I’m okay. You’re okay.

I obsess now and then about how I am doing what I do — a little meta obsession —like maybe the mixture I have of posts about knitting and other things unrelated in any direct way to my practice and my work might be unprofessional. I get caught up  in things like this from time to time — is the blog okay? is it all right to have my office in my home? — you know, the kind of annoying and not helpful worrying that most of us do. To complicate matters a bit, I am struggling with tendinitis in my right shoulder so some things I would ordinarily do like write or knit aggravate it. What is a person to do? Why rummage around on my laptop and see what I find course. And I find again a poem by Adrienne Rich, a portion of which I offer here now.

Vision begins to happen in such a life

as if a woman quietly walked away

from the argument and jargon in a room

and sitting down in the kitchen, began turning in her lap

bits of yarn, calico and velvet scraps,

laying them out absently on the scrubbed boards

in the lamplight, with small rainbow-colored shells

sent in cotton-wool from somewhere far away,

and skeins of milkweed from the nearest meadow —

original domestic silk, the finest findings —

and the darkblue petal of the petunia,

amid the dry darkbrown lace of seaweed;

not forgotten either, the shed silver

whisker of the cat, 

the spiral of paper-wasp-nest curling

beside the finch’s yellow feather.

Such a composition has nothing to do with eternity,

the striving for greatness, brilliance —

only with the musing of a mind

one with her body, experienced fingers quietly pushing

dark against bright, silk against roughness,

pulling the tenets of a life together

with no mere will to mastery,

only care for the many-lived, unending

forms in which she finds herself,

becoming now the shard of broken glass

slicing light in a corner, dangerous

to flesh, now the plentiful, soft leaf

that wrapped round the throbbing finger, soothes the wound;

and now the stone foundation, rockshelf further

forming underneath everything that grows.

—Adrienne Rich  “Transcendental Etude,” in The Dream of a Common Language, 1978

I love the poem and it helped me to see that, though this juxtaposition is uncommon, the way I  blog  is just right for me. It is how I understand my work and my life. My office is at home, in the middle of my domestic life. I have a basket of yarn in my office -- because I think it is beautiful. I also have there a couple of throws that I knit. I used to fantasize having a house that had a big kitchen with a fireplace and I would see my patients there, in front of the fire, sitting at the table and drinking tea. Because for me the kitchen is the place of transformation. So the homey part of my blog — with its photos, posts about knitting, my cats, and everyday life --is where I locate my work, even the serious part of my work. It’s of the feminine, it’s me and it belongs. There are things in my professional life that I want to explore more deeply, yes, but those things have grown out of ordinary life -- aging, figuring out what it is to be a woman, working at my story, divorce, all of it. 

When I was in my 20's, in the heydays of second wave feminism, I always felt I had to hide my interest in things domestic. To acknowledge having a domestic life -- cooking, knitting and the like -- was all but a betrayal of what we women were striving for: to be taken seriously as thinkers and doers and not be only relegated to hearth and home. I don't think my friends in graduate school then even knew I loved to cook or that I knitted and crocheted and sewed. And when I got married, it was a point of honor that I do half of the work around the house and not a bit more. 

But that was then. And in the course of growing older and growing up more, I seem to have lost that need to split my life as I did. Maybe this is the gift of third wave feminism to women like me -- that we can bring the parts of our lives together. And in mending the splits in our lives, perhaps we can move toward mending  splits in our husband's and son's lives as well.

So this blog will continue as it has been, looking and sounding like me. And of course subject to changes now and then.

As Jung said,

Individuation means becoming an "in-dividual," and, in so far as "individuality" embraces our innermost, last and most incomparable uniqueness, it also implies becoming one's own self. We could therefore translate individuation as "coming to selfhood" or "self-realization." 


© Cheryl Fuller, 2018. All  rights reserved.