Creativity

Hi readers,

I'm currently in the process of writing my first short story in 25 years.  The last attempt involved a lost toaster that made friends with a dog and was met with rave reviews by my 3rd grade teacher.  She gently corrected my spelling of "taostar" throughout the narrative and said it was "very creative".  

At the time, I figured she told all the students their stories were very creative.  Looking back, I realize:

1) She definitely did do that
2) It was probably true

A story about a lost toaster running around making friends is very creative.  Toasters don't get lost.  They don't even move.  They certainly don't know how to talk.

I ripped down a lot of annoying walls of reality in order to create that idea. My grammar, punctuation and general understanding of writing dialogue were poor at best, but the idea was very creative.

Creativity is a skill that is endlessly resilient.  We obscure it behind traditional ideas.  We ignore it in the face of deadlines at work.  We push it aside to follow a plan.  Writing fiction forces creativity out from the wings of the stage into the spotlight.  At first, it tap dances awkwardly, but eventually it finds the rhythm and shines.  The process of writing again has sparked an interest in being creative that has spilled into my work (I'm more confident about going slightly off task to keep things interesting), my style (I'm trying to wear more necklaces) and my morning routine (I wake up twenty minutes early to do whatever I feel like).  I find happiness and innovation in breaking  these small, self-created rules.  The originality of being me is inspiring. 

South America/2010

Friday Puppies

Hi readers,

Because it has been a long day, and it's only two o'clock in the afternoon, I am christening the lunch hour "puppy time".  Happy Friday!

Loneliness

Hi readers,

Loneliness terrifies me.  I used to cry during the commercials for Meals on Wheels--the one where a telephone is ringing on the TV and an old woman thinks its in her apartment and gets so excited.  The idea that I might want for company one day makes shaky tears come to my eyes almost immediately.

This topic is on my mind for the saddest of reasons--a story of a dear, old friend feeling so alone and depressed that they didn't know where to turn.  Loneliness lives in the roots of depression, tangled up with a mess of other complicated emotions that leave a person feeling lost and upside down.  If I'd spoken to my friend, I don't know if I would have had a direction to offer in order to escape the maze of shadowy, solitary existence.  I don't know the answer to loneliness.  I'm grateful every day for the wonderful relationships that keep the desperation of loneliness from leaking into the corners of my life.  I hope there is a similar kind of comfort waiting in the great beyond.

Balance of Life

Hi readers,

The balance of life??!!  You are dying to know!
Here it is:

The balance of life exists as a pendulum.  The falling and the climbing are endlessly exhilarating. Lately however, I've been hanging out in at the equilibrium position (see photo).




I'm excited about the prospects ahead of me: moving, learning more Spanish, buying adorable new black work boots.  I'm also comfortable with where I am: in a great apartment, moderately comfortable in 2 of the 17 past tense verb conjugations that exist in Spanish, no black work boots (BUT the proud new owner of fabulous black suede weekend boots).  I feel stable and accomplished.


I adore the bottom of the pendulum.



However, I don't expect it to last forever.  Report cards will be due again.  I will attempt a new Spanish verb conjugation relatively soon, throwing my current verb conjugations into a state of absolute upheaval.  My new boots will make my feet hurt.  Eventually, I will have to head up the old "massive bob hill" (again, see photo) and do some hard work just to feel like I am slipping backwards and slowing down.

But now, from the bottom, I feel like I can see a clear trajectory and I like where it's going.  The pendulum needs movement to exist, after all.

Living Alone

Hi readers,

I'm moving.  Apartments, I mean.  Not right now or anything, but soon enough.  It is a shift into the adulthood of my early thirties.  I can't believe it, but for the first time I will be signing a lease to live alone.

As I looked back over my decade of living in rented space, I can't believe how little of it has existed alone.  Boyfriends.  Roommates.  Shared trailer park space.  Inappropriately long stretches of time living with my mother.  Now the time has finally come to try apartment life solo.  I live in a safe city with cheap rent and it's time to take advantage and start behaving (slightly) more like a grown-up.

My current roommate and I were discussing my prospects last night.  She asked me what I wanted in an apartment.  Here is what I came up with:

-location near a park
-as many bedrooms as I can afford
-a place to put my keyboard

As I started listing things like "an oven" and "a table", I realized I'm not very good at this type of list.  Given my troubled history with nesting, it's not a great surprise.

For me, home is a feeling.  The internet meme quotes immediately validated this assertion:

I can sort of picture where I might like to live in my mind.  There's lots of light.  It's quiet.  I'm sitting at the table by the window, writing and drinking delicious instant coffee (Yes, I'm serious.  I love instant coffee.)  I think there are lots of places I can find that.  I'm sad to end this roommate chapter of my life (because I don't think you go back to having roommates.  Unless, you know. Cats.)  But I'm excited to find my next home.

