Letters to October #3

 Still life from the front desk of the writing center

Dear October,

       It's almost midnight, so once again my letter will arrive a few minutes late. I've been finding it more difficult to reflect these past couple days. Each day is impossible to categorize, swinging between glorious highs where I'm surrounded by friends, or my writing is going really well, and pockets of boredom or stress about the upcoming week. Overall, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being swept up in some kind of slow-burning change. I can feel something shifting, and I don't know if it's me or my environment. Could it be both? I'm doing my best to steer it in the direction I want it to go, but there are times when it feels like I'm trying to catch up to my own life.

You always hear people talk about living in the moment, but what they don't tell you is that when you let go of the future, you let go of your last road map. That's not to say you've lost the ability to navigate. There are still signs to go by, and you can figure out where you are from the sun and the stars, but suddenly everything is more instinctual, more uncertain. Right now, I'm clinging to a direction and hoping it will take me to where I need to go. Let's hope I end up somewhere new.

Laura

Song of the Day: Everything Moves by Bronze Radio Return

Letters to October #2

Dear October,
      One of the hardest things about writing letters to October is trying to distill an entire day into a few words. Of course some days are easier (aka: more boring) than others, but the truly outstanding days, the ones that sneak up on you without you noticing, the ones where you find yourself a little bit in awe that this is your life, are by far the most difficult to describe. Yesterday was one of those days.

The first highlight of my day came around lunchtime when I discovered that I got into the Paris May Term that I applied for. What does that mean? That means that I will be spending May in Paris,  learning about the city's history, literature, and art, with a bunch of really amazing people! As someone who thrives off of having something to look forward to, this is going to keep me in high spirits all year. If you supposed that I spent the rest of my day daydreaming about Paris, you wouldn't be too far off except that life has a funny way of reminding you of the important things just when you're about to loose sight of them. As excited as I am about Paris, what made yesterday truly extraordinary was the fact that I spent my evening surrounded by friends, telling stories and really listening to each other. I was filled with an overwhelming sense of clarity, calm, and gratitude. I am so incredibly lucky, not just to have the opportunities that I do, but to have the chance to be around incredible people who inspire me every day.  In that moment, Paris was the farthest thing from my mind, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Laura

Song of the Day: Cloud Nine by Ben Howard

Letters to October #1

Dear October,
       Here we are again. I can hardly believe that you are already here. You, too, seemed a little unsure of yourself, starting out chilly and getting warmer, teasing us with sunshine and clouds. I'm not sure how I feel about today. It was one of those endless days where as hard as you try to get everything done, by the end of it your to-do list is still only half finished. There is so much I need to do before next week (nicknamed Hell Week in my head because I have an important assignment or test literally every day), and no matter how much I do it still feels like I'm behind. Still, it got me thinking about all the times before when I've felt completely overwhelmed by school work, all of which I made it through, all of which were stressful but still pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things. So needless to say, if I seem a little distant in the coming week, October, it's because I'm holed up in the library, writing essays and studying for midterms. I'll see you on the other side. In the meantime, hold on to some of that beautiful fall weather for when I actually have time to appreciate it!


Laura

Song of the day: Maker of My Time by The Paper Kites

On Being Lost

I've been thinking recently about the sensation of being lost. To me, it conjures up two very different emotions. The first is the kind of stomach drop feeling you get when your realize that you have no idea where your are. It's that feeling of being completely alone, and the desperation that accompanies the search for a familiar face, a landmark, something to mark your progress. The second association has more to do with voluntarily letting go, seeking the unknown and unfamiliar,  actually choosing to get lost.

More and more I find myself craving the unfamiliar. You could call it wanderlust, I suppose, but it feels deeper than that. As much as new surroundings can shock me out of my comfort zone, I crave change at the molecular level. For me, change has always been slow and almost undetectable. If you spoke to my former self, I think you'd find them remarkably similar to the person I am now. So many people find their past selves unrecognizable, and yet when I look back I feel like fundamentally the same person I was in the 5th grade: still idealistic, still shy in new situations, still inspired by beautiful words on a page. I suppose I should feel lucky. I've always felt grounded, held in place by the support system of my family and friends and my own sense of who I am and where I want to go. Is it wrong to wish for something as messy and difficult as losing yourself only to find it again, transformed?

I stumbled across a quote the other day that has haunted me ever since. It is a question posed by the Greek philosopher Meno, and it reads:

How will you go about finding that thing which is totally unknown to you?

It's a paradox wrapped in a question wrapped in a dare. How do you look for something you don't even have a name for? Looked at in a different way, it reads as a challenge to take that vital first step into the unknown.

