This is my dream: One day I will own a little place called Innisfree. It will have a bright, open kitchen with a view of the sunlit garden. At the front, beyond the kitchen, it will be lined with rows and rows of bookshelves. There will be couches and chairs and low places for children to sit. In this little place I will feed people. I will feed their souls and their bodies. I will point them to books that I loved; that opened up new worlds for me. I will say, "Read this. Have an adventure. Fall in love with a fictional character. Understand the world just a bit differently." Then, I will hand them a sandwich, or a bowl of soup, or a plate of pasta and when they eat they won't think of Jane Eyre's Thornfield, or Hari's Damar, or Touqueville's America-they will think of no place but home.
In this past month I have taken the first step towards Innisfree. I signed up for a course in the fundementals of cooking at a local college. It's not culinary school and it's not a downpayment on a little bookstore-cafe, but it's a start and it's certainly a far-cry from everything I have been doing in my life up until this point. The reactions to my news from people in my life have been varied. I've gotten a "that's great. I'm so proud of you" (Surrogate mother, Carol.); a "I didn't know you were serious about culinary school" (real biological mother, Mommy); a "that's awesome, go for it" (sister, S. and friend, N.) and a "but you already know how to cook" (real biological father, Abba). For my part, I am excited and I'm terrified. Change is hard for me, especially when that change involves the actuallization of a fantasy. I'm afraid I don't have the financial wherewithall to pull this off. I'm afraid that I don't have the strength of character or stamina to survive in the kitchen. I'm afraid I will never learn a proper dice, overseason my stock, chop off a finger and burn the place down. I'm afraid I will fail. I'm afraid I'm not meant for this. I'm afraid of my own evolution.
So for the past few months as I have been contemplating this change in my life, I have been feeling alternately elated, and backed into a corner by my own fears. When that happens I often immerse myself in other peoples' worlds. I read a lot of blogs. I watch a lot of tv. I try to find places and stories that resonate with me so I can see some sort of reflection of myself. But sometimes the cacophany of other peoples' voices becomes too loud and it becomes difficult to hear my own. It becomes hard to express myself, to create my own narrative. So if I have neglected this blog, I'm sorry. I simply haven't felt the compulsion to write in a while. I have been too busy navigating the web of other peoples' words and trying to face down my own dreams.
Change is hard, man.
On to Innisfree
Thesis Watch: Evidently I was never taught how to properly write a paragraph.
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