How the Light Gets In
April’s arrival brings National Poetry Month, and while poetry might seem unimportant or out of style to many, it can be soothing in times of turmoil, or revelatory when you need to shine light into a dark corner. It also comes in handy when your schedule leaves little time for reading; easier to squeeze a poem or two in at bedtime than try to get through 100 pages of a novel.
This past week I’ve been dipping into Dana Gioia’s collection, Meet Me at the Lighthouse, and “At the Crossroads” struck me as timely, with its presentation of shared spaces holding different perspectives for different people, and the relative nature of decision making. But that third-to-last line really says it all: “Be careful here in choosing where to turn.”
On Wednesday, I went for a walk. I had nowhere in particular to go, but my out-of-office message was set through end-of-day, and I was restless and knew rain filled the forecast for the next week. I needed to move.
Spring engulfed me. I should note I’m staying with a friend in Connecticut, so this translated to beautiful clear sky, sunshine, and a biting wind that stung my face, temperature hovering around 40 degrees but air so clean and sweet smelling you just know winter is on the run.
The neighborhood houses range from small, New England-style homes—salt boxes or one-story ranches seated so low I think I’d hit my head if I went inside—to traditional rebuilds dating back to the early 2000s, and more recent modern homes and new construction. I passed yards filled with daffodils and a forsythia bush attempting to bloom. Robins hopped along the side of the road, often right near my feet. A man walking his sandy dog—a little doodle of some kind—gave me a wave, and a fluffy, dignified cat with brown and black markings eyed me as I went by. Circling back to my friend’s house, I skirted the lot across the street and just up the block, where workmen spent the morning taking down four large trees and carting off the branches and trunks in enormous chunks.
Transitions happen all the time, whether we take note or not, but they have been particularly on my mind recently. I could point to the past year-and-a-half since my mother fell and I took over as her caretaker, or the last six months since I moved her into assisted living. However, the most recent phase has been this first quarter of the year. Since January, I have put my mother’s condo on the market and sold it, cleared out two homes, and finally—on Wednesday—closed the condo sale and, with it, wrapped up a very long transition.
As I walked, I let the spring day—with all its signs of life and change—distract me from the thing making me restless: the wait for confirmation that—after two stupid delays—all was well and payment safely reached my mother’s bank account. And it worked, proving once again that when your brain is spinning, nothing helps quite so well as taking a true breather. Step away from the screens and the infinite scrolling and dial the input way down. Sure, I was taking note of the flora and the fauna as I walked, but none of it demanded a reaction. No one wanted me to click or swipe or repost or provide my credit card or stand up for democracy. I escaped my primary preoccupation without allowing another one to creep into its place.
I’m not quite finished with this phase, not quite ready for my next transition, because the truth is I’m facing more of a crossroads. For a long time, I was working toward getting my mother settled so I could head back to my life. But too much time has passed and I’ve traveled too far downstream. When I wade back out, I’ll be a different person at a different spot along the shore. How could I not be?
Where transitions often flow naturally from one thing to the next, season to season, crossroads require more of an effort. You have to look at the paths stemming out from where you’ve paused, assess the various directions you might take. Here in the U.S., I think the entire nation hovers at a crossroads. But the big picture doesn’t help much if you can’t determine your own next steps.
Last time I wrote, I talked a lot about goals. About not putting pressure on yourself, and allowing space for life’s surprises—good and bad. I also hinted I had some plans in mind, projects I’d put on hold while life rearranged my responsibilities. Here, at these crossroads, with spring in the air, I’m beginning to get excited about all that potential. About the ideas, and about the people with whom I’m planning to share them. All the things I’ve been holding onto, even when my days filled end to end with work and obligations and heartbreak.
At the same time, I am hyper aware that the landscape has changed even in the last three months, and continues to do so. But I refuse to let that stall me out, strand me at this turning point. I won’t allow the big picture to paralyze me. My plans and goals deserve my efforts.
Are you at a crossroads? Does storytelling or art or music or even joy feel less important in the face of a series of crises? I’m telling you, you need to hold on to what matters to you. Stand tall before your choices and pick the road that works best for you, but take your art and your creativity and your creative tribe along with you, whatever direction you take. Hold onto your words, your color, your music, your people. Stash your projects in a backpack, maybe grab a slim volume of poetry, and choose which way to turn. That’s the only way you’ll ever figure out the end of your current story and move on to the next one.
For those of you looking for agenting-specific news, I am happy to share that I plan to open to queries again next month. It will likely be for a short window, as I expect to get slammed, but I will announce the date both here and on socials ahead of time, so keep an eye out if that’s your jam.
At the moment, I am working my way through whatever remaining submissions I have on my plate, most of which have been from conferences and so on. If you’re waiting on a reply, thank you so much for your patience. I will get back to you as soon as possible.
Likewise, I am wrapping up a website redesign for my own site. I hope to be able to share the new digs soon. Stay tuned!
As always, thank you for reading. I hope life is treating you well, and wish you good luck if you, like me, are standing at a crossroads, determining which way to turn.
Title taken from Leonard Cohen’s song, Anthem.