Reluctance
Robert Frost

Out through the fields and the woods
         And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
         And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
         And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
         Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
         And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
         When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
         No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
         The flowers of the witch hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
         But the feet question "Whither?"

Ah, when to the heart of man
         Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
         To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
         Of a love or a season?

     I've always loved this poem.  I discovered it years ago when I was only in high school, and at the time, I don't think I fully understood what it was about.  Even now, it's hard to know exactly what Frost is talking about here, but for some reason, the imagery really speaks to me in a different way now.
      I haven't taken the time to add to my blog in a long time.  Perhaps I've been hesitant to write for quite a while because I feel void of inspiration.  There have been several times when I wanted to sit down and pour some words out, but I just couldn't find the motivation.  A lot has happened to me since I last visited.  Since November of last year (when my last entry was posted), I can honestly say that I'm not the same person who used to vent his frustrations online just to get a response from anyone.  I'm not here to vent about the bad stuff, nor do I plan to write a truly inspired poem or prose piece in hopes of garnering praise.  That is not what motivates me to write tonight.
      Instead, I want to tell you of all the places I've been, the challenges I've faced, and the profound ways that life as I know it continues to change.  I suppose the first momentous event to take place following the November entry was the completion of my senior thesis (known as my St. Mary's Project, or SMP).  In the weeks leading up to the final product, I spent countless hours revising my work, throwing out chapters, writing new ones, and constantly debating how my fictional story would end.  At times, I became so overwhelmed with the academics of it all; you know, the deadlines and the technical editing and the grade at the end of the journey.  However, as the end drew near, I began to realize how much my project had changed me.  Or maybe not changed me, but brought something within me back to life after a long absence.
      The story was called My October Coffee.  In all honesty, I started with a title that sounded good, but was pretty ambiguous.  I mean, what could an October coffee possibly mean?  Would the story be about coffee or a place that sells coffee?  Would it be about October, or the general change of seasons?  Why is this title so attractive to me?  Will anyone else be intrigued enough to read it?  All of these questions leapt around in my head from the beginning of the process to the end.  But I continued doing what my advisor told me to do: Write what you know.  I was eventually able to stifle the constant critic in my head for long enough spells at a time to reach far into my conscience and write.  Words began falling onto the page, and I didn't know why they came to be there or what force they were coming from.  All I knew was, these words were becoming special to me.  See, My October Coffee is all about memories.  The story is, more than anything, a montage of ideas and recollections seen through the eyes of a dying young person.  It's about being okay with ends and beginnings.
      Anyway, the project reached a resting place, I presented it in front of family and friends, and that was that.  Winter break came and went, and suddenly, I found myself fresh out of words.  My SMP had run me into the ground.  I felt very proud of it, there was no doubt about it.  The personal fulfillment brought a distinct feeling of relaxation.  I was finished with my thesis, and I had a concrete product I could hold and call my own.  However, I spent the final semester of my college experience wondering what the hell I was still doing in school.  I was taking classes to fill time, not to get any requirements (those were all taken care of).  I wasn't loving my courses, and I couldn't bring myself to write anything even for fun.  Needless to say, my days became somewhat lazy.  Not that I didn't have fun.  In fact, I bonded with my college friends more than ever during that final semester.  We would party, watch movies, and do a lot of singing.  I did a great deal of music arranging and outdoor running.  As the days got warmer, the clock seemed to tick faster.
      Graduation was upon all of us, and our last week at St. Mary's (senior week) proved to be a very poignant, carefree time in my life.  There was drinking, cooking out, escaping to the beach at midnight, dancing in fancy clothes, and sleeping late.  Graduation day was a swarm of emotion, everything from elation to deep sadness.  The campus was bustling with grads and their families, and the sun was able to chase away the rain by the end of the ceremony, making for one of the most memorably gorgeous days on the riverfront.  Once the apartment was gutted and all of our things were packed into cars, my friends and I said goodbye to St. Mary's, the place that truly defined us.  I look back on the school that once used to be my worst enemy, one that caused me to rethink everything in my life as an incoming freshman.  What was once a place of great loneliness became a sanctuary I didn't want to be shut out of.  Of course, I knew that staying there any longer beyond that final afternoon would betray why I loved the place to begin with.  The memories were gone, and none of us would ever really be able to return to that time.  Staying in the same place wouldn't make it any different. College was over, and I was absolutely stunned at how quickly four years had come and then disappeared.
