am afraid that with physical space will come a greater need for emotional space. Hopefully I'll learn to not be anxious about that.
photo source: maryspcjourney.blogspot.com
or nothing much, forever, in two bare rooms:
look through binoculars, read boring books,
old, long, long books, and write down useless notes,
talk to myself, and, foggy days,
watch the droplets slipping, heavy with light." - from "The End of March" by Elizabeth Bishop
The last line in this stanza from "End of March" was playing through my head while wrapping up my first ever manuscript to be sent to a publisher. It is one of my last major projects to finish up before leaving for the Peace Corps, although the project is long from done and I will need to work on it in some of my "free time" over the next two years. In regards to why the last line of this poem jives with me, I see everything in different tones and colors when I think about leaving. Everything significant and even things that were mostly insignificant are filled with a different light right now.
I am reticent to start counting down my time until departure in days (I'm still counting in months), but recent events have made me finally accept my impending move as a reality. In the past few weeks I have finally begun to think about the logistics of it all (i.e. packing, bank stuff, reading, figuring out electronics...etc.) In less than a month we will be contacted to arrange flight details to staging (popular thought is that staging will take place in San Francisco.) I have been feeling purposefully oblivious/mildly interested for the majority of the time since November 1st, when I received my assignment, but I suppose I recently digested the fact that this is the best thing for me to do next in my life. I feel a little panicked imagining how I will adjust once I'm actually over there, on the other side of the world, but I'm confident that I will adjust. I feel like I've had sufficient time to let it sink in, at least.
This morning as I submit my last few banking details to the Volunteer Portal I am listening to "Chicago" by Sufjan Stevens. It sums up my mood perfectly. I know that I sound a bit petulant when I talk about my qualms with leaving, because, good God, I'm going to an exotic place where I have the opportunity to meet and work with people who've lead very different lives from me. My greatest fears are not leaving my American lifestyle behind for 2+ years nor integrating into a new culture and job. They all boil down to the worry that the relationships I have built up so far in my life will stagnate or else wither away completely. I fear that I will not experience the following feeling that Jonathan Safran Foer describes: "the deepest intimacy, that closeness attainable only with distance" with those important to me right now. I am afraid that with physical space will come a greater need for emotional space. Hopefully I'll learn to not be anxious about that.
photo source: maryspcjourney.blogspot.com