Letter to October #4

Dear October,
      I  write to you with a weird mix of emotions. On the one hand today was a great day. It was the perfect mix of quiet, solitary activities and time spent in the company of friends. I got to read the book I raved about in my last letter, and I got to go out for donuts (a food I've been craving since the end of summer) and hang out with a bunch of wonderful people. Days like these always leave me feeling a little bittersweet though. I think it's melancholy for other days that weren't as good, the ones where I was stressed out or lazy or caught in an endless Youtube spiral. And I realize that the less-than-stellar days outnumber the great ones. That's not to say the other days are bad, or even that I didn't enjoy them while they were happening. They just pale in comparison.
Being the idealist that I am, this dissatisfaction usually leads to a feeling of clarity and determination. Tomorrow I will start with a clean slate. I'll make sure my great days outnumber my mediocre ones. But change, inevitably, is a stubborn, fickle beast. Our bodies give way again and again to the path of least resistance. Besides, how do I turn a vague feeling of restlessness into lasting change?
There's a piece of advice from Jad Abumrad (host of the Radiolab podcast), where he says, "Continue to reinvent. Keep things moving and changing and always a little bit out of reach." One could argue that that's how 20-somethings feel all the time - everything is just a little bit out of reach - but I think it goes deeper than that. Jad isn't just saying "follow your dreams" or "keep moving forward." He's saying that we have to fight what's comfortable. We have to push ourselves to break from the path of least resistance. If I can master this, I think maybe that melancholy that washes over me at the end of a really great day will go quiet. That's my working hypothesis, anyway.
This is all too easy to write about from my bed on a Sunday night. That's usually when my mind formulates plans that tomorrow's body won't act on. But it's worth it, I think, to appreciate the good days and the mediocre days for what they are. Because as Annie Dillard wisely said, "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."

Laura

Song of the day: When I Grow Up by First Aid Kit (Original by Fever Ray)

Letter to October #3

Dear October,
       Today I feel completely, irrevocably under the spell of a book. Even as I take a break to write this, I can feel its presence next to me, willing me to pick it up and disappear into the story again. The book is Fly by Night by Frances Hardinge, and in the 200 pages that I've read so far, I can safely say that it has reminded me why I love reading. More specifically, it brought me back to the reading experiences that seemed so much more common when I was a child, where a story sucks you in so completely that during the time that you are reading it your life takes on strange new characteristics. You notice new things. You find yourself thinking about the characters as if they were friends with which you have frequent, urgent correspondence. They tell you tales of their adventures while you worry and fret over them, waiting for the next moment when you can sit down and hear about the newest development in their lives.
Today I spent the afternoon with street urchins and con men, in snow white carriages dappled with pearls, on barges and floating coffee houses. The world of Fly by Night is one of numerous deities, guilds, societies, and a lore all of its own. It's complicated and occasionally confusing, but I was so entranced that this hardly bothered me. As the warmth of the blankets lulled me into sleep, the world of the book shifted, ghostlike, into my dreams. I woke up from my nap slightly disoriented, unsure when exactly I'd stopped reading.
Before this book, I'd been in a bit of a reading slump. I moved mindlessly from book to book, finding pockets of enjoyment here and there, but failing to find a story I could truly immerse myself in. I had gotten so caught up in the language and pace of adult books that I was taken completely by surprise by the smooth magic of children's literature. How easy it was to get completely wrapped up in the world! How easy to fall in love with the characters! Why isn't every reading experience like this one? Why do I put up with anything less? Of course, I am also of the belief that reading experiences should be varied, and that you should expand your horizons and read out of your comfort zone. I believe that all books can teach you something: at worst, about your likes and dislikes, your capacity for boredom, and at best, about your passions and your vulnerabilities; a good book exposes the cracks in your world view.
People are always talking about the transformative power of books, but you don't truly understand this until you experience it, again and again. Stories can warp time. They can re-wire thought processes. They can consume and they can dispel. I had forgotten. I was happy, October, to be reminded.

Laura

Song of the Day: Harry's Wondrous World by John Williams

Letter to October #2

Dear October,
       It is 2am and this morning (I suppose I should say yesterday morning) feels far away. I went to my only class for the day, and then spent a couple hours with my mandolin. I'm trying to learn, but it's far too easy to get stuck playing the only six chords I know rather than trying to learn new songs. Still, the instrument is starting to feel comfortable in my hands. Every time I pick it up I find it slightly easier to get the sound I want. Baby steps, as they say.