Making Promises

Hi readers,

Yesterday I went to a baptism.  It was in Aylesbury, England for a particularly adorable little British baby named Willoughby James (which I happen to think adds to his particular adorability).   The church of St. Mary the Virgin in Aylesbury happens to have a 12 Century baptismal font, which was pretty remarkable.  The vicar (another adorable, British-type of a word) said there is actually a whole class of fonts named after the one little Willoughby was baptized in.  I didn't even know there were classes of fonts.  To be honest, I didn't even know it was called a font.  So that was a wonderful learning opportunity.

I hadn't been to a baptism in 13 years (the last one was for my oldest nephew).  I paid more attention this time.  The ceremony hinges on making various promises about protecting the child's welfare.  The congregation states "I do" and "We do" and takes witness on all various sorts of things.  I left feeling accountable for little Willoughby.  So did everyone else.  As I wobbled back through the snow in the countryside cobble-stoned graveyard, there was a greater sense of family and familiarity among the group.  (I think.  It's possible I was confused by their endlessly friendly-sounding British accents.)

There is a power in the ritual of making promises.  It feels sacred.  It brings people closer together.  It provides strength. Promise-making ceremonies are found through society from religion to therapy, from weddings to marriage counseling.  I make promises to myself often, but am always shy about making them public and saying them out loud (I'm quite good at typing them though.  Clearly).  I was happy to bring my promises to a more public forum.  I found it quite powerful.

The Value of Time

Hi readers,

This morning I photocopied 27 pages out of The Big Thirst by Charles Fishman.  The book is a study of current worldwide water use practices and includes some fascinating and terrifying observations observations about the general human attitudes towards water consumption.  I want to read it with my IB Environmental Science class in some vague hope that the students will grow up understanding that water consumption is an important issue and problem in their lives. 

I believe it will be a very worthwhile activity.

It took 25 minutes to make the photocopies. 

Today, I chose to spend those 25 minutes relaxed, focusing on the task at hand and calmly thinking about the rest of my day.  Some other teachers came into the copy room.  We chatted.  I even stopped what I was doing to let them copy some papers (they did not seem to share my Zen, meditative morning attitude towards the copy room).  

 It made me consider my relationship with time.  I don't think I am always very nice to my time.  For example, usually I would say that spending 25 minutes in the photocopy is a total pain in the ass and a waste of my life. 

That is not a nice thing to say at all!  My poor time. My poor life! Spent doing some dumb laundry list of useless, irritating tasks with no thoughts of satisfaction. 

I live in a first world country, make a good salary and am surrounded all day by relatively interesting people (weird yes, but definitely interesting).  I have the tremendous luxury of basically choosing how I spend my time.  It is my choice to find value in the activities I pursue.  Thinking something is "a waste of time" is an attitude problem, and a bad one. 

Sober January

Hi readers,

I make weird New Year's Resolutions.  For example, last year my resolution was to learn how to do a flying ninja kick.  For training in preparation for this arduous task, I completed a half marathon.  I never did the ninja kick.  In 2013, my New Year's resolution was to go on a date.  It resulted, in a roundabout way, in the nascent entries of this blog.  This year, I made my New Year's resolution in July (The thing about the X Files was sort of joke--but I will definitely watch all of the X Files).  I decided by the time I'm 35 I will be a published author. I know, I know.  In the world of self-publishing, I'm basically at the peak of my career.  Published somewhere else, I mean.  Like a literary review journal.  Or one of those nice creative writing magazines they hand out on the subway.  This decision resulted in me enthusiastically jumping on the bandwagon and participating in sober January.

Yes, I understand January is five months after July.  What could these two decisions possibly have in common?


It turns out it is hard to create the life of a writer.  Especially when I already have the life of an over-worked high school teacher and the life of a moderately compulsive exercise fanatic and the life of an avid reader and the life of an obsessive Spanish language learner and the life of someone who has recently discovered the TV show Curb Your Enthusiasm.


I spent the fall putting weird, uncomfortable stress on my time.  Over Christmas I realized I needed to re-prioritize in order to make space for all the things I love in my life.  After a very helpful conversation with my boyfriend, drinking fell quite naturally to the bottom of that list.  For now.  Hence: sober January.

Bonus: The 7,000 articles you have read on Facebook about sober January are correct.  I do have more energy and feel more clear-headed.  Both of these attributes are very helpful in, well, everything.  Added bonus: I have extra money for ridiculously expensive, artisan Spanish mineral water! See photo.

The Best of France

Hi readers,

I'm still stuck on this "beautiful grace of French community" thing.  I first travelled to France in the summer after my freshman year of high school, in a determined attempt by my parents to:

A) Make sure I was doing something vaguely more productive than learning to smoke cigarettes (this had been the crowning achievement of the previous summer, and it turned out, was highly useful in France)
B) Get me out of our hot, crowded apartment and expose me to some non-televised cultural activities
C) Increase the overall effectiveness (and cost) of spending 5 years learning French in school and with a private homework tutor.  I'm not particularly adept with languages, though I have a deep, masochistic sense of appreciation for attempting to learn.

