Let's say it's July 17th, which is National Tattoo Day. It is not, by any calendar, really July 17th. But the power of the written word is that it can engage the imagination in a little stroll down What If Lane.
If I had a tattoo, or multiple tattoos, as my daughters do (does anyone ever stick to just a single tattoo?), and if it were July 17th, I could conceivably have conversations with people about the subject as though it were something remarkable.
And yet, on July 18th, I would still have tattoos. And it would be National Sour Candy Day. Ignoring for a moment the significant overlap that exists in a tattoos/sour candy Venn diagram entitled "What My Daughters Like," the reality is that the hubbub over tattoos would wane.
My point? It is National Poetry Month. But in March, I was a poet interested in poetry, and willing to travel to Portland to hang out with 14,999 other writers at AWP for five days to back the statement. In May, I will still be a poet.
April serves to prod me to blog and make statements about poetry. But the various self-help books and audiobooks I've been reading also prompt me to put my actions where my aspirations are. Instead of putting things off or whining about life not meeting my - often subconscious - expectations, I am acting. A little or a lot, depending on the day. But, as self-helpy as this sounds, it's true: only by stopping the behavior that that is keeping me from achieving goals, and by taking the steps that will get me ever closer to what I want, will I find myself with, if not the actual goals themselves, then at least with the self-respect that comes from working toward them honestly and doggedly. End of self-helpy spiel.
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