I have just returned home from an amazing two weeks in Cape Cod. The first week, as I've already alluded to in last week's post, was spent with my great friends Beth and Greg. This week was spent farther down the cape, at the very tip, Provincetown. And it felt like I was going farther down, farther into myself. I was taking a memoir class at the Fine Arts Work Center and it was, for the most part, a week of work and solitude. There were eight of us in the class, and we comprised a wide variety of ages and backgrounds. Seven of us were female. Some were extroverts, some introverts, Some with lots of writing experience under our belts, some with not much at all. One of us was a retired physician. Two women worked in the field of corporate diversity training. There was even a lovely, lively mother-daughter pair. Our gracious and wise teacher, Marcie Hershman, who teaches at Tufts and has published a memoir of her own about the loss of her beloved brother (Speak to Me), lead us into places which surprised and excited me. But more about that in a minute.
This was my second course at the Work Center (I had been there two years ago), and while I loved the other course, this one was even better. Why? Perhaps its me, perhaps I knew what to expect and so was more ready to be open to the experience. Also, this class was filled with more people with whom I felt an immediate sense of kinship. I am deeply hopeful that we will continue to know each other for many years to come! Finally, Marcie is a wonderfully unique soul, and her spirit infused us with a calm creative energy. She is very, very funny. Her humor, sometimes, softly self-deprecating, never mean-spirited, allowed us to work really really hard but to feel joy rather than burden. Her exercises often took me by surprise (and there were a few that I wanted to resist or twist into some other shape), but (Marcie would want me to put an AND there instead of BUT) there was clearly a method to her madness.
There are three main things that I came away with this week. Don't worry, I will circle back to this week's weighty question...just follow me for a minute.
#1 Great teachers make teaching look a bit like magic. Marcie gave us disparate assignments (many of which seemed to have little or nothing to do with the process of writing memoir). She began the week by asking us all to bring in a small mirror...and the mirror we chose (rather than what we saw in it) became a kind of framework for the way we SEE. The week was filled with mirrors looking into mirrors looking into mirrors. However, unlike the carnival House of Mirrors, I left feeling that things were clearer rather than distorted. I hope that my students have moments at least where they feel that I have guided them to an important place in a magical way. Thank you, Marcie, for being one of the great teachers whom I have had the honor to know.
#2 Life is a story. All of us have the most fascinating, painful, odd, true stories within us. One of the great gifts of aging is that our story collection becomes like the New York Public Library rather than the bookmobile in Paris, Texas. I was charmed, amused, mesmerized and blown away by the stories of my colleagues. I was surprised and grateful for the stories inside me. Ironically, some of the most painful moments in my life became transformed into words that felt like perfect be-jewelled (yes, classmates that is an inside joke--reference to my little blue mirror) gifts I was able to offer the world. Which leads me finally to the question which I promised to address in this post: WHY ARE WE HERE?
#3 Scientists might answer this question one way, while philosophers would take a different stance. Rabbis, priests, ministers, and other religious leaders would mine their traditions for answers. I would not, could not, presume to answer that question for any of you...but I hope that you will pause for just a moment when you finish reading this and try to come up with the beginnings of a response.
I know we are put here for many reasons and part of the work during our journey is to find out what our purpose is and then to strive to fulfill it. I was born to give birth to Josh, Ben and Emily and to mother them and love them to the best of my ability. I think I was also put here to teach, to share my love of books and words and life with my students. I can honestly say (in this semi-public forum) that after this week, after the work and the writing and the writing and the work, I was put here to write. I don't yet know what form that will take....but I am working on that. At least, for the moment, it is enough to know that I was meant to be a writer; it is part of my destiny.
I'll leave you with some of the photographic images from my week in PTown.
I would LOVE to hear your comments about your own answers to the question: Why are we here?
3 comments:
Awesome! Can't wait to share/hear about the summer.
Rachel, It's wonderful to come upon these words of yours beyond our studio. just so you know, a little of the air went out if the room when you left, and because we were feeling deflated, Brigid I think it was, drew a picture of a whale with a lively spout of spray and put it where your papers had rested. Silly, how much sense that seemed to make! I'm sure your colleagues will add their words, here or in private, so, for now, I want to say via this forum how happy I am to have worked with you in this group, and at this time. Thank you, too. All best wishes--
I am here because my mother wanted a second daughter. She already had one son and one daughter and if she was going to have another child, it was going to be a second daughterl! She knew the magic formula, early in a woman's cyces, she told me 30 years later. Watch your cycle, she told me after my first son was born. Don't you want to try for a daughter? She has 2 daughters, I have 1! Honestly, one is enough.
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