I loved France!  I ate Nutella. I had a gay homestay brother who took me out to a discotheque.  I got lost in Monte Carlo.  I visited cheese stores and perfume factories and several very impressive castles.  For some reason I can't quite remember, I spent an afternoon in a canoe singing camp songs.  I came home with a backpack full of undeveloped rolls of film (no age judgement please), french notes, museum brochures and Parisian metro tickets.  I almost minored in French in undergrad.  I still love Nutella.  I paused over kitshy decorative trays in stationary stores that say things like "Paris is always a good idea".

In the past 12 months I have been on 4 separate trips to France.  Even considering that I live not far from the border, it seems like a lot.  It's certainly more than I used to visit New Jersey when I lived in New York.

The French culture is enchanting.  They love lavender.  They eat cheese courses.  They invented mountaineering.  I can't wait to go back.

For now, some pictures of the past year's travels below.


 
Aiguille-de-Midi/Chamonix


View of Paris/Sacre Coeur

 
Senanque Abbey/Provence

Charlie Hebdo

Hi readers,

It's hard to believe it has been a year since the Charlie Hebado shootings in Paris.  Looking back, it feels like the shooting was the beginning of a hectic, shocking year of world events.  Let's review with Endmemo (you classy, academic types can read the long, well-written version on The Atlantic website):

 SpaceX Lands Rocket Successfully Makes Reuse Possible. (12-22-2015, 10 Records)
 Climate Change Deal Reached by about 200 Countries. (12-13-2015, 23 Records)
 Paris terrorist attack, hundreds dead. (11-13-2015, 35 Records)
 Russian passenger plane crashed in Sinai. (10-30-2015, 22 Records)
 Russia intervenes Syria civil war. (10-01-2015, 55 Records)
 Flowing liquid water found on Mars. (09-25-2015, 12 Records)
 Migrant crisis of Europe. (08-30-2015, 114 Records)
 Earthquake 7.9 Magnitude hits Nepal. (04-24-2015, 91 Records)


Time and hindsight are valuable partners to put this past year in perspective.  Looking back, I realize I spent the last part of 2015 terrified by the world around me.  My perspective: There is too much going on.

Refuges.  Terrorism.  Earthquakes.  Donald Trump.

 

What is our world coming to?!

Ugh.  Pessimistic thoughts about the end of the world are not fabulous.  However, they are copious and easy to process--popular criteria for mass existence in modern society.   It's simple to focus on negative, sensationalist news.  First--there is a lot of it.  The world is a terrifying, imperfect cacophony with billions of people, not enough clean drinking water and too many dysfunctional hoverboards.  Second--bad news sells.  It's easier to provoke fear and anxiety than happiness.  The things that make people happy vary tremendously.  The things that make people anxious are more universal.  (See list above.  Except people do seem rather inexplicably divided about Donald Trump) 

Looking back over an uncertain year, it seems important to consider some of the good things that happened in 2015.   I started writing this blog again.  I learned how to play Reveille on the piano.  I now understand when it is appropriate to use the phrase "Me parece bien" in a Spanish conversation.  

There are a lot of terrible things going on in the world.  It's important to take time to remember the good so the bad doesn't get too overwhelming.  The French community has done that with beautiful grace over the last 12 months.  Take a moment today to be grateful for all that you have.

 

New Year's Resolutions

Hi readers,

In college,  I spent a memorable year living in a house full of girls that loved video games.  Specifically, Mario Kart.  I exclude myself rather emphatically from that category.  Sometimes, I would leave for a weekend and come back to the girls sitting in basically the same places I left them, scattered around our living room with a pile of Keystone Light cans expanding around them in every direction.  It was kind of funny.  It was also when I started to get kind of judgmental about people who spend too much time in front of the TV.  

For years, my relationship with television has fluctuated:

I'm disinterested. (early twenties)
I watch enough Sex and the City to win a trivia contest at a Cloud 9 party. (late early twenties)
I'm disinterested.  (mid-twenties)
I watch 6 seasons of Grey's Anatomy so intently that I'm basically a doctor. (late mid twenties)
I'm disinterested. (grad school)

I'm busy to the point of hysteria. (first 5 years of teaching)
I discover the X Files. (current)

First, if you notice a trend of "me finding out about these shows roughly 10 years after they first air", that is correct.  That extends to all aspects of pop culture in my life, including Beyonce and hair straighteners.  Second?  The X Files is awesome.  Besides being highly addictive and convincing the general masses (read: myself, my boyfriend, Dana Scully) of a general government conspiracy to subterfuge alien existence, the series (or at least the mythology arch episodes) contain complicated plot lines and thoughtful dialogue.  It's interesting and most importantly:

It's relaxing!
I get to sit on my couch!!
I love my couch!!!

Maybe I shouldn't have judged my college roommates.  Apparently, it's important to relax and generally, it's not something I'm very good at.   Most of my hobbies are pretty intense, and there is only so much running I can do to "destress" before I start to have major back spasms.

I know this has nothing to do with New Years Resolutions.  It just sounded so topical.  Maybe my New Year's Resolution should be to find out what happens on the X Files? And run a half marathon! A life of balance....

Happy 2016!