TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile
One of the ideas I had growing up was that, after the present had passed, along with its restrictions and limitations, I’d become something—more solid, more stable, more certain. For I felt such a desire for things I couldn’t name yet. Having no way out to the things I desired, the shape of my self felt vague, weird, inchoate. I was ostensibly human, but also part myth: the unreal image of girl, all assumption and expectation.
I suppose I am still haunted by desire. (Who isn’t?) Only I have more outlets: online classes, zoom lectures, city trips, painting materials, interesting books. Write, in search of the thing I want, which could hold my shape long enough so that I could finally be satisfied with the present.
When I think of wholeness, I think of Nan Shepherd, the writer and mountaineer, alone and never married, mated to her mountain and the people who live there, and despite the mountain’s indifference to her, here she was fixed in time and space, satisfied and complete, wholly herself.