Stepping Out Into The World

I find myself strangely reticent, afraid to commit words to this brand new space.

For the last three years I've kept a private Live Journal. And I've kept paper journals most of my life.

But this is different. This is Out In The World.

It feels like the first day in a new flat. There are acres of white walls and infinite possibilities. I could place my sofa beside that window over there, or I could run away to an ashram in India.

Lately I've been having turbulent dreams of wild mountain storms and unattainable sexual partnerships. My life is in absolute flux.

And as a writer I want to write about it all. I want to write about the changes, about the exhilarating terror of taking my first steps into each new, uncertain day. I want to write about what it is like to commit to living my life Out In The World.

For now, though, I am staring at a (wild and stormy) mountain of unpacked boxes. Yet isn't that where it all begins?

Welcome To The Journey

The Journey
Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice -
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
'Mend my life!'
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognised as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do -
determined to save
the only life you could save.

This remains my favourite poem. It speaks so clearly to my motives for starting this blog that I almost needn't bother. I could pack up my MacBook and spend the summer watching Big Brother instead. And aren't there already more than enough blogs in the world?

But I can hazard a guess that Mary Oliver would think I was doing myself a disservice, not to mention missing the point of the poem, if I let cyber overcrowding (or terrible reality TV) stop me from finding my own voice.

So here I am.