I awake at seven. It’s Saturday so, naturally, I had wanted to sleep in. But I have a lot of work to do. Work as well as fun stuff. Dad’s words play in my head.
“Work first, play second.” I usually follow that formula. But sometimes one needs to play first before one can commit to multiple hours of study. I’m thinking about flexibility and porosity as a learner and as a lover of this life. I’m thinking of objects that grow out of love — not material ones. I’m grateful for my love of literature and my love for writing.
Words float in before I un-cocoon myself from the robin’s egg blue flannel-covered feather duvet. Sunrise happens so much earlier now. There’s already a great deal of light and the sky is clear, blue. My body and mind are sensitive so this matters greatly. Beautiful day equals beautiful way. I’m feeling good and thinking of my favourite Nina Simone song that repeats these words — I’m feelin’ good. The words are deep and sweet, smoky even.
Sometimes one needs to play first before one can commit to multiple hours of study.
My directed reading class, an English course, is my favourite class and we gather on Fridays to read, share and discuss ideas, theory and more. I don’t know why every student and professor doesn’t subscribe to directed readings. These are gold. It’s a time where I feel human again. Still.
Then again, we are genuine thinkers and writers — authentic and intentional humans, being. We’ve become tethered to one another. That will happen after two semesters together, not to mention that some of us studied poetry together while building a community of writers before this year.
Last week we discussed sincerity and affect; we talked about its importance in social change. We are interested in praxis — in creating spaces for conversation, for artistic interruption and for writing.
Most importantly, we have created these objects from love. Our lives have changed for the better. Our friends have said the same. We are doing something well.
Being. In a good way.