“A MINOR TRIUMPH > getting our tent packed up this a.m. in the time btwn rain showers – mostly dry.” I found these words written in a journal and recalled the rainy June days on the Kougarok River, 70 miles north of Nome, when I wrote this. Storm clouds circulated around the horizon watering us on and off with a chilly rain, then a break, cool breezes, a shot of sun if we were lucky. Timing the campsite pack-up was straightforward: the rain ceased and a breeze dried out the tent. Those dark, wet clouds across the river? Be here in about 20 minutes. Pack up now.
Wasn’t my own pursuit of creative writing a series of minor triumphs? Carving out the time to write and the time to read books? Or crafting a beautiful sentence, wrestling control of an overzealous “I”, or meeting a manuscript deadline. Okay, meeting deadlines feels more like a major triumph, but in the scheme of things, it probably isn’t.
It’s not that the storm clouds of doubt and job-demands circulate on my life’s horizon, and I must somehow snatch those rare moments of good weather to get things done. (I know, cheesy metaphor.)
No, these minor triumphs, which hopefully will string together and into the major triumph of completing an MFA degree, are satisfying, nourishing moments of clarity, insight, inspiration, and happiness at my own good foresight and fortune.
I hope you’ll join me.
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