So I begin to wander off.

Seeking a place to be; I sit upon the concrete gazing out at –what?  

I think of Socrates, who writes ‘wisdom begins with wonder’

and so I begin to wonder as my pencil meets paper…  

This place is new to me and  I feel like a stranger.

I feel uncomfortable in this space of ‘not belonging’ and yet I acknowledge my privilege which allows/affords me to be here.

I wonder if  this is then,  a requirement of my privilege, to be calm and be able to put aside my uncertainty because my way is made easy?

I wonder about this particular educational institute that has opened its door to me.

Where, exactly do I want to go? 

Ahhhh…what is this familiar feeling rising up from my belly, feeding uncertainty, and anxiety; telling me I do not belong here.

 The clashing, turbulent water falling from the fountain –had invited me to sit –now it feels, sounds. looks harsh, hard, cold and overbearing.

Much like the cement where I am perched.

Not at all the soothing sounds and sensations I had imagined or anticipated to guide me into creativity; offering me peace and a place to land.  

 There is nothing for me here…

so I get up and move.

 My feet move effortlessly along a dirt path, into the Cedars, Hemlock, Wood Fern, Rhododendrons, False Solomon’s Seal, Blue Bells and Redwood Sorrel.

My pencil naturally finds its way to paper. 

References

Archibald, J.A. Q’um Q’um Xiiem [Sto:lo- and St’at’imc], & Parent, A. Nox Ayaaw’ilt [Nisga’a] (2019). Hands back, hands forward for Indigenous storywork as methodology. In S. Windchief., & T. San Pedro (Eds.). Applying Indigenous Research Methods (pp 3-20).

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