Still Learning, Still Growing

Years and years ago Mommy was in school to be a photojournalist.  She wanted to work for magazines – shooting editorials for some prominent publication; to travel the world capturing the awe and mystique of things foreign on film. (Yes, film.) And she wanted to spent her evening hours discovering what could be created in her darkroom, as light beamed through negative to produce amazements on once-white paper.

It seems like lifetimes ago – – in truth it’s been at least the lifetimes of Chi and Ya.  Can it be that the last trip to pursue that passion was way back in 2001?  The expiring passport tells the story, yes, it has been that long.

The Language Arts teacher that I became out of necessity… she likes her job.  She enjoys trying to elicit creativity from students who really just want to pass a required course. And while she admires the grammatical gurus trained in all things English education, she firmly believes that her students aren’t suffering from a little devergence from the traditional.  Ok. Weird third person references must go.

I’m reminded a bit of one of Langston Hughes’s (many) famous poems, Dream Deferred.  Now it’s not one I teach in 10th grade Language Arts, but it applies so well to my life right now:

What happens to a dream deferred?


Does it dry up


Like a raisin in the sun?


Or fester like a sore–


And then run?


Does it stink like rotten meat?


Or crust and sugar over–


like a syrupy sweet?


Maybe it just sags


like a heavy load.


Or does it explode?

You see, I think I know what happens to a dream deferred.  It doesn’t disappear.  It doesn’t diminish in its intensity.  It evolves, molded lovingly like a piece of clay by its sculpture.  And when it’s finally kiln ready, it probably doesn’t even resemble the vision originally conjured. I hope the fired piece is just as impressive as that creative plan – maybe it’s even more so.  I can’t wait to see.

08.01 ya

Dear Langston, I think you, too, were a dreamer… how else would you have written this?:

Dreams



Hold fast to dreams


For if dreams die


Life is a broken-winged bird


That cannot fly.


Hold fast to dreams


For when dreams go


Life is a barren field


Frozen with snow.

I’m holding on to my dream… it involves wielding my camera.  I may never get to travel to exotic lands, but I will seek out the exotic wherever I happen to be. My dream is neither frozen nor broken-winged.  It’s a dream that will be, very soon, reality.

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Comments

  1. Rachelle, you are so very talented! Beautiful, beautiful post!

    I've come to know that some of my dreams have morphed over the years into bigger, better and infinitely more precious ones.

  2. I bet it will be! Gorgeous shot of Ya!!

  3. thank you for sharing these poems. They both brought a tear to my eye. I have been there. I'm trying to live my dream right now and know that I must persevere to get to the place I want to be!

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