      The next adventure came about a week later.  Many of my friends and I embarked on a journey to Italy as part of a college study tour.  We were part of the music festival in Alba, Italy, a celebration which brought together several world-renowned musicians for two weeks of performances.  It was, without a doubt, the most magical trip I have ever taken.  As a recent graduate, my friends and I saw it as our last hurrah to mark the end of our college experience.  We spent our time in Italy rehearsing, performing, staying up late every night, eating Italian cuisine and drinking Italian wine, wandering cobblestone streets, laughing with each other to the point of tears... So many of my favorite things in the world were combined into a perfect experience.  I witnessed accomplished musicians perform onstage and offstage, sometimes wishing I could be like them; you know, the kind of people who know from birth what it is they are meant to do for the rest of their lives.  Hearing and watching players perform with such passion almost brought me to tears, because something inside of me wished for that kind of conviction in life.  I wanted to work hard toward one specific thing and know that I could do it well.               
      That's just the luck of the draw, I decided.  I figured I would never be someone with clear vision, but rather someone who sees pieces of everything and tries to make sense of the good and bad together.  I'm indecisive and scatter-brained; it's something I've always known, but only recently have I been able to come to terms with it.
      The Italy trip fell at the beginning of the summer, and the rest of the season was spent traveling to the mountains of West Virginia for a weekend, witnessing three weddings (one of which was my sister's in our front yard), performing in three intense stage shows (Taming of the Shrew, The Miracle Worker, & Little Women), enjoying yet another family reunion, and saying a lot of goodbyes.  Until the end, it all lent itself to a summer experience you might find in a fiction novel.  I was wildly busy and flustered and frustrated and lacking direction, but it still proved to be one of the most memorable summers of my life.  I found myself traveling from place to place, taking in every moment I could.  I was made privy to a lot of beautiful things that summer: Smiling faces, growing children, invigorating sunshine, cool nighttime, people laughing, crying, dancing, singing, and the promise of goodness to come.
      Summer was gone before I knew it, and with its exit came some painful farewells.  I was in a place in my life where I knew it was time to walk ahead alone.  My ideas of the world were just beginning, and I needed independence to explore who I really was.  I was whisked away to New York City on a whim to live with my brother.  I didn't know who I might meet, what I was going to pursue, or how I was going to pay the bills.  But I did it anyway.  I got to the city, and it wasn't long before I started establishing that sense of independence I had been looking for.  I set up a new cell phone, got hooked up with a temp agency, found lucrative work, went to some vocal auditions, lost five pounds (on the poor man's diet), and was generally okay with how things were moving along.  Not necessarily happy, but accepting.
      But the city wasn't for me.  I stand by that even now.  The longer I stayed there, the more clarity I was able to garner for myself in terms of where I didn't belong.  I couldn't stay there, because I feared that I would spend years of my life working jobs that depressed me and made me feel worthless, coming home to an apartment at 7:30 p.m. and fixing dinner for myself before watching television until it was time to sleep, and feeling like I was missing the whole point of New York City.  I loved to sing, and I still do, but making a living for myself there like that was not my calling.  I came home to Garrett County after three months.  That decision initially made me feel like a failure, but I think it was the best I could do, given the circumstances.
      I have gotten into grad school, and I hope to attend American University in DC in the fall.  It's really for the sake of not having any other solid plan in my life at the moment, but at least it's something to move toward.  I still don't know where I stand in the scheme of things.  Who among us does?  I don't expect to know all the answers.  Often times, I do pray for some kind of direction, but so far, it seems I'm just meant to be in limbo right now.
      For so long, I've been angry and frustrated with how things are moving (or not moving, I guess).  I want to try something new, go somewhere different and see how life pans out.  DC is calling me.  Or at least I think it is.  I'm here at home working a 9 to 5 job that, yes, I am lucky to have, but it's one that pushes me further into my own psyche to the point of insanity.  I can't stay here much longer.  Don't get me wrong, I love Garrett County.  It will always be my true home.  But I am young.  I have a life out there, wherever and whatever it is, and I need to break free from convenience and the logistics I "should" follow.  I don't know what's keeping me from going to DC right now, other than the fear of not having a plan.  Why am I so afraid?
      Robert Frost was a wise man.  As scary as it is, we should not "bow and accept" the tedious cycle if we don't want to.  What is keeping all of us from what we really want?  Perhaps it's a bit of a paradox.  We often don't know what we want, and that keeps us from getting it.  But if we ever truly discover that light at the end of the tunnel, why don't we race toward it?  Is it because the darkness becomes familiar and, in a way, safe?  Though I'm continually made more aware of how life at home is placing me in a personal rut, I am still lucky to have a home to brood in.  I just don't want to become so comfortable in a mediocre life that I stop searching for what I really want.  That, I suppose, is my biggest fear.
      I look back on all of these events of the past year and realize that I have changed, maybe not in a big way, but in several small ways.  I know myself better, and I've proven to myself that I can make decisions and survive the consequences.  I need to trust myself more and take the road that defies "the drift of things."  I need to stop waiting for the net to appear and just take the damned leap.

-ajs