Exercise in Optimism

I’m starting to visualize a different place to live. In a city, where I can walk to what I need and be exposed to things that force me to think outside the box. In this visualization, I start to get over my hypersensitivity to sound, which both enriches my life and tortures me on a daily basis. (I’m not kidding about that. I hear better than a human should be allowed to hear, and am therefore constantly having to expend energing filtering things out just to attain comfort.)

I’m starting to visualize a different me. One who is actively involved in political and cultural causes. One who lives around more thirty-something’s and has daily interactions with other human beings. One who is more spontaneous and laughs more often. One who makes enough money to travel to see her friends and family, and perhaps a new place each year. One who makes enough money to save and plan and have flexibility.

I’m starting to visualize a different career. One where I teach part time under the best of circumstances, work part time at a hip place (i.e. coffeehouse or restaurant), and write for just as many hours per week. A career where the arts writing can still grow even if I live in a different place, and a career where my editing jobs increase in pay and responsibility, but not in time commitment. A career where I start publishing in the literary journals I respect the most.

I’m starting to visualize my life partner. He’s perfect, of course. Because he is perfect, he never ,ever snores. I’ll spare you the rest of the details. Andrew Bird will play at our wedding (unless of course he’s my husband, in which case Josh Ritter can play).

I’m starting to visualize a different body. Absolutely fit and athletic, despite a history of tough sports and surgeries. I will be strong and sexy in my thirties, yes I will, yes I will! And when I move, there will be a traditional Shuri-Ryu dojo nearby. Yes there will, yes there will. Oh yes, and there will be a haircut. Or at least a style. Something that looks intentional, but is in fact effortless. Maybe even a little color. A little.

I’m starting to visualize acceptance letters. To journals, fellowships, jobs, residencies, you name it. I’m conjuring them, envelope and stamp, their arrival at Fork Mountain.

Yes, I can see things starting to build. Slow and steady, one drop at a time. Mark my words, 2009 will be a year of change. I can already feel the ground moving.

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