City Sidewalks

Today was a hard day for me to live in the city.

There's something magical about the first snow of the year here in Wisconsin. Something...sacred, special, and unique. The first snow in the city however, is just sad.

I went for my yearly walk to take pictures of trees and snow and cold and the progression of seasons, and found myself more worried about getting hit by people driving recklessly than noticing the season shift. I found some trees, but they looked lonely with only houses to keep them company. The snow seemed to hang sadly in their branches, upset that it was mostly buildings that caught it in its fall to the ground. A roof is a far more depressing resting place than the crook of a tree.

Two years ago I slipped on slick pavement and broke my wrist in several places. Ever since, even with proper footwear, I find myself grimacing whenever walking on slick sidewalks. I longed for the happy crunch of freshly frozen grass, the way I could feel the mud beneath refusing to freeze just yet. Moonlight and snow are amazing things when combined correctly. A winter's night in Wisconsin can be nearly as bright as a summer morning if the moon is out and the ground is coated with the right kind of snow. I'm talking of that kind with the crust of ice on top and thin fluffy flurries underneath. The type that dogs and cats try to balance on, and look devastated as they fall through.

Winter in the city just reflects the street lights, drivers' fear accidents, and everyone praying to make it through.

I'm going to join the prayer. The city is not for me.

The Smothered Scream of a Wage Slave

I’ve been thinking today about passions, dreams, goals (all of the things our society sugar coats into meaning success, money, and promotions). What really and truly makes me happy? Well, writing of course. Not the manual writing I do for my job or the editing I do for extra money….ACTUAL writing. Soul bending, heart tearing writing. Writing that stops me dead in my tracks as the muse takes over and I stare, dumbfounded, at the page.

If I were to break it down in a more scientific sense I would say that the higher the percentage of concrete is when compared to the percentage of trees is in an area the lower my productivity falls. Basically, cities suck the soul right out of me. It’s hard to write when I look around and no longer hold any hope for humanity and limited hope for the earth as a whole.

“Poetry has been able to function quite directly as human interpretation of the raw, loose universe. It is a mixture, if you will, of journalism and metaphysics, or of science and religion.” –Annie Dillard

It’s in and surrounded by nature that I feel at peace. Not so at peace, mind you, that I would only write sappy love sonnets and the like, but at peace enough that my heart isn’t racing in such fear that putting pen to paper is inconceivable. Sunlight helps, as do stars that aren’t diluted by city lights. Crickets (not of the sound machine variety) calm me like no lullaby ever could.

So, I suppose the problem isn’t knowing what I need to be happy and to write—it’s getting what I need. I won’t get it working my 9-5 job (now complete with overtime) in a building with one window surrounded by the most “city like” parts of my city (pavement, too much traffic, and industry everywhere). Yet how do I go live closer to nature and still make enough money to survive in this society?

I really don’t know the answer to that.

“Yes, there is a Nirvana; it is in leading your sheep to a green pasture, and in putting your child to sleep, and in writing the last line of your poem.” –Kahlil Gibran

My daily schedule is enough to drive anyone insane. I wake up at 5:20am (and it’s dark) get to work by 6am and don’t leave until 5:30pm (when it is also dark). If I want to see daylight at all I need to leave at lunch, where I can get a 30 minute dose of daylight. I get home and all I do is sit, or lay, since I’m so exhausted from staring at a screen all day. Sometimes I try to read, but typically I just fall asleep.

Am I happy with this job? Of course not. How could I be? Yet I sell my life away…

The only semi-agreeable option I know of right now is to go to grad school for my MFA in creative writing. The problem is the school itself is in a city. Yet, at least I won’t be working an office job anymore…

“You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.”
-Desiderata

Birch and Fern

I miss the stars of the north. The way that they were everywhere I looked at night, bright and shining as if they could still remember their purpose when not disturbed by city lights.

I’ve always loved northern Wisconsin. I’ve longed to go there from time to time since my life got so busy that it never seemed to happen more than once or twice a year. Until a month ago I hadn’t spent more than three days in a row up there since I was 14. I think the three day limit was keeping me safe from the constant longing I’m now struggling with. Three days was okay, it was enough to continue my affair with the birch and fern, but not enough to lead to true love. The north was a mistress and nothing more. But the nine days I spent up there in September led to love—and love leads to irrationality.

"In the woods we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life--no disgrace, no calamity (leaving me my eyes), which nature cannot repair."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Last week Tuesday I took a sick day and actually considered driving four hours north at 6am, spending the day at my parent’s place up there, and driving back at around 8pm. After quite the struggle I talked myself out of this gas and money-guzzling adventure. The fact that I even considered something as irresponsible as this, however, shows how much I miss it there.

I wonder sometimes how it is that I ended up living in the city. I love the culture of this town and the accepting nature of most people here…but all I want is to live in the country these days. Although I’m sure as soon as I got there I’d miss everything being so close. I remember when I was around twelve I wrote a poem called Country and City Girl showing my conflicting viewpoints on where I’d like to live. Those conflicts haven’t really been resolved.

I want to go to grad school next year but I’m not sure the idea of living in an even bigger city than the one I’m in now is a good one. I will be further north, but a north filled with sound barricades and traffic isn’t one I particularly look forward to. I guess I have some more thinking to do.

“The richness I achieve comes from Nature, the source of my inspiration.”

-Claude Monet