Author: Abbiervogel

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Loss and Love

I want to start out by saying I know I’ve been gone awhile. Life takes us down a rather winding road. But I think I’ll always wind up here. It’s much easier for me to spill my guts here rather than verbally for some reason.

It seems Fall evokes something from my soul that I cannot access on the daily basis. Maybe it’s the workload, maybe it’s the seasonal depression. Maybe it’s the season of transition that boldens me to write my revelations down. The hope that I also will transform into something new. I fear I’m not smart enough to confirm anything for certain. And maybes it’s a fool’s courage that enables me to post online. Regardless, I guess I’ll post.

This fall has been tumultuous for my family. We always land on our feet, and make the best of every situation. Sometimes it makes me eternally grateful and sometimes it makes me want to pull my hair out and scream. Other times I’m oddly proud to be apart of such a fucked up, yet resilient family. We may have to wade through months of hardship, grief, and pain; nonetheless we carry on.

There is a certain expectation coming from a family like this. I can’t speak for anyone else, but sometimes it is a crushing weight. And after writing it down and rereading, I suppose everyone’s family is like this in one way or another. There’s no time or place in this current world for the crumbling of oneself. No matter the circumstances. And I personally think that’s a shame. But I am lucky or blessed, I’m not sure. Because that’s another part of my family. The forgiveness. Not a soul among us has escaped the hell of a sorrowful, heart-wrenching thing. And that allows room in our hearts for grace. Something the world lacks.

One thing we don’t lack, and as far as I can see, the only bonus to our unfortunate luck, is our sense of community. We gather from near and far, and somehow manage to reforge bonds and strengthen relations. I sat today in a kitchen full of food, camaraderie, and an unwavering love. Some of us hadn’t seen each other for years, yet we picked up and continued like it was just yesterday.

When I got home I was moved to tears. Maybe love really is an immeasurable force, maybe I’m just emotionally unstable. Either way, I proceeded to get slightly drunk and tell people I love them. As is the way, in a minorly dysfunctional family. Doesn’t make the love less real. Possibly makes me more honest. Regardless, now is the time to cherish those in your life.

In honor of Ian Arthur, someone who showed me it’s never too late, and it’s never too much.

A.V

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Fall Feelings

Hello again, it’s been longer than I intended. Nevertheless, I made it back. It’s the time of year I like to celebrate the small victories. Although sometimes it feels like small accurately describes my victories year-round. But on the note of returns, I count this one as rather triumphant.

In my previous/first little post here, I mentioned that I’m not the most motivated writer out there. So the fact that I am here, writing a second post without any prompting, feels validating. Around this time of year is when I need pick-me-ups. Seasonal depression, year-round depression, anxiety, stress, etc…whatever it may be, I find myself feeling a little lost when summer winds down. I’m not sure if it’s because life just seems to slow a bit, or if it’s a hint of sadness of summer ending, but my mind goes moody. Not that this is the only time my mind turns, it seems to be more fickle than most, but I feel like my thoughts are more brooding during this season.

I suppose that’s why I’m putting a little more insistence into this small venture. I’m not a person who does well to keep my thoughts to myself, I tend over-analyze and in turn overreact. I’ve tried a journal, and while I like the results, I just struggle through the process of actually writing. And I hate my handwriting, which I know- probably means I should spend a little more time writing. Boo. I’ve been to many a therapist, and while it’s nice to have someone respond, this is far cheaper and less socially draining. Personally, I also the freeness of posting when I want to, instead of on a schedule.

Honestly, I like the style of blogging also. It makes me feel like I’m sort of an author of mundane life, who may or may not have an audience. And I really don’t mind if I do, or don’t. I doubt that anybody would actually suffer through my ramblings, but if they did, perhaps it could be a comfort in a way. I know that I like listening to, reading about other people. What they do, what they think, what they feel. Not during exciting moments, or even significant ones, but just living and doing their best. It makes living and doing my best for myself seem less overwhelming. So I suppose it’s a feeling of comfort through unity, through knowing that life is sort of parallel for most. And it feels like the most authentic form of writing for myself. I’m not very creative, and I don’t care much for recording facts and events, but I love to write my thoughts, opinions, and feelings. It makes them feel real, and important.

I had the most wonderful teacher, for six years of middle school and high school. He was the catalyst for my love of writing. I was an avid reader long before we met, but I’ve never been a dedicated writer. At the time, in my brain writing = assignments. Writing was something talented people did for whatever reason, and writing was what I did for a grade. He managed to slowly mold it into something more expressive, pensive, and consoling. And honestly, I’m not sure if he knew or not how much I needed writing, but he was supportive and insistent that I should write. I’m eternally grateful that I had such a patient and persistent person in my corner.

As I finish up this small speech of mine, I feel light and content. Which is the best fall feeling I could hope for.

A.V.

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Starting Small

I wanted to start this new endeavor off with a small foreword, for my first small step in reconnecting with what was once a significant refuge in my life.

First and foremost, I want to welcome myself back to writing. That was one hell of a hiatus for someone who truly does love the world of the written word. Although, probably not surprising to anyone who has dealt with me academically. I don’t think anyone in their right mind would call me self-motivated. School assignments and scholarship essays are the extent of my authorial work. And in all fairness, rarely did those get done in a timely manner. I was not a person who could just sit down and write unprompted. Distracted, unorganized, and maybe even a little lazy would best describe my writing methods. This is not to say I didn’t, or don’t love writing. When given a topic I could throw myself into, or an opportunity to use a writing prompt to reflect on my own life, writing would be all-consuming. Stories and creative, artful writing don’t come naturally to me. I’m more of a reactive writer, if that makes any sense. Occasionally I see, hear, or experience something and it sets off a barrage of thoughts and feelings that I want to sit down and put on paper. On far more rare occasions do they ever get written down. Cue, this page.

I have no idea if anybody will ever read anything I write here (it’s almost more comforting to think that they won’t), but I’m looking forward to having a small solace in words again.

A.V.