Dreams evolved

What do you write about when no words will come? And how do you care for yourself when no thoughts come either and you maybe judge yourself a little for it? And what if all the thoughts that come to you, you really shouldn't or aren't prepared to share? This is my conundrum. Well, I'll just ramble for a bit.

I've been spending my days learning about the MLIS program at San Jose State. The website is extensive, with dozens of blogs and resources on topics from career development, internships, and student research to info for new students on registration, study tips, and how to succeed at doing all of this learning and collaborating with other students all online. My excitement level is rising as I learn about many different opportunities for library and information professionals, often in positions without "library" or "librarian" in the title. So, while it would be fun to be a Librarian, there's a good chance I'll end up being a "librarian" by another name. Which would still be just as sweet. I still have my dark-rimmed glasses and brightly colored cardigans.

Tucked in the back of my brain while I explore all of this is a conversation I had with my former therapist regarding the two directions my ambitions were drawn toward-becoming a therapist, or becoming a librarian. She had me sit there first with one idea, then with the other, making sure to observe what feelings arose. At the time, the passions were stirred more while I held the idea of being a therapist, how challenging yet fulfilling that felt as I attempted to experience it as realistically as possible. Yet, here I am entering school for librarianship. Because I am so ready to. And while the memory of my therapist's voice is there asking me what changed, ultimately it is myself I've had to have the conversation with. So what changed? I asked myself. I paused. I sat a lot and thought. I sat a lot and DIDN'T think. I sat with the different dreams I still have. I still dream of providing therapy or counseling. I still dream of being a librarian. In fact, I dream of both these things so much, there MUST be a way to combine them. My big conglomerate of a dream is to be in a position to distribute mental health resources and information. It'd also be nice if I could do this with other people of the same mindset, people driven by loving kindness and compassion. I still dream, oh yes, I do. My dream hasn't changed so much as my dreamS have evolved together into something even more tangible, even more realistic as I sit with the idea.

The best part is I don't have to figure it out all at once and I'm on a path that's going to teach me a lot and give me a better idea about how I can apply what I'm learning. I'm still interested in eventually getting a second masters degree in counseling. I'm still interested in checking out public school or academic libraries, as well. And the other best part is I don't have to wait for the *perfect* job to practice lovingkindness and compassion toward all beings. I don't have to go to school to learn how to be kind and patient with people, or how to offer encouragement and joy and really listen to people, or how to open up and really acknowledge another's suffering. I can start right now, where I am.

How to write (well)

If I knew this, I'd have many more blog posts with lots of ideas all nestled neatly into place. But somewhere, I stopped being good at organizing my thoughts and presenting an articulate argument like I could in school. I realized this just recently when I asked my sister-in-law, who teaches English lit and writing classes at University of Washington-Tacoma, to give me an essay prompt because I was bored. I can't even quite remember the prompt fully, I'm so out of practice. Something about American literature, Robert B. Ray, and "rejection of final choice". (I'm sure she's cringing if she's reading this right now.) I decided on the character I would write about and then only mused in my head about him, not even knowing where to start. I used to have the English essay down. I could write 7 pages up in a night if I had to (and I usually had to, the procrastinator I was/am). In the end, my papers weren't perfect, but I could sure argue a point with plenty of text to support it if I had to. This scares me at a time I'm preparing to go back to school. Can I still have an intelligent discussion? Do my reading comprehension skills still measure up? Am I really just out of practice? Have I been so busy ingesting information and knowledge that I've forgotten how to chew it up and process it?

Then I remember that I have been doing a much different kind of learning lately than I did in college. I'm learning more about the empathic, compassionate, emotional, altruistic side of me, not the analytical critic. The critic became too intertwined with my self-esteem to be taken seriously anymore. It was useful with developing my papers, but I had started silently writing argumentative papers against myself and it was no longer serving a purpose other than to squash my dreams and incite fear. So the critic's been given a nice leave of absence because it just seemed it had been working so gosh darn hard that it really *needed* a long vacation. I will invite it back soon. Because acknowledging its voice can teach me something new. And because I have been preparing to have it rejoin the team. I have been inciting my dreams and squashing my fear. I have been silencing those thoughts that tell me I'm doing everything wrong. I have been developing the encourager, the nurturer, the inner parent that says I'm alright just as I am. Not just alright, but pretty awesome. It's good to have this person around just as it is to have a voice that questions things sometimes.

So because of all this learning and growing and realizing I'm doing, I naturally want to share all the methods and ideas and personal truths that I come across and that make sense to me in this process, but I'm so caught up in engorging on it that all I can do is share the ideas as they are, without giving my interpretation, judgment, or opinion. Because I am still processing. I am a process. I am not done processing. And even when I am done processing, I think I'd rather just describe my process, rather than explain it. That would assume too much about what has been a very personal journey. In the end, I do want to be a resource and to share resources that other soul-searchers might find beneficial, but I don't want to preach it. And I'm really not 100% sure how to go about it. I'm increasingly confident as I read up and prepare myself for grad school, that I can surely take this passion and blend it with an MLIS degree. Which will involve organizing my thoughts and presenting articulate arguments, so let the practice begin with blogging!