Almost nothing this weekend happened the way I had intended it to happen. When I have gone to the StAnza poetry festival before, March has felt almost like Spring. I have been on my own, but I have found friends there. On this visit, it is freezing, slashed with rain. I am not alone, but have few friends except the peripheral acquaintances whom I have met in a workshop and keep running into. The trains and buses become difficult, coffee dates are postponed and cancelled. I didn’t get to meet Mark Doty in the way I expected, but by the end of the weekend, we were speaking as friends.
Sometimes it’s hard to let go of our expectations for how things should occur, and just let them happen as they happen. My nixed coffee date turned into a shorter, spontaneous coffee date with an American poet living in Lithuania. Poetry and theater thrives there, he tells me. He has lived there for 14 years, and expects to stay.
I have come home with notebooks and pens, books and more books, thoughts, scribblings, sketchings, a mind on fire. I have come home cold and frozen to the bone, but renewed. I have come home for a newfound respect for the way events fall together, the way people are thrown towards each other, the way we don’t always have to force the collusion of events for things to be meaningful or even for them to be, at all.
Moral of the story: I am trying to hard, even with the best intentions. It doesn’t require this much effort. Just a willing heart.
Good morning, T. Sorry I’m late.