The Value of Poetry

Some scrambled thoughts before an appointment:

Our culture has always impressed upon me the value of hard work. As a self-proclaimed "poet," I hold no illusions about the imposed financial value of my work. I will never pay my bills writing poetry, and I am okay with that. I remind myself that many writers had trying day jobs: Maya Angelou was a cable car conductor. John Clare was a thresher. Junot Díaz worked in a steel mill.

As a young professional, though, I'm struggling more and more to find the balance between my types of work. My full-time job pays my bills. My unpaid volunteer work at New Letters on the Air helps me endure the full-time job, and may one day help me step into a paying job that I love. I'm beyond happy to be there, even if it means working longer hours. But after all those hours, I'm exhausted. I don't want to write. I don't even want to be around my friends. I just want to stay in and watch Curb Your Enthusiasm until it's time to go to bed and start the whole process over.

This is the hard work that everyone keeps talking about.

In today's America, where we value labor solely based on its economic worth, how are artists supposed to do their damn jobs? (And what of the artists who aren't nearly as privileged as I am?) When did we cease to champion creative endeavors? The answer, of course, is that we never much valued artists' contributions, at least not in the same way we value bankers' and lawyers'. And that's a problem. Art is the lens through which we see ourselves, as a collective and as individuals. It helps us find versions of the truth, most importantly those truths that are not quite comfortable or easy. That perspective is priceless.

Last Friday at New Letters, we were pulling together a show with writer Judith Ortiz Cofer, and she described her routine of waking up at 5 a.m. every morning to write, simply because it was the only time she could find. She sacrificed sleep and relationships to be able to find those hours, which is strangely comforting. Her priorities are evidence—to me, anyway—that it's impossible to have everything, and that that is okay. (I'm looking at you, Sheryl Sandberg.)

I'm trying hard myself to be comfortable with those sacrifices. Eventually, I'll get there.

You can hear this week's show here if you're interested.

As always, thank you for reading.