Page 27 - 2019 EMERGING WRITERS FELLOWSHIP ANTHOLOGY1
P. 27

A LETTER FROM THE OYSTER

               To begin with I considered it a win to merely apply for a fellowship. I thought myself
               audacious for attempting to claim a space. Two years before Esalen, I had considered a

               different fellowship, one that required two recommendations. I approached a writer with
               whom  I  had  taken  a  workshop,  whose  work  I  respected,  who  had  previously  been

               encouraging—only to be turned down because he thought my writing “lacked depth.” It

               had taken me two years to recover from that disappointment and push myself into a place
               I wasn’t convinced I belonged—as a writer.


               But in the weeks prior to Esalen I fell into a depression so thick I could find neither myself

               nor my muse, so deep I feared I might never again surface. After five years of generating
               material for a memoir—about my experience as a raped boy seeking his manhood—I felt

               spent, out of juice, and out of time. As the shuttle wound its way from Monterey to Big
               Sur—to my first ever fellowship, at Esalen—I suffered from a mind turning in on itself,

               convincing me I was an impostor resting on the laurels of a version of myself that no
               longer existed. I labeled myself a fraud. That day on my way to Esalen, those around me

               bantered with ease as I stared out the window, in my head with the echoes of all of these

               things, determined to find my way through.


               This is who I was when I arrived.


               When the oyster is out of balance, they can be reluctant, withdrawn, and may
               clam up.

                                                             The first thing that struck me about the Esalen

                                                             campus was its postcard perfection:  cottony
                                                             clouds hovering just above rolling green hills,

                                                             a lush lawn at the precipice of the ocean. As a
                                                             lover of the natural world, the land whispered

                                                             to me, promised a peace that I needed. As I
                                                             walked  up  to  the  room  where  I  would  be

                                                             staying, a lizard greeted me at the threshold, a
                                                             serendipitous symbol of regeneration.


               I  opened  the  door  to  find  two  Fellows—Fred  and  Maysam—looking  back  at  me,  and

               something about their spirits set me ease. Maysam, who is all smiles and bubbly energy,
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