On Circles, of Time, of Dream, of Place, of Space

5 lessons from the whirlpool of time

I love circles. As far as geometry goes, I was never very good at it (strangely, I preferred algebra), but shapes, and in particular, the circle, fascinate and compel me. One of the many things I like about the circle is that it is everywhere in the physical world, and it’s also highly metaphorical/metaphysical, with functions in time, and by extenstion, story.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I got a new job. Part of this job is teaching poetry. For the past month, I’ve been preparing for this (big) shift: from part time to full time, from home-based self-employment to on-site non-profit, from prose to poems. This last isn’t the biggest shift: as far as writing goes, I was a poet until my late 20s, having studied it as an undergrad and continuing on with the impracticality of it long after many other reasonable people would have given up.

(Lesson #1: art is neither practical nor reasonable.)

Eventually, I shifted from poetry to fiction (and later, nonfiction) and had better luck with it. I am now mainly a prose writer—and that’s how I got my start teaching— but I never lost my love of poetry. I often assigned my fiction and nonfiction students poetry, both to read and to write.

(Lesson #2: all writers all people gain from poetry.)

I have high Input and Learner in Clifton Strengths (my Top 10 is heavily weighted by “Strategic Thinking,” meaning I love ideas and puzzling and philosophy and having access to information; no big surprise) so the first thing I did after getting hired to run a poetry program was spend a month’s worth of grocery money on books of poetry and books about the craft of poetry.

(Lesson #3: it is imperative that you be obsessed with your art form.)

At any rate, one of these craft books arrived and looking at it sitting atop the pile, a memory shook loose.

I once owned this book!

(Lesson #4: if you give away all your books in a minimalist frenzy, you’ll probably live to regret it.)

I once read and studied and wrote from the assignments in this book.

a book, or a teleportation device?

Because I am (somewhat) limited in the objects I keep around—or, perhaps this is why I prefer to possess fewer objects than the standard middle-class person—objects have a kind of potent power over me. Though the book I ordered isn’t the exact book I once owned—not the one with my old name and notes scribbled within—the cover hasn’t changed, indeed, even the author photo in the back hasn’t changed (its own fun, to see young Dorianne Laux, whose older self I had the pleasure of hearing read several times during my MFA program)—it does retain something important. The power to trigger access to young Sara, who, above all else, wanted to be a poet. Honestly, I had no idea what that really meant; I liked the sound of it.

Back then—more than two decades ago now!—I firmly refused to consider teaching as a career choice. I deemed it too boring, too stable, too… I don’t know, »insert misguided feeling of youth here«. Many people told me I would be great teacher and what I heard of their encouragement sounded a lot like when the adults talk in Charlie Brown. How many of you went through a rebellious stage? Mine lasted about an eon. (It might linger still.) But the biggest issue was, I was scared. I couldn’t imagine getting up in front of students and talking about the thing I wanted to devote my life to. Even though I love learning, and I loved writing, it simply did not occur to me that I could use these traits to connect with and be of service to others in a way that also fulfilled me.¹

Ok, so back to the book. A kind of reverse dowsing had happened in placing this object in my vicinity. Instead of me finding the object, the object found something in me.

I said to my husband, Is it ironic that when I was a baby writer I swore I’d never teach poetry, and after this long, roundabout (pun very much intended) trail of avoiding that particular career choice, it is exactly where I ended up?

He laughed. Of course he laughed. My husband is wildly patient and rarely in a rush.

Ironic, sure, he said. And maybe it is also, finally, time.

Time to complete a circle.

Lesson #5: even if you can’t or won’t believe in your own dream, YOUR DREAM BELIEVES IN YOU.

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READ/LOVED since the last post

Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez — Deliciously creepy and skin-crawlingly terrifying; if you like hyper-intelligent, socially aware supernatural horror, this is the novel for you!
The Book of Love by Kelly Link — Run, don’t walk, to get a copy of this book. Link is one my favorite contemporary short story writers and her new novel is simply brilliant. I want to gush and gush and gush, but I think you should experience for yourself what her idiosyncratic imagination is made of.
Home Movies by Michael Wheaton — After two 600-pagers, Wheaton’s essay chapbook was the perfect palate cleanser. Crisp and insightful narratives about the outsized role media plays in our lives.

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1. I did, eventually, in my late 30s, begin teaching on a small scale, via local writing organizations. Surprise, surprise (and I hear a resounding chorus of “I told ya so!”), I loved it from the first class.