Slow Burn
Photo by Margaret Burke. Summer Solstice at Point Woronzof.
From late spring to early July, I had made it a point to go outside nearly daily. I couldn’t beat the unlimited amount of sunshine. I could smell the warmth of summer air mixed with honeysuckles and wildflowers in full bloom. I rolled down my windows on evenings when I would drive my car to the coastal trail along the inlet to go roller skating, taking it all in. For the first time in months, I slowly began to feel like myself again. I then got hit with Covid in early June. My prediction is that I contracted it from going to a Young the Giant concert that was playing in downtown Anchorage. Between hours of sleeping with achy muscles and 90s sitcoms running in the background, I started writing my first novel. I never considered writing a dream of mine, let alone writing fiction. Often my writing would be covered in red ink.
Writer’s block has plagued me as the skies over Anchorage have turned grey. It is funny how I write about writing when I have barely written in the last five weeks. Especially since I have never been able to hole up with my laptop and jot down my thoughts. One thing that keeps me motivated is realizing there is nothing else to do.
I am growing to love Alaska. It is a slow-burn kind of love. The way where weather impacts everyone’s mood, good and bad. Choosing comfort and function over fashion (although I still will buy the cute version of whatever outerwear I need). There is no pressure to go out and be seen. I find myself saying that while I didn’t choose Alaska, it was where I needed to be. I bouldering most days of the week, especially when I need to focus on where to put my footing instead of the never-ending train of thought. My muscles are nice and sore after pulling and pushing up a wall. I choose my words carefully, both with others and myself. If I mess up, I own it. I don’t stay as silent as I once did when I have felt hurt or frustrated by others. Sometimes I get so tired of the neverending work of trying to untangle years worth of trauma from childhood and ableism. I am worn from trying to mend my heart that still gets worn from being on my sleeve. Exhausted from navigating a Kafkaesque workplace that somehow hasn’t made me want to beat a fax machine with a baseball bat (yet).
When I need perspective, I drive back towards the coast. My favorite spot in all of Anchorage has to be Point Woronzof. It is a place where people can bike and run/walk the coastal trail that runs for miles along the inlet. People will also drive and park their cars on the beach or walk along the shoreline. While serene, a loud roar comes as airplanes take off from the airport towards the inlet. There is nothing to buy or promote. It is all of us out here just taking in all that is there.
