February

In February I tried very hard to dance on my own, thankyouverymuch, but I kept getting thwarted. On the 11th, my entire office picked up and got on a plane to Washington DC for acronym's 20th Anniversary celebration. One of my favorite moments was waiting in the security line (what a strange way to begin a sentence) and all around me, seeing people that I knew. There were co-workers, of course, but also a few supporters -- some on their way to the summit; others there by coincidence. In general air travel has felt like a solitary activity for me, and I was glad for their company: glad to feel included, a part of something.

I spent Valentine's Day at a poetry reading with Major Jackson and Alicia Ostriker, and I cried when she read this poem about insomnia: But it's really fear you want to talk about. I planned to spend my birthday alone, but some friends intervened, put a bird on it, and fed me cake. I was glad that February was a short month, and happy to get away from memories and milestones that made me sad. Instead I looked forward to April, and the trip I had booked to CALIFORNIA. I imagined driving up Pacific Highway 1 in a rented convertible, hair streaming behind me as I Found Myself on a coast very far from here. CALIFORNIA (in caps), I knew, would Fix Everything.

Two competing truths made themselves very clear this month: 1) I had little left tying me to Houston, and great uncertainty about the road ahead; and 2) good people and good work surrounded me in abundance, both in the city and a phone call away, and it was up to me to reach out. Except I wasn't reaching out. In the words of Melanie, a first grade student, "Somebody can help you if you tell them. They can't help you if you do not tell them."