It’s 2015. August, almost September… which is typically one of my favorite times of the year. All the students coming back to school. The city abuzz with life and a little less warmth from the summer. I can drive down Lake Shore Drive with my windows rolled down and not blasting the AC. The sun sets and it’s soft glow is seen shining off the steel buildings, and something inside of me says that it’s a beautiful time to be alive.
This fall I’m engaged. I’m madly in love with Andy Albers and I can’t wait to be married. There’s a lot of planning that we’re doing, and it’s pretty stressful. Not for us, in our relationship, but for me. The amount of organization and the lack of knowledge I have regarding wedding planning, makes this task seem overwhelming most days. But it’s happening and at the end of the day, we’ll be married: which is exactly what I want. What we want, and what we are so excited about.
I used to write a lot. I haven’t touched a computer or my notebook since May at least, though. Some of that might be the fact that Andy and I live together and so many of my memories are attached to our relationship, that I don’t feel the need to catalogue them so that we make sure to remember every detail. There are now two people here who can remember these precious moments. Some of the not writing, may be the exhaustion that comes with working 40-50 hours a week, with preschool aged children, and coming home to wedding planning and two dogs. I can’t say which has taken me away from this art form on which I so dearly rely. But I want to write again.
I have this thing that I keep saying, which is that my life feels so segmented. Part of that may be the way I grew up, all over the place and in different houses and apartments with different friends and activities. Part of that may be the traveler in me that cannot help but look at things in pieces. Part of it may be the trauma. The thing is, I didn’t expect to feel like engagement and marriage were going to be this new segment. I thought my time with Andy, since it was interspersed through other segments of my life, would feel like one continuous piece. And it doesn’t. This too, is a whole new segment.
Currently, I hold all of these pieces of my life as Rachel Kohar Rogers, and I don’t know how to put them all down and lay them out without dropping and breaking them all. It is a bizarre and uncomfortable balancing act that I’ve been trying to perform my entire life, and somedays it is so precarious that I feel this need to write everything down and catalogue every part of my life. So I know who I am. Who I was. I want to write a memoir, an autobiography, an ode to the restless part of my soul that longs to wander. Often I think this writing journey I approach should be done as a play, or a creative piece, in order to honor the creative pieces of my own life. It would be an effort to show my ability as a playwright, as a writer. But then I realize that I often speak in first person, and there’s no way I would write a play without the intention of it being performed, and I realize I can’t write an autobiographical play.. it would have to be a piece of non-fiction, maybe creative non-fiction. And I would have to commit to telling the truth as much as I am now going to commit my life to another’s. I would have to honor it all. And my desire and ability weakens as I consider that aspect. I don’t know how to look at my past unbiased. I don’t know how to write myself now. Because I don’t know how I would do it. Would I just start by age, and write chronologically? Would I begin with a topic, and write all my experiences in that bracket? And could I write an autobiographical piece without copying so many of my peers in their styles and intentions? These are the questions that leave me feeling it’s better off to use my time planning a wedding, watching Netflix, and napping, rather than writing.
Maybe this will be the time that I just try. I just give it a go, and see what comes out.