Knowing… and Not Knowing

I like to know things.  I’m not talking about translations of Latin phrases, dates in history, or how to flush a carburetor.

The things I want to know are:

  • Will my son’s broken foot heal properly even if he sometimes neglects to wear his boot cast?
  • Will I ever have sufficient time and money to travel to Buenos Aires?
  • How long will it take me to finish writing my novel?  (And when I do, will anyone want to publish it?)

I do know that as much as I would like to have the answers to those questions, right now I need to see if I can figure out how to make a living wage, take care of my kids and still have time to write.

I remind myself that if I knew exactly how to manage all of that, there might not be any more glorious sneak-up-from-behind-unaccounted-for surprises.  (Like the offer I received recently to teach two creative writing classes as an adjunct at a local college!  Did anyone see that one coming?)

And so, I’ve decided that a healthy dose of restlessness is a good motivator.  But I also have to admit that there are times when the only option is to simply sit tight and wait.  So this is what I’ve figured out: it’s all a conspiracy.  Someone out there in the cosmos is trying to teach me patience.  (And all I can say is: Ha!  Good luck.)

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About HomenDunRoamin

Teaching Artist & Writer: fiction, poetry & nonfiction. Recently completed work: a hybrid memoir. In progress: a novel set in an unnamed Latin American country on the brink of war. The book examines violent and nonviolent resistance and the choices women are forced to make to survive.
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2 Responses to Knowing… and Not Knowing

  1. pablo says:

    The Wait
    “Tell me about the worms.”
    –Beckett, Waiting for Godot

    The day slows, fills
    with time and color, church bells,
    bees swarming by the window.

    I am waiting for last night’s dream,
    for the touch of the woman
    who drank next to me. I am waiting
    for my daughter’s call, my son’s good-bye,
    for a long, black ship to take me on a holiday of sleep.

    Across the street
    there is the parking lot of long ago,
    the whiskey light of autumn pointing home.
    There is home: a phone that wants to ring,
    a door that wants to open.

    Someone I know
    is making his way across the universe.

  2. Gorgeous. (Another glorious sneak-up-from-behind-unaccounted-for surprise!)
    You (once again) have shown me that the wait is worthwhile.

    For those who read and loved the poem above, it was written by Pablo Medina and was included in his collection “The Floating Island” published by White Pine Press.

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