I have spent the last year marinating in the juicy intensity of topics I love: family history, earth, food and craft beer. Add to that train whistles, the smell of orange blossoms, and sepia pictures that coyly tell only part of the story. In this womb of fecund creativity, it has been my job to go into the community and strengthen the ties that bind us and plan festivals, celebrations and educational programs.
And they comment in wonderment, “You have so much passion for your job.”
It’s not a job. I don’t know what to call it.. my path..my destiny.. the manifestation of a rocket of my desires.. it’s so big how I feel for this building – this little part of the world.
As we get closer and closer to opening this building to the public, it’s becoming quite apparent that I have to release my hold on her. I have to share. I have to accept that others feel some ownership and connection, too. A huge team has brought the Anaheim Valencia Orange Association packinghouse back to life. My only claim is my own story, my unique sense of belonging.
In this stillness before the birth, I feel an increasing pressure to begin writing the story of place through three generations of women in my family. It’s practically crowning and honestly I’m scared. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what will happen when I surrender to the muse. I’m afraid it will be narcissistic and ridiculous.
And yet, with blessed serendipity, I am being asked to engage in the only missing part of this dream job: more writing. Last to come will be more travel, but by then I will no longer be as attached to these roots and perhaps by then, I won’t be as close to the Arkenstone. The time has come for trust.
I can feel this train is moving and I really don’t want to miss it. This is my chance and I need to just jump.
“Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” Will Rogers