In the evening, my friends and I made a late-night trip to IHOP. We sat in plastic booths and drank coffee and hot chocolate and ate stacks of pancakes in the warm yellow light. On the drive home we sang along loudly to classical music under a gigantic moon. As per usual, we watched a quirky movie on Netflix and laughed until we cried.

That was my day, October. My only regret: I didn't get a picture of my blueberry pancakes.

Laura

Song of the Day: Clementine by Sarah Jaffe

Letter to October #1

Dear October,
       I'm trying to fall back in love with you, with Autumn. To be quite honest, I just don't feel like watching the world slip slowly into rust-colored decay this year. Summer still looms large in my memory. I'm haunted by luxuriously long evenings and blistering afternoons. I'm not ready to give up iced coffee mornings and orange sherbet clouds and the way the sun turns newly mowed lawns into a sea of impossible green. Life at school is a lot quieter this year, mainly because my friends are a bit more scattered, and while I feel more in control of my studies, I feel less in control of my social life. Isn't that so like life? As soon as one peice falls into place, another unravels. That's not to say I'm unhappy, October. Restless is a better word.

At times like these, I do two things. First, I turn towards the things that always bring me comfort. I just put a bunch of books on hold at the library. They're mostly middle grade books, full of childlike wonder and magic. One is the sequel to The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, a book that is the equivalent of being dropped in an autumn-themed Alice in Wonderland. The next thing I do is take a few, tiny steps out of my comfort zone. September kept whispering adventure in my ear, and most of the time I ignored her. I don't know what you have in store for me October, but don't worry. I'm not going to do the same to you.

Laura

Song of the Day: A Proper Polish Welcome by Torres (Couldn't pass up this beautiful, nighttime, outdoor serenade)

Currently...

Photo by Indigo

Making: A lot!
-A slow, atmospheric music video to the song Artifact 3 by Ryan Teague
-A 6' by 9' canvas mural that's going to brighten up our patio
-A joint Tumblr with my friend, where we share our daily progress on our respective creative habits. Me with my favorite sentence from the day's writing, Indigo with the newest page from her sketchbook. (Our most recent post can be seen in the sidebar!)
-My first couple articles for the Houston Chronicle, where I'm lucky enough to be volunteering this summer
-Savory popcorn via Alisa Burke

Planning: 
-A bunch of future blog posts, including:
    -More recap posts about my trip to Paris
    -An update on my creative bucket list
    -Maybe some book reviews...
-A dessert cookbook based around my summer creative writing club, Words for Dessert

Pondering: What the words "growth" and "change" mean to me. It feels like I have a million plates in the air right now, but it also feels like this summer and all the creative stuff I'm doing might be a transformative experience.

Reading: The Girl Who Slept with God by Val Brelinski

Watching: I watch movies more than I watch TV shows, so here's some of the best films I've seen  recently:

Love and Mercy
This is the story of Brian Wilson, lead singer and main innovator behind The Beach Boys. Sometimes  films just come out of nowhere and completely blow you away. This was one of them. It is a beautiful, suspenseful, and heartbreaking look not only at Brian Wilson's life but his creative process as well. Also the sound design/soundtrack is absolutely superb.

Testament of Youth
Based on the memoir of Vera Brittan, this is the story of an extraordinary woman and her efforts to make sense of the relentless brutality of WWI. It's a tremendously sad story, but there are moments of beauty throughout. One of my favorite things about it was how close all of the cinematography felt. There were very few wide shots, and when they were used it was for a specific and powerful effect.

Listening: to Darlingside's new single, on repeat. It's that good. (Also, their new album comes out in September!)

Enjoying:
-Iced coffee with breakfast
-Stepping into the air conditioning after being out in the heat and humidity
-Long afternoon photo shoots with my best friend
-Driving at night with the windows rolled down, music blasting
-Sunrises and sunsets
-New dresses

Paris Recap: From a Writer's Notebook

 I've been doing a lot of reflecting lately. Some of it is required for my May Term: typing up my Paris journals, trying to fit my experiences into concise paragraphs. Some of it is personal: A letter-writing project my friend and I are embarking in our year apart (she's studying abroad next semester, I'm studying abroad in the spring). Either way, there are times I wish I could bottle memories rather than sifting them through my brain and onto the page. Understanding events in your life takes perspective, which often requires distance and time. The problem is, the longer I wait, the fuzzier the memories become. Over the past few days I've been re-reading everything I wrote in Paris: journal entires, notes, lists, and observations. I'll be sharing my thoughts on other aspects of Paris here in the coming weeks (I promise), but for now I want to share with you some of the things I wrote while I was abroad.

