Although I’m a detailed person when it comes to my schedule, my teaching, and, most importantly, my writing, I have never liked the act of organizing. Making phone calls, memorizing dates, and attending to trivialities puts my mind in a state of foggy uproar.
Unfortunately, if you are familiar with the Canadian health care system (I live in Ontario, and this is the system I am talking about—it could differ from province to province), you will know how agonizingly slow and complicated getting appointments can be. There is the receptionist for the family doc, the receptionist for the surgeon; there are referrals and booking times and addresses and phone numbers. Oh, so many phone numbers. Don’t talk to me anymore about phone numbers…
In this psychological chaos, in this shrinking time line, space within my crowded mind is essential. Today I created this space with poetry: reading poetry and, subsequently (because it is always subsequent for me), writing poetry.
These are the days—the moments—that I remember why writing is so important and necessary. I remember why writing has to be so forcibly protected and maintained! Because things like illness, doctor appointments, and surgeries will happen. It is practically guaranteed. What gets us as humans through these times of craziness and worry is spaces of quietness, of connection, and, always, always for me, of art.