Thursday, December 10, 2009
Reflections written on the salty air of New England
As I write this, I am sitting on a BoltBus from Boston truly floored at all that I thought, seen and felt over the past 24 hours. To be honest, this trip wasn't one I was sure I could make. Spoiled by a recent history of pre-paid transportation, stipends for food, and audiences large enough to fill my middle school gymnasium twice over, there were times over the past 2 days where I just didn't feel like taking two buses and a train needed to get to the small lounge in Boston (the Cantab) where I had my second-ever poetry cafe feature last night.
Sitting here now, I can't imagine having done anything else.
Not only did I get to see a number of my friends from the national collegiate poetry slam team, (shout out to the Gringo Choir) as well as the legendary Omoizele Okoawo (one of my personal faves), I got to hear one of the most incredible open mics I've witnessed in a long time. The pen game in New England is vicious. Brilliant material, rigorous editing, and honest performance. Can't wait to come back for CUPSI.
On a slightly different note, I've been feeling a lot of anxiety about traveling so much lately. With England looming, I have this strange desire to cleave a lot closer to my friends and family, who I know I will miss terribly. This is just something I have to do, ya know? The Marshall is a once-in-a-lifetime type of opportunity, and fear is no reason to call a blessing a burden. Still, I will miss this place. I will miss home. Guess this is the part of growing up people always gloss over. The letting-go. The whole, finding your own path (and health insurance) thing.
In times like these, I thank God for my friends. They've held me birthmark-close these past few months, and I can't imagine what not being around them for a year will feel like. What my brother's blossoming voice will sound like to the ring of 13 years old. The look in my mother's eyes when my degree comes in the mail. The plane ride to London, and the first time I touch a microphone on foreign soil. I hope to think on all of these things without breaking into pieces, to dare to imagine no matter how painful it may feel at first.
I said earlier this week that I was going to start digging deeper. Welcome to the first level. Feel free to sight-see while you're here.