16 May 2013
[Hold this space. I have to run to a meeting with my PhD supervisor, but I’ll write when I get back. It’s just that I’ll probably get back and it won’t be the AM anymore. I didn’t want to break my AM record!]
It’s amazing. How things happen. When the elements align, and you want to say why the hell isn’t it always like this? I’ve listened to Neil Patrick Harris singing “Being Alive” obsessively for weeks. Even Andrew can sing along now. But it wasn’t until last night that I heard him speaking to me. I’ve been in theatre, I’ve been singing, I’ve been writing, and living all my life. Sure, I think, I’m alive. I’ve been alive. No. Today is different. Today is a different kind of alive. It’s like waking up in a new world entirely. And as much as I say that I have, I’ve quite literally never felt this way before.
I wrote a letter this week — Words are crucial. What we tell ourselves, what we tell each other, what we tell the world. But even more important is the belief behind the words. It can change everything.
Words from my supervisor about a new poem:
“There’s so much energy in how it tilts and shifts, one thing leads to another. It flings off the page with an urgency. That can be hot air unless there’s an intelligence. It’s just super. Really rich in terms of imagery, but there’s nothing wasted in it.
I just wouldn’t touch this, I guess, even though it’s a shame that it’s a prose poem. [HA! – the ha is my own note, because I am proud that it works as a prose poem.]
Aye. It’s super. It’s brilliant. I love it. It just flows well, the images are rich. It’s sort of intelligent and clever, but it’s heart-felt too. It’s got everything going for it.”
That kind of feedback is wonderful, but after last night it’s just the icing on the cake.
I feel transformed. I feel renewed, reborn, all the cliche things people say. No description does the experience justice. But it’s still important that we try to say it, try to share it, try to encourage it and promote the possibility of the potential. And right when we think I have to hold on to this feeling. I have to remember how to make this happen again, I think it becomes all about release. Trust. Faith. These things can feel difficult, and they can feel threatening. It feels like I’m building air on air, I told Andrew last night, how do I know I won’t fall? But then I corrected myself. How do I know I won’t fly?
All I know is that I’m terrified, and alive. And in love. and that I feel like the only way to best make it through this is to be courageous. All you need is 20 seconds of insane courage, and I promise you something great will come out of it.