On Being Brave, Part One

About ten years ago, I taught a poem, titled "Domestic Work, 1937," to my sophomores. The poem is about a woman who cleans houses for a living. She sees her oppressed reflection in the copper pots she's polishing and desperately desires something better for her life. One of the poem's refrains is, "Let's make a change, girl." However, the poem is ultimately melancholic as it ends with an image of her at home on a Sunday, beating her broom on her rug, watching the dust scatter "like dandelion spores." The reader realizes that life for her will probably always be the same.

Let's make a change, girl.

My decision to take a hiatus from my "real life" in Norfolk, VA and spend six weeks of the summer in Louisville, KY was precipitated by a series of painful events in my personal life. I realized I needed an "adult time-out." Six weeks to play, heal, and grow.

I ignored my inner judgmental bitch who told me that no proper adult, unless she is a published novelist, does such a thing.

I mustered all of the courage in my little soul.  I terminated the lease on my apartment,  moved my worldly possessions into a 10x10 storage unit, and left. 

Let's make a change, girl.

The things is, I've never, ever been brave. I've always conformed to conventions and bowed to expectations. By the time I was 23, I was married, owned a home, and had been teaching for a year. Boxes checked.

But boxes checked became unchecked.

I slowly became untethered. And then I lost who I was and what I wanted. 

It's been over four years. Four years of wandering in the desert. Four years of floundering. 

So here I am in quirky, eccentric Louisville, KY.  My small act of bravery. My attempt to "wrap myself in gauze" and "extinguish the fire."

Let's make a change, girl.