This is something that's been going on inside me for a while, this twisting, this craving for uncertainty and transformation, and I think its finally reached its breaking point. How will I go about finding that thing which is unknown to me? I'll willingly choose to get lost. I'll smother my fear and be accepting of new experiences. I'll seek change in the same way I seek knowledge: by exploring. It won't be easy, and I don't want it to be. What I do want is to be surprised by the person I become.

***

End Note: I feel I should credit my sources of inspiration for this post, not just because they helped shape my point of view, but because they are wonderful in their own right:

A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit

This interview with Jad Abumrad, creator of Radiolab

This blog post by Rachel Coker, who never fails to be an inspiration

Book Review: Vicious by V.E. Schwab

It's been quite a while since I've done a book review on this blog, but then again, it's been quite a while since I've read a book as good as Vicious. When I first heard about it, it didn't sound like something I would be into. I've never really been one for the revenge plot, and often I usually shy away from traditional super hero lore. But, I have a lot of respect for the author, and when other people started reading (and loving) it, I decided to give it a try.

First, a basic plot overview: Victor and Eli started out as college roommates—brilliant, arrogant, lonely boys who recognized the same sharpness and ambition in each other. In their senior year, a shared research interest in adrenaline, near-death experiences, and seemingly supernatural events reveals an intriguing possibility: that under the right conditions, someone could develop extraordinary abilities. But when their thesis moves from the academic to the experimental, things go horribly wrong. Ten years later, Victor breaks out of prison, determined to catch up to his old friend (now foe), aided by a young girl whose reserved nature obscures a stunning ability. Meanwhile, Eli is on a mission to eradicate every other super-powered person that he can find—aside from his sidekick, an enigmatic woman with an unbreakable will. Armed with terrible power on both sides, driven by the memory of betrayal and loss, the archnemeses have set a course for revenge—but who will be left alive at the end? 

Quite honestly, this book blew me away. It was violent, dark, and twisted, and the moral grey area is deliciously, well, grey. The plot swings back and forth in time, switching between the present moment and the events that took place when Victor and Eli were in college. This allows Schwab to slowly ratchet up the suspense with each successive chapter, while revealing key moments in the characters' pasts. 

“All Eli had to do was smile. All Victor had to do was lie. Both proved frighteningly effective.” 

The characters themselves are enigmas, and set against the comic-book-esque, black-and-white world of the book, they seem like utterly fascinating alien beings. I loved Victor's cold, calculating demeanor, and I loved trying and failing to figure out what he was going to do next. Eli is a golden boy with a cracked facade. He feels less developed than some of the other characters, his motivations clear but not as nuanced. Still, he is a good counterpoint to Victor, and just as frightening. My favorite character is Mitch, a hulk of a man who becomes Victor's ally in jail. Schwab plays with appearance vs reality, and many of her characters' true natures are not what you would perceive from a first impression.

The description of this book is a bit misleading in that it makes it seem as though the moral ambiguity is enough to make the reader unsure of whose side they should choose: Victor or Eli's. While the lines between right and wrong are blurred significantly, it is clear who we are meant to sympathize with. The real questions in this book arise from the fact that both characters have deep, irreparable flaws, and they are capable of both benevolence and evil.

“Because you don't think I'm a bad person," he said. "And I don't want to prove you wrong.” 

Despite a couple of places where I had to suspend my disbelief farther than I would have liked, Vicious quickly grew into its place as one of the best books I've read this year. Victoria Schwab's writing is addictive. It has the kind of mesmerizing quality that all the best books have, where you forget you are even reading words on a page. I went into this book with few, if any, expectations, and she surprised me with a tale of suspense, action, and crazy, messed up characters. Super hero fan or not, I highly recommend.

Oh! And look at the GORGEOUS cover for her next book, A Darker Shade of Magic! I could not be more excited!

For a synopsis, click here.

