That Maine Poet

One of the most humbling things after experiencing burnout, I think, is putting your life back together afterwards. In an effort to survive the stress of every day, things that I enjoyed collapsed around me. I could no longer give myself to joy, because everything I had went to surviving. And now that I have the energy again…I have to remember how to do the thing as I enjoy again. Rejoining communities I was once apart of feels scary. As if I let everyone down by disappearing into survival.

I hope that fear leaves me, as I grow. I don’t need to be afraid of my friends, my community. Not when it’s full of people excited to see me grow and who want to help me explore.

I’m back. I’m learning. I’m growing. And I’m living.

Sometimes all you have is a line, or even just a thought. Part of a draft piece that I shared at Port Veritas last night— built the poem around this idea, this thought. My neutrality about my life, my situation, my being is often seen as nihilism, or giving up. Because I begrudgingly accept my situation, acknowledge maybe a little too much how difficult it is to thrive, I am seen as someone who doesn’t want to survive. I do. I am surviving. Sometimes that’s enough. I worked hard for my neutrality, and I do not yet have the rush to be an optimist…and that’s okay.

Sometimes patience really is key. I had almost forgotten about this submission—and just like that, I get the email. Waiting isn’t always bad news; sometimes it’s something really great