It’s been back to the grind after coming home from Washington D.C., which means work, work, unpacking, cleaning, and more work. Work that means writing, time in the broadcast studio, researching, and more WRITING.
The first day back and I was interning in the morning at the radio station, where Shelley did a follow-up interview with me about my time at the Washington Journalism and Media Conference. THEN I went to my high school (weirdly it was voluntary) because the city of Grand Rapids wanted me to be in a video shoot for piece being done on the city. THEN I went to my other internship where I spent the afternoon researching and writing.
What a warm welcome home to all of the things I love.
Not to mention that after a long day of work, my mom and I met a friend at one of my favorite restaurants for a delicious meal and conversation. I didn’t get to tour around the tasty spots in D.C., so after 10 days comprised mostly of cafeteria meals, trail mix, granola, and nuts, this treat topped it all off.
Going back to the grind was a breeze, but not so much the unpacking. Although I did unpack the stacks of literature I brought back from our nation’s Capitol. On the way home from D.C. I was so worried that my already massive suitcase would be over the weight limit because of all of the books I bought, so I stuffed all of my precious books, journals, writing utensils, AND laptop in my carry-on briefcase bag. Everything I needed…other than the welts left on my shoulder from carrying the heavy piece of luggage. I’m pretty sure it ended up weighing more than my suitcase, more like I’m-sure-because-I weighed-it.
The things one will do for great literature.
My mom had me take Friday off, which was fortunate because my aunt invited me to go blueberry picking. It was a perfect, warm afternoon, a blessing after the sweltering heat we’ve been getting blasted with, giving me time to relax and contemplate. About an hour went by and I had 8 pounds of luscious berries. I know it’s not about speed, but I think I could be a speed-berry-picker. Is there a world record for that? 8 pounds for $11. Remind me to write that future post on unethical prices in today’s society, although picking your own berries probably ties into the equation somewhere.
Now I’m in Northern Michigan, sitting in the sweet breeze atop a hill, overlooking the lake with my coffee and peanut-buttery toast. My stack of literature is staring at me out of the corner of my eye, but for now I’m just going to relax and take in the cool, refreshing air. Of course, while being welcomed back by the writing that I love.
P.S. This is my SECOND time writing this post, as my first one got DELETED. I won’t even go into the tantrum I threw….A time when writing can almost turn into your enemy because of the strong, deep passion that you have for it. Sometimes your greatest loves can through you for a loop, but holding on despite the loss, is what makes you never walk away, and always welcomes you back. I couldn’t get the words quite the “perfect” way they were written the first time, but hey, that’s what writing is all about: the current feeling the writer had at the time of writing…and mine obviously changed after losing my masterpiece. Perhaps that’s what I’ll strive for, is being able to grasp different emotions at different times, not making them artifical, but having the tools to portray an array of moods.
Although I’m still upset, and rather preffered to publish my first draft, I think the loss was an unexpected and good lesson, a lesson that has once again reminded me that if you really love something, no matter what happens, it’ll always be waiting with open arms and a warm welcome. (And I’m sure after a little time, I’ll be happy with the published version.)