Quote of the Day: Departure

Today was my last day of classes as a college freshman. No matter how many times I say that to myself it still doesn't seem real. So much of my week has been taken up by the weight of everything I have to do before I leave (turn in my last few assignments, study for finals, do laundry, pack), that I haven't had time to think about what it means. Leaving for the summer. Moving out of my dorm room. And then I discovered this quote:

"Packing up. The nagging worry of departure. Lost keys, unwritten labels, tissue paper lying on the floor. I hate it all. Even now, when I have done so much of it, when I live, as the saying goes, in my boxes. Even today, when shutting drawers and flinging wide a hotel wardrobe or the impersonal shelves of a furnished villa is a methodical matter of routine, I am aware of sadness, of a sense of loss. Here, I say, we have lived. We have been happy. This has been ours, however brief the time. Two nights only have been spent beneath a roof, yet we leave something of ourselves behind. Nothing material, not a hair pin on a dressing table, not an empty bottle of aspirin tablets, not a handkerchief beneath a pillow, but something indefinable, a moment of our lives, a thought, a mood. This house sheltered us. We spoke, we loved within these walls. That was yesterday. Today we pass on, we see it no more, and we are different, changed in some infinitesimal way. We can never be quite the same again." - Dauphne du Maurier, Rebecca

To me, this quote captures everything I've been feeling and then some. You might think it silly to mourn leaving a place that I know I'll be returning to in three months, but live for two semesters in the confines of a dorm room, and it becomes a home. Of course that's not to say I'm not excited about my living arrangements for next year, but I've grown accustomed to the slamming of the front door to my residence hall (my room is the first door when you enter), and the view outside my window, and the random bits of paraphernalia I have pinned to my cork board. So there is a sadness in the fact that a few days from now, among the chaos that is finals week, I will also be slowly disassembling my room: getting rid of papers, cleaning out drawers, rolling up the rug that I so clearly remember picking out at Ikea last August.
There is something mutable, too, about a dorm room. There will always be the knowledge that it has been inhabited by so many college students before you, and so many more to come. Somewhere out there there are people, probably even a few on this campus, who have their own memories of my dorm room. I think that's why I love the idea of a place's ability to capture "a moment of our lives, a thought, a mood." When I leave this room, I will be leaving behind pieces of freshman year. A year of firsts, and friend-making, and movie-watching. And next year, this room will be a clean slate, its walls bare for someone else to pin their memories to.

A Perfect Summer

I’ve always idealized summer. It exists in my mind as a pocket of time untouched by the laws of every-day life: there are no obligations, and endless possibilities. Instead of being paralyzed by boredom, in my summer, you embrace freedom, harness it. You perfect the act of doing nothing. And of course, the absence of school means that your creativity thrives, and somehow you get more done than you thought possible. I’m aware that this is a paradox, but it is an image I cling to, and it’s been grounded so deeply into my childhood that I can’t seem to separate myself from it. And honestly, I don’t want to. Because when I think about summer, I don’t just think about my perfect summer. There is magic in real summers, too. I’ve seen it first hand. I’ve seen it in the in the stretching of the days, the luxuriously long sunsets, where that impossible green foliage that blankets every tree is momentarily dipped in gold. Later it subsides to a deep blue, and the air is a color like something out of a Monet painting.  I find it in the tiny sandstorm created by the cream as I pour it into a tall glass of iced coffee. It is the morning walks I take with mother and my dog, down a curbless street, filled with birdsong. Occasionally, there are swimming pools. Sometimes, there are long drives in cars under an endless sky. There is rain, too. The kind of summer thunderstorm I haven’t experienced in years. It is a wild rain, punctuated by rumbles that shake the windows of our house, and my mother stands on the front porch, transfixed. 

This is the summer I grew up with. Over the years, it’s changed slightly. It’s been invaded by summer reading books for school, not all of which were bad, and summer assignments which always were. When I learned to drive there was always a nagging sense that I had to go somewhere. Why stay at home when you have a whole city to explore? Still, I often guiltily chose to sit in the backyard and read a book instead. Maybe I idealize summer too much, but when I hear people say that summer is “boring,” I feel indignant. You say the first few weeks weeks are fun. There’s the novelty of it, I guess. But after that, as June yawns into July it’s just another summer, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. I have no patience for this attitude. If you are scared of boredom, your summer will be over before it began. It’s how you use boredom, how you acknowledge it but don’t let it defeat you. Summers are a gift. They are something to be cherished, held in your hands like the blueberries you picked by the bucket-full. Summers are a time capsule to a time when you didn’t need the internet to distract you, when the outdoors was a place you still frequented. And yes, I know it’s hot. I live in a place where humidity makes you feel like you are swimming rather than walking, and mosquitoes gather in prehistoric swarms. In the afternoon the heat presses against windows, and the world is a bug trapped in amber.  

If there is a message here, it is this: Find your perfect summer. Take time to marvel at a rainbow in the arc of a sprinkler, and spend an afternoon in shade that is just cool enough to be bearable. Jump into lakes. Swing from tire swings. If anything, summer reminds us that one moment can feel like an eternity. Inhabit that eternity. Make a home there, and the summer is yours.