"Diving Into the Wreck"

I first read Adrienne Rich's poem, "Diving Into the Wreck," late one night a few years ago when I was reading poetry on the Internet, a favorite procrastination technique and bedtime winding-down activity. Poetry is an old friend, a quiet wonder, and a spiritual roadmap. It synthesizes and creates meaning, bridges the aesthetic and the scientific, and renews my faith in what is possible when the mind, the heart, and the pen come together.
 
Rich's gorgeous poetic voice has lit my way before, most recently five years ago at my partner's and my commitment celebration when our friend read an excerpt from "21 Love Poems." That poem at once celebrated our union and troubled the grand narrative of heterosexual romantic love that has done us all so much damage. For me, "21 Love Poems" became a symbol of hope for new possibilities in life and love.

When I came across "Diving Into the Wreck," I was seeking hope of a slightly different flavor. I was a new doctoral student, excited almost beyond reason about the prospect of spending most of my time reading, writing, and thinking, but I also felt desperately adrift. Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing. They had all already read the right things and met the right people. They had research ideas or at least faked them well. They seemed ready to make big decisions, write long papers, get things done. They were, in a word, anchored.

Or at least I thought so at the time.

Since then, I've discovered this little secret about academia: we're all making it up as we go along. We come to explore. We come to discover. We come to learn. Sometimes our hearts are broken, our progress is slowed, our hopes are dashed -- yet we keep going, pushing aside debris and detritus, slowly making our way toward something that, eventually, starts to feel like home.

In short, we've come to explore the wreck.

I am one diver.  This is my story.