monthly blog post

Looking back on my posts, I seem to be in a “once a month” pattern. Dismal. But I’ve decided to forgive myself for not writing as much I’d like.

I’m also forgiving myself for not reading as much as I’d like. A friend suggested I put the growing stack of unread books in the closet or someplace out of sight and forget about them for a while. She said they have a “shelf of shame” at their house. I may need an entire case. It’s gotten so bad that I dread receiving books because I feel a need to confess that I probably won’t read them–at least not anytime soon. The last time I had this feeling, this problem, was after I finished my dissertation. I couldn’t read anything except short articles in magazines for about 6 months. Not even a mystery. What’s up with me? Why is this happening now? How was I able to read Moby Dick while teaching a full load? Where did I find the time for that? I’m trying not to freak out about this development, consoling myself that it’s just a phase, that I simply need a sabbatical, but still. I live to read…don’t I?

My American Literature class will be discussing The Red Badge of Courage, so I’ll have to read that. And I will. It’s the other stuff–the books I don’t necessarily have to read but want to–or at least think I want to–read. Hm. This may be one of those issues that I need to let go of. Set it aside. Put it on a shelf.

Swimming today. Skiing with Maggie tomorrow. We had a blast last weekend at Powder Mountain. It’s great to see her skiing again. And I’ve missed it too.

I’m spinning here, trying to remember what I wanted to write about. There was something…something elusive. Ah maybe this: I read in the paper today that Theresa Novak, minister of UUCO, is moving back to California with her wife/partner. The story brought back my time with UUCO and my frustrations with the church. If life is always a battle being waged against the people who disagree with us, then we’ll never be happy. I couldn’t live that way anymore. But I also thought about my own actions in the department. Were they similar to Theresa’s? I guess we all reach a point where we have to decide what’s best for us. She obviously got to a point where Utah wasn’t tolerable to her anymore. Similarly, I reached a point where my position as assistant chair was no longer tolerable to me. It’s okay to leave, to quit, to opt out.

Maybe that’s what I wanted to write about. Letting go of stuff: guilt, books, actions, obsessions, fears, failures, successes even.

About BJ

living the dream in northern Utah
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