It was last semester that my friend Alana and I had decided we were going to visit the house of our favorite poet, and like most ideas, it at first felt like one that would never materialize.
It began as an advertisement-induced, matcha-latte-fueled conversation. A conversation that had us planning out a route to Amherst and researching rental cars. A conversation that had us planning outfits and looking at dates. The March murmurs eventually translated into October plans, and the beautiful weather only increased our excitement.
The two-hour drive to Amherst was beautiful. My friend did the entire drive herself, and I appreciate that she loves it because I am far too scared to get up on the highways. A walk down an alley enticing us with a “$5 dollar vintage sale” sign and a horrendous slice of pizza later, we were at the front porch of Emily Dickinson’s house, albeit an hour late, but there nonetheless.
Her house was serene, quiet and a sentimental reflection of her words and poetry. The flowery wallpaper complemented the 19th century decor and the smell of aging wood filled the rooms. Each tour guide seated in each room knew a plethora of facts and stories about Emily, ones that had me feeling especially emotional.
One of the guides informed us of Emily’s affairs of the heart, summarizing the chronicling of the letters between Emily and those of romantic interest. The phrases and expressions Emily used were so moving and wondrous that it made me think about the big feelings that we so often push aside.
Emily was unashamed of her emotions. She conveyed her lamentations with power and confidence that evoked what I feel is the epitome of what it means to be human. The translation of intense emotion for another human being, transferred into words, into writing and into tangibility conveys a strength borne from vulnerability.
Connection between humans is the most important thing we have, and Emily Dickinson reminded me of just how true that was. The complete lack of trepidation and full dedication to those of her affections inspired me.
It inspired within me a synonymy between power and vulnerability. Emily was not afraid to love totally — to give her mind to another in pristine love and affection.
The letters she received also conveyed the same sentiment she had given. It was then that it became clear that love and unity manifests between complete unfiltered honesty. This unity does not necessarily have to be romantic in nature, it just needs to be real. Expressing appreciation for your friends or parents or siblings should be done without apprehension or embarrassment. Express your love and gratitude earnestly — watering the flowers of your relationships.
Emily’s ability to indulge her emotions are of course, rich in imagery, metaphor and color. I think at times it may feel intimidating to try to articulate the extent of your feelings. What conveys too little? What precisely conveys what I feel? Does this sound pretty enough?
The truth is, there is no criteria for communicating. Your expressions do not need to be filled with colorful word choice and metaphors — the only requirement is to be confident in your honesty.
So, as I try to emulate Emily and having read her words and vulnerabilities, I now follow suit. So, to my friend Alana, if you are reading this, I am grateful to know you!
