Reclamation
Our timing was perfect. My grandson and I arrived as a massive beam structure - called a girt - dangled from the long arm of a backhoe. A black rope, held taut by my daughter, guided the girt to its resting place on its new foundation.
Four weeks ago, these very same beams rose from unstable footings after a century of sturdy 'barndom'. The trees that the beams were milled from were possibly hundreds of years old, harvested from old-growth forest. Their value and integrity has weathered storms and time alike, and now they are securely fastened into a newly poured, expertly designed foundation. I find this astounding...
This past week, I gave two interviews where I shared my own version of reclamation: At age 34, I stumbled into a dense thicket where I couldn't see the forest for the trees. I labored there for eighteen years before realizing I'd been hoodwinked - and I left to reclaim my life.
My friend and business mentor Kathleen told me that when she shared the title of Saturday’s symposium - Reclaiming Autonomy Through the Written Word - with consent-based internet sensation Tarzan Kay, she responded by saying "Oh cool. That's what I did." She too wrote to re-find herself. 🌟
Having gone down etymological rabbit holes while writing this short piece, I am compelled to mention that the noun 'reclamation' and verb 'reclaim' are not only spelled differently, but they also have slightly different origins. 💫 Early 14c verb, reclaimen, means to "call back a hawk to the glove" while the noun originally meant "a cry of "NO"
Before they were cut down, 🌲 did old growth pine trees cry out in protest? What part of me inwardly shouted "NO!" to my ex-teacher’s unethical influence? How has my writer's hand called back my hawk self? How about yours? 🦅 What IS your next step in the reclamation of your autonomy?
