Relocating the Personal*

This is the title of Kamler’s work on critical writing pedagogy, and it’s perfectly applicable to my feelings at the moment, so I borrowed it.

I wrote a personal blog that would have easily been at home here. I’ve spent the past several weeks, months, keeping my personal and professional lives separate, even though I don’t believe they ought to be. Today’s post, about finding my voice and purpose as a writer, is indeed part of my professional growth. I feel such forced choices, imposed boundaries between the personal and professional are unhelpful at best and detrimental at worst.

I chose to write the entry on the “personal” side because the topic is all about me – my life. My work as a writer these days is to break through the barriers that prevent me from actually doing the writing. In order to break through those barriers, I have to recognize them, and name them.  My process, then, is to write about writing and in so doing, dismantle the blocks that have hindered me thus far.

Artificially, because the writing is all about “me,” it is personal rather than professional. But how I view the world, and my experiences in the world all help to form my theories of the world. These theories shape the way I write, teach, and work. Whether they are tacit or explicit, my theories impact my practice. And there’s how the personal and the professional remain so intimately intertwined.

Rather than post the entry both places, I’ll just link to it here. I do expect I’ll do more of this rebellious personal/professional risk taking. My ideal work environment is one in which I am able to be authentically me, and work with others as we push forward and grow together. In that regard, I’m tired of splitting work me from non-work me. It’s all me.

Here’s to bridging gaps. They Will Find You.

*Note: This post and the one to which it links were originally hosted on two separate blogs. One blog was “professional” and the other “personal.” I have since merged all posts into this blog.

They Will Find You

be still and let them find you/they will come when they are ready ~ruth foreman

So says Ruth in a poem featured in Flat-Footed Truths: Writing Black Women’s Lives. She is talking about your words, your stories. They come to you and through you at the anointed, appointed time. I am finding this to be true in my own life. It has been quite an evolution really – moving from wanting to write my life to becoming ready to actually do it.

The more I read from women who are unabashedly unafraid to narrate their lives, the more I feel the urge to do the same. This has gone through various manifestations over the past two decades:

  • I want to be a writer!
  • I should write, but I have nothing to say. (This one for 10 years).
  • I have things to say, but to whom?
  • I should write, just because…who cares who reads it?
  • I’m afraid to write.
  • I need to write to explore, inquire, and grow. (But I’m still afraid to write…).

This last place is my present positioning. I am beginning to view writing as a tool of understanding and simultaneously as a tool of empowerment. As we write, we have the opportunity to reflect, but also the chance to rewrite our trajectories. As we write the past and the present, we have the opportunity to also write our futures.

We have a say. Writing gives voice to thoughts and makes them visible. In their visibility they become tangible: A memory becomes a guiding light. An amorphous thought becomes a pathway, a next step. It becomes something I can touch and do. Through writing, thoughts can become action.

I found myself reading Audre Lorde, Anaïs Nin, and literally breathing in their words. They refresh me; quench a thirst I wasn’t sure existed. Why? Because they are me, only they are brave. They write about the complexities of their lives, being honest and open about things others of us would rather keep secret. They hold uncomfortable memories up to the light, turn them round and round and draw the truth out, painful (or joyful) though it may be.

When I read their words I always have to journal or jot down the memories I’ve pushed away. The secrets I’ve kept hidden. The lessons I’ve left unlearned or unchallenged. Reading their bravery pushes me closer to my own.

In 2011, I am fearless. And so it goes, one word, one page at a time.

be still and let them find you/they will come when they are ready ~ruth foreman