Curiosity Explored

I browse the internet for classes all the time. Classes that I believe will lead me to who I am supposed to be or answer what I want to be when I grow up. I’m always looking for someone else to tell me the answer. It’s funny what you tell yourself when you avoid what you already know.

A university not far from me has a significant catalog of continuing education options. I browse it all the time but can never seem to commit. There was a creative writing certificate that was always calling out to me in a low hum. I could hear it but so readily dismissed it as being frivolous. I instead pursued a technical writing certificate. That should translate to a job, right? Especially in an area full of tech companies. The timing was poor. I was in denial of needing a hysterectomy. A permanent end to childbearing was too much to process. Instead, I decided slow bleeding to death was better. I tried all the band-aid fixes but I kept bleeding. I had more than one doctor say to me, “Just get the hysterectomy. Then you’ll be done with all this.” As if it were like buying a more reliable car. Closing that chapter was painful. None of my medical providers wanted to engage with me about that. I was a clinical problem that had a clinical solution.

I kept trying to make progress with my technical writing certificate. I got about 3 courses done when my body just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to develop in and I was struggling to focus. Everything felt like a mystery that I could not solve. When you lose so much blood and become severely anemic—to the point of having zero iron stores in your body—you can’t think clearly. Anxiety is a common side effect of severe anemia. I quit the program. I cried. I felt defeated. Within a few weeks of quitting, I got laid off and decided to have a hysterectomy. I was empty.

I could not get a refund on my technical writing course but they did give me a credit for the cost of the remaining courses. I decided I was going to take classes that interested me, that I was curious about. I took a couple of “finding your creative voice” classes. One was a writing class, one was an art class. These two courses, taught by the same wild creative spirit, forever changed me. She planted seeds that are finally starting to bloom. It was the first time in a long time I allowed myself to explore something for fun. I took a drawing class next. It was one of the most challenging courses I’ve ever taken. Nothing I created turned out how it was supposed to.

Those courses woke up a curiosity that had been dormant for a long time. I had forgotten what it was like to play. I still didn’t understand how to incorporate it into my daily life. We moved shortly after I finished the drawing class and I got sick. While I have blank canvases and paints waiting to be used, I rarely allow myself the time to use them. I’ve also been so sick for so long that I haven’t had the space for creativity. I’ve been surviving.

Along comes the pandemic. Just as I was fighting my way back into the world, it shuts down. I’ve been living in a world where my distractions were removed for a few years. I had to focus on my body to get better so I didn’t have time for much else. I had to yield to my disease and the process of treatment. The pandemic added a different layer. No one had distractions. We all were thrown into a stripped-down version of our lives. We faced the question, what is necessary to live? I thought I had already answered that when I went through a bone marrow transplant. But this pandemic experience has been different. It is not just me going through it, it is the entire world. The world has to shift to keep going. I already know how to do that. I’ve done so much shifting in the past four years, I’ve created a new gear.

In August 2020, I browsed the university catalog of continuing education courses. I decided I should take one. I landed on Editing. Thinking (again), I should be able to translate that course into a job, right? I am a strong writer, and the editing course was my favorite course in the technical writing certificate program.

Each time I sat at my computer to enroll in the Editing certificate program, I hesitated. I kept opening up the website and clicking on the Creative Writing Certificate. This is the one my heart pulled toward. This is the one I’d dreamed about taking for years.

But it’s not practical. I tell myself. I need something to help me get a job. I’ve resisted talking about this with my husband. He is a pragmatist and I don’t want to be steered toward practical. I want to live in possibility. I finally talk to him about it. We sit on the navy velvet couch and I brush it with my hand nervously. I’m trying to decide which one to take. The Editing course is more practical but my heart wants to be creative. I wander through my thinking with him. I am bracing myself for him to say something pragmatic. Instead, he surprises me: Take the creative writing course. Ediing sounds boring.

Here I am, in the last quarter of the Creative Writing Certificate. It is the kindest thing I have ever done for myself. I have reconnected to a part of myself I’ve been trying to kill. With shoulds and obligations and decisions made from insecurity and fear. This time I chose curiosity above doubt and uncertainty. I do not know where it will lead me. The curiosity will have to hold me.