Always and Quietly

by K. P. Aldrich

A little about me…

I have been looking for ages for that “magic thing” that I am kind of good at, can stand to do, and will possibly help pay the bills.

I’ve been quietly writing poetry my entire life, barely showing it to anyone. For most of that time, I never really thought of my poetry writing as a career or something to “develop.”

The earliest poem I can remember writing was when I was six years old. It was called, “This Old Picture,” and was about an antique picture in an attic. I’m certain I had not yet read or heard about “The Picture of Dorian Gray,” so I have no idea what inspired this little poem. I question if I had ever been in an attic.

I can’t remember exactly how it went, but I know the poem wondered about the people in the picture; who they were, if they were still alive, what kind of life they might have lived. I’m a little embarrassed to claim I wrote something like this at six, but I know I did.

For balance, I also wrote quite a bit of terrible—and far less lofty—angst-ridden poetry in my teens.

I remember romanticizing the idea of being a creative writer, and making a few attempts at writing mystery stories. But even though I had written throughout my childhood, and was in love with reading books and poetry, I never let myself believe that I could ever be a writer or a poet.

Instead, I tried out a lot of other careers, such as:

• marketing coordinator
• front-end website developer
• ESL teacher
• graphic designer
• actress
• comedy and improvisation
• stunt double (This was short-lived.)
• copy editor/proofreader

There are many more that could be added to this list, but these are just off the top of my head. I have been looking for ages for that “magic thing” that I am kind of good at, can stand to do, and will possibly help pay the bills.

But, I never tried to pursue a career as a poet.

Now, you would not be wrong to raise an eyebrow at this. Writing poetry is not known for being profitable, at least not where I grew up. But “actress” is also on that list, and I did try to build a career doing that, despite acting not being widely profitable either.

So why did I try to build a career in acting, and all of these other things, but not poetry; even though I have been writing poems my whole life?

This is the question I’m asking myself today. Because, in publishing my poetry—even simply self-publishing on an online platform—I feel happy. I don’t know. It’s nice. I feel at peace with myself for maybe the first time in my adult life.

It isn’t that I started seriously pursuing writing here; I’ve been working on my poetry with the intention to publish collections for a little over a year. But starting this blog is like ‘a final pin sliding into place’ in this process of embracing my writing.

Trying

…there is an important difference between ‘“trying in order to grow” and “trying in order to be worthy.”

All of those careers that I listed above have been my best attempts at trying to make who I am fit into a career that would give me external validation, purpose, and acceptance.

My life has been marked by “trying.” I have ADHD, but I wasn’t diagnosed until only a couple of years ago. Being undiagnosed as a girl, and now woman, left me with the feeling that I was always coming up short. Whatever the expectations happened to be, I could never quite meet them. I—as many undiagnosed women do—internalized this as layers of personal failing on my part.

I spent years reading productivity books, taking personality tests, coming up with new routines, people-pleasing, minimizing the “problematic” parts of myself, and apologizing over and over again for my perceived flaws.

But after devoting so much of my energy and identity to this never-ending state of trying, I only became more depressed, anxious, and self-critical. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t have something valuable to offer—it was that I didn’t consider the things that come naturally to me as having value.

This is a necessary distinction. I have nothing against trying. It is good to try, and people do need to learn skills that will enable them to make money and survive. But there is an important difference between ‘“trying in order to grow” and “trying in order to be worthy.”

I was trying to be worthy.

Through my experiences, I had learned that my natural traits conflicted with the world around me. I was always talking when I should be quiet. I was late when I should be early. Messy, and chaotic, when I should be disciplined. I was still living in a world of imagination and curiosity, when I should have put “childish” things aside.

Being

I think now that I simply am a poet.

In retrospect, I can forgive myself for not giving much attention to my poetry. To me, real poets did have value. Langston Hughes. Emily Dickinson. Maya Angelou. T. S. Eliot. Edgar Allan Poe. Their words were important and had the ability to change lives, as well as nations.

Also, I wrote increasingly in the “between spaces”—sitting in my car, waiting in lobbies, late at night before falling asleep. Poems would arrive in a frenzy, clamoring to be committed to paper; but then the thought of them would quietly slip away as I turned my attention to dealing with the real world.

Poetry saw me through the hardest parts of my life, but it was often what spilled over when things became overwhelming. Writing poems was how the little girl that was me tamed the fires of curiosity that ADHD helped to set aflame. Lines and stanzas are what carried me, as a young woman, through some of my darkest bouts of depression when no amount of “trying” could have saved me.

By not valuing this core part of who I am, I abandoned myself in a way that no amount of external validation was ever going to replace.

When I thought I wanted to be an actress, I was surrounded by people working day jobs to support their dream. I often wondered at how they managed to still have the energy for classes and auditions, because gig work and part-time jobs left me drained. I hated dragging myself to a shift as a “brand ambassador” with the same intensity that I procrastinated filming day player auditions. It is pretty clear to me now that those actors around me were doing all of that because they had not abandoned themselves. They loved their work, it was a part of them, and all of their “trying” was in the service of being able to do more of what they love.

Similarly, my embrace of poetry and creative writing as a career won’t help me afford groceries or childcare, at the very least not in the short-term. I still need a day job, and that right now is copy editing and proofreading. But this doesn’t make me miserable, instead, I look forward to it. My efforts—day job and writing alike—are aligned with who I am, and the validation I gain from it is intrinsic.

I think now that I simply am a poet. No trying, and not in any sort of prodigious way. It’s not something left to be achieved, and I don’t have to prove it. Even if I am never featured in a prominent review or publish a poetry collection, I’ll still keep on writing.

This solely is, and always was, because I need to—and because, I love to.

Kerri