I've been feeling pretty down. Somewhat defeated, slightly depressed, certainly down.  The reasons are many: the crisis in the government, the immoral closing of schools, the crises in my Department, the powerlessness and voicelessness I feel in my daily life when confronted with all the uncertainty, the anxiety, the anger and the pain.

But, I found my voice again.

I had mentioned to my friend Jose a poem of mine I thought he would appreciate.  I discovered I had it in my bag and I showed it to him.  He laughed at the right points and asked about the performance of the piece, what the rhythm was like and asked if I'd read it for him.  So I did.  I got lost in my own words and in his attention and appreciation. 

Then, we went our separate ways, him to teach, myself to make some copies.  As I was walking down the stairs I realized I felt lighter.  I still was sad but I was walking taller.

And it hit me.  I (re)found my voice.

I haven't been able to properly write about everything that's affecting my life right now because I've been busy            (im)properly writing stuff for professors and students.  Writing about things is an obvious source of release, of relief.  But I never would have thought that reading my own poem to a friend would have made me feel so much less powerless and so much more myself.

As I write this, I'm not even sure it makes sense to anyone who might chance to read it.  But I have my voice.  It's okay.


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