Opening Your Eyes to the Newness in the Familiar

"Hey, can we go for a walk now? I'm ready!"

 



One thing I love about going home for the holidays to visit my parents is that it feels, in a way, like I get to briefly remove myself from time. Many things about my usual routine are shaken up in the best way possible. Instead of feeling pressured by my typical to-do list and errands, I woke up in my childhood bedroom, surrounded by cozy and comforting knick-knacks. Instead of driving around town to tutor students in the afternoons, I lounged on the couch with a thick novel, chatted with my parents, and visited my grandfather who lives down the street. I helped my mother cook dinner, played board games with my brother, went out to the downtown Irish pub with my dad, and met up with old friends at the local coffee shop we used to frequent in high school. I spent time reflecting on the year that had passed, and dreaming about the year to come.

Perhaps my favorite “vacation routine” when I am home visiting my parents is taking our boxer dog Murray for his morning and evening walks around the neighborhood. Every day we would walk the same loop, yet every day I would notice new, startling details:

• A small bird strutting jauntily across the street, like a band leader in a parade.
• Sprinklers watering a front yard of dead grass.
• A toddler shrieking with glee, running in circles in a driveway as her mother watched with a tired smile, raising a hand to us in greeting as we walked by.
• Bushes laden with bright red berries.
• A father and son playing catch in the park.

So many rich and beautiful details that it would be so easy to miss, if you were not paying attention and looking for them. And indeed, we would pass many other morning walkers on their phones or listening to music, rushing ahead with a glazed look in their eyes.

Meanwhile, every single day, Murray exuberantly sniffed at plants and lampposts and studied the sidewalk like it was a brand-new territory to explore -- even though it was the exact same path he had taken the day before, and the month before that, and the year before that. Perhaps he is on to what it means to be a writer: mining the same inner territory, day after day after day, for new sparks of joy and wonder.

Now, when I feel creatively blocked or when I am out of ideas or when the writing just doesn't seem to be going anywhere fruitful, I think of Murray's excited daily exploration. He is a reminder for me that being a writer is not so much about coming up with some totally new, never-before-seen-or-done IDEA. Rather, I like to follow acclaimed author Pam Houston's advice (from a wonderful talk I was fortunate to attend at a writers conference) and think of myself more as an observer, seeking out the extraordinary in the ordinary.

 

As Lera Auerbach writes in her wise, magical book of aphorisms and musings Excess of Being: "These thoughts have occurred to many people and for a very long time. I just happened to write them down."

Here's to a sparkling new year filled with open eyes, even -- perhaps most importantly -- in our familiar, everyday surroundings and routines. Here's to being world-class observers. Here's to writing it down.

And, Murray would like to add: here's to lots and lots and walks.

All tuckered out after a long walk.

Settling in at Purdue! My Tips for Embracing Changes in Your Life

Sorry I've been a bit MIA on this blog the past week. I moved cross-country from my beachside California hometown of Ventura to Lafayette, Indiana -- my new home for the next three years while I pursue my M.F.A. in Fiction Writing at Purdue.

I live in a one-bedroom apartment in an old Victorian house on a beautiful tree-lined street about ten minutes from campus. (There's even a trolley I can catch a few blocks away that runs to campus and back -- how cute is that? A trolley!) I had a fun time decorating my new place with my mom, who helped me move out here and get settled. The weather has been much warmer and more humid than I was used to in Ventura, but I am adjusting. I love the lightning bugs, sweet tea, and Midwestern tomatoes. And everyone has been very friendly and welcoming. Today was my first day of Orientation for my new program -- in addition to taking fiction-writing classes, I'll also be teaching freshman composition to Purdue undergraduates starting (gulp!) next week. I'm a bit nervous, but I've always loved teaching and I'm excited for the new challenge of teaching college students.

Despite all the excitement, a big move is full of changes, and change can be stressful! I also miss my family and friends from home a lot. Here are some tips that have helped me keep smiling and embracing the changes:

1. If you feel sad or homesick, recognize that these feelings are expected and perfectly normal. Everyone feels this way sometimes. That said, try not to wallow in sadness. Instead, do something to brighten your spirits -- bake some brownies, buy some flowers for your room, put on your favorite CD.

2. Call your friends, family and loved ones -- even for just a few minutes, even just to say hi. Hearing a familiar voice can be a huge comfort. Also, remind yourself how many people care about you and are supporting you in your new adventure.

3. Reach out to new people. Invite your neighbor over for dinner. Ask a classmate if she'd like to grab coffee after class. Smile at a stranger you pass on the street. Potential friends are everywhere!

4. Get involved. Join a club. Take a class. Find out about events -- a poetry reading, a street festival, a concert -- and go!

5. It's okay to miss things from home, but focus on being present in your new surroundings. What do you like about your new place? What is there to explore around you? Get to know your neighborhood and your community. Instead of dwelling on what you miss from home, try to focus on being present in the moment and making new memories. Someday, you are going to look back on your life now and miss it!

Essay Published in "The Litter Box" Online Literary Magazine

I am very excited to share that my essay "A Love Letter to Norwich, England" is now up on The Litter Box website! The essay centers on my experiences studying abroad for a semester at the University of East Anglia in the beautiful coastal town of Norwich, about two hours away from London. I only lived there for six months, but I have a feeling that no matter how many years pass, Norwich always feel like a "home" to me. It's amazing how the places you travel can really become a part of you!

Here's the beginning of my essay:

A Love Letter to Norwich, England

The number 25 double-decker bus threads its way through the narrow two-lane streets. Coughing and burping without a hint of embarrassment, it carries us from the train station, with its cheerful round clockface and neat front of red brick, over the weeping-willow-lined river and up the road, past the Tesco and Superdrug and a handful of pubs, past the castle and the mall and Poundland (my favorite store because everything only costs a pound.) Climbing the stairs behind the bus driver's seat and choosing a seat up top will remain a novelty no matter how many times I ride this bus. The front seat up top is best—the huge panoramic window makes me feel like I'm part of the sky, cloudless and carefree, tracing the peaked gray rooftops with outstretched fingertips.

The bus stops four times on its way through the city centre. At each stop, I peer down at the people walking along the cobblestone sidewalks: young mothers pushing bundled-up babies in prams; old women wearing small flowered hats pinned primly to their hair; groups of teenage boys, their legs lost in the billowing fabric of their trousers, hurtling their way toward the bus. The boys pay their fare and stampede upstairs. I don't look back, but I can picture them, each one sprawled out across two seats. "Joe, don't be a bloody twat!" one of them says. I can't help a smile from spreading across my face—the novelty of the dialect makes even curse words sound lovely.

You can read the rest at: http://www.litterboxmagazine.com/7nonfictionwoodburn.php