At the base of the stack are Poets and Writers magazine dating back to 2007-- the year I got married during spring break, graduated with a Bachelor's degree in English, and moved to Georgia shortly after collecting my diploma. One class shy of having a minor in creative writing, I'd found a solid group of writers to share my work with and to gain inspiration from. I started working in a book store right after high school and remained there all throughout college. Working and going to school in Boston, I was surrounded by a strong writing community and encouraged to produce poetry, short stories, and nonfiction pieces. When I first moved to Georgia I was determined to keep my writing spirit alive, however, after taking a writing workshop at a local library and listening to two southern state laureates talk about how "Yankee" poetry was academic gibberish, I lost hope in recreating the community I'd had back home.
Unable to find a job that had anything to do with the three degrees I had just earned, I decided I would start submitting my writing to literary journals and contests. I bought a subscription to Poets and Writers magazines and began sending out my writing. I soon learned that it took months to hear back about a single poem or story and more often than not the response was a rejection letter. Sitting at my kitchen table one day, I looked outside and saw a school bus dropping students off at the end of our housing unit. The next day I hand delivered my application to the college of education at a local state university. A week later the head of the education department asked me if I could see myself teaching. "Yes," I answered, although inside I knew it was a lie-- I had applied out of desperation and was filled with uncertainty. Taking classes full time to graduate in a year and half (when my husband was scheduled to leave the army) I abandoned my publishing fervor. However, I continued to subscribe to Poets and Writers. Six years later, the magazines are still arriving in my mailbox and I can't remember the last time I read an issue cover to cover or, to be more honest, glanced at more than the writer obituaries. Not only am I going to find a new home for the six years of back issues, I will not be renewing my subscription which, oddly enough, expires this month.
Mixed in the stack stand Yoga Journal magazines sent to me for free first from a retreat center I have attended several times, and then for purchasing yoga teacher insurance. Although I have read them all, I doubt that I will go back and re-read them. Unless I plan on wallpapering my apartment with inspirational yoga poses, I can't imagine what reason I would need to hold onto these.
Near the top: Hers Muscle and Fitness magazines from the past year. Drawn in by the airbrushed pictures of women who boast perfect six packs, toned legs and arms, a year ago this magazine offered excellent, easy to follow, at home, little equipment necessary, workout instructions. Over the past year I have watched the muscle and fitness articles fade to the point where this magazine should consider changing its name to Supplements and Ads. Despite the fact that I can read the entire magazine in under an hour and the fact that the supplement information is completely irrelevant to me, I continue to buy it out of habit and because a year ago it was a useful magazine. Here's where clutter starts to reflect my tendencies in life. I find myself staying with many things out of habit. It is easy to continue to buy a magazine, work the same job, live in the same apartment or city because its what you are accustomed to doing. Making change is challenging-- whether its as simple as passing by the latest edition of Muscle and Fitness or as difficult as leaving an unhealthy relationship. We cannot allow ourselves to accept our current conditions or actions simply because they have become comfortable through habituation.
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