Every Wednesday night, a family comes into my restaurant, and they are really hungry. They fast all day, for reasons I have yet to ask, and then treat themselves to a dinner together at the end of the long day. (And they have thankfully been patient with us, as it seems there is always a new server or we’re out of something each time they come in, but luckily I’m there and know exactly what they need and want.) The look on their faces when they take the first bite of pizzas is simply divine. It’s pure pleasure.
In many ways, I’ve been fasting. I have photos to share with you from a trip to the museum several weeks ago (lovin’ free days), and that is the last time I’ve touched my camera. Before that day, I hadn’t touched it since our anniversary trip to Estes Park. Big yawning gaps of time. Which is unusual for someone who loves photography as I do.
I could blame it on lack of time, and that would partly be true, but it would also be partly a lie. I’ve purposely not touched my camera. Just as I’ve purposely not really written anything more than is required of me for school. I barely blog. (You noticed?) Time, sure, but also…I have been in need of a fast. To let myself see without capturing, to think without putting pen to paper.
I’ve found myself in a new, weird place. Similar to the past, much different than ever before. An odd satisfaction, sprinkled with a little bit of unsettledness. Perhaps I don’t know how to move on from where I was to where I’m going. I think sometimes if I just continue in the same way, it all stays the same, no matter the forward steps I take.
The moments of tears that come up are hard to accept. They creep in, boo!, there. I don’t understand much of what I feel. Part of me tries to flee, part of me holds on. I sometimes think about running away, or just walking out of my job. I wonder if the career I decided on (again) is the right one. Is it good enough? And to whom am I asking?
So I’ve set down my camera so that I am not Angela the Photographer, and I’ve not put down words, so I am not Angela the Writer. And though I go to school, I wonder if I’m Angela the Student, and I manage a restaurant (though I’m not THE manager, I’ll be quick to tell you if you start yelling at me for things out of my control and only within THE manager’s control), so am I Angela the Manager?
The desire to create, to be artistic in some way, whether with words or photos, is constant within me. I brush it aside, and yet…it’s there. I tell her, that inner artist, that it’s time to let go, and she nags me instead. I don’t understand how to balance the part of me from the past that needs to stay, with the part of me of the present that needs to be in charge, the big boss…practical, even.
I see beautiful portraits, and I long to be able to do the same, and I read beautiful books, and I ache for my own. And yet, I don’t believe that’s who I am anymore. How do you let go of what once was to embrace what will be?
These are not thoughts or questions that can be answered by anyone but me. I know this. I don’t seek answers from others, as they would not apply to me. What I desire can only be found within my own muddled and confused mind and heart right now, and so I fast, taking only nibbles to get me by.