My Favorite Things About Paris: (an ongoing list that I added to throughout the trip)

- Little French children in a adorable outfits

- Accordion players on the Metro

- Old man on a scooter in a maroon colored pinstripe suit and rainbow socks

- Colorful doors that lead to secret places

- Gigantic roses (seriously, though)

On Shakespeare and Company:

I am sitting in the reading room of Shakespeare and Company. The window is open and jazz music wafts in from below. The floor is a mess of hexagonal tiles and the room itself, not to mention the whole building, feels a little like it could topple at any moment. A white cat doses on one of the only unoccupied chairs. In the hallways just outside of the reading room there is a cubby hole where people can leave notes. This place feels timeless, or rather like it makes time stand still. You walk into the bookstore and you have entered a world where the only thing that matters is the written word, where words are literally holding up the walls. It is a bit dingy, crowded, and cramped, but I would expect nothing less. For being in the center of a major tourist district, it still feels remarkably isolated. As I write this the bells of Notre Dame are ringing...

On Versailles:

My first impression of Versailles, similar to most people, was the gold. Gold detailing is everywhere, and not just in the Hall of Mirrors. The gold on the front of the building is almost blinding, which seems only fitting considering Louis XIV was known as the "Sun King." The next thing I noticed was the lushness of the fabrics. Everything is so ornate, and every single surface is covered. I found it really interesting how none of the rooms were fully private spaces. Even the bedrooms were places where people could gather, with only a railing separating the king's bed from the rest of the room. My favorite part of Versailles, and the part that put the whole rest of the chateau in perspective, was the Grand Trianon and Marie Antoinette's hamlet. Both of these spaces felt completely different from the palace. They were quieter and smaller, with less abundance of gold and ornate decoration. They were still beautiful spaces fit for royalty, but I felt like I could breath there. If the chateau in the 18th century was anywhere near as crowded as the modern-day palace crawling with tourists, I know that the Grand Trianon and the hamlet would have been a welcome change from all the suffocating grandeur of Versailles.

On Paris in general:

My favorite places in Paris are the quiet ones: the old roman arena, the churches, the little courtyards I stumble across, the reading room in Shakespeare and Company. Even in a bustling city it is so comforting to know that around every corner is the possibility of seeing a church or a garden that I can slip into. It is as if the whole city is built around these contemplative spaces, and they are inviting you to sit and ponder or read or draw. When I see someone bent over their phone in a Paris garden it breaks my heart. 

A poem I wrote for class. I'll probably end up revising it, but here it is in its original state, as it was scribbled in my notebook:

Ode to an Old Man in Rainbow Socks

Paris is the old man in rainbow socks

that I saw weaving between traffic on a scooter

perfectly at ease in the ever-changing geometry

of the street. His pinstripe suit, the color of wine,

is perfect and unwrinkled.

On the metro I examine the feet of strangers

ankles bare or woolen, bumpy or smooth.

We are in a submarine and the old man

is a maroon fish, his helmet glittering like a single eye.

At 5pm the light slants, as though the city

were a glass of water, tilted and held up to the sun.

Blink, and the light shatters on the stone

floor of the cathedral.

Blink, and the city smells of rain and roses.

The sun warms your neck but you hair is already drenched.

Blink, and the man in the rainbow socks kicks off

from the pavement, a whirl of color at his feet.

Blink, and the city is itself again --

the smell of cigarettes

your bag digging into your shoulder

your hair damp with rain

Vignettes from the Recent Past, Pictures from Today

I. 

More often than not, Cedar Rapids feels like one big strip mall. Most of the green spaces are hemmed in by concrete. The city smells different depending on what flavor of cereal the Quaker Oats factory is churning out, and on sunny Saturdays the streets fill with motorcycles. Sometimes, though, I find things I never expect. Across the river from downtown there is an amphitheater that plays the sounds of Canada Geese over loud speakers every fifteen minutes. Nearby is a sculpture made out of recycled glass that creates a fun-house mirror effect when you stand underneath it. Every time I feel like everything has become homogenous, I find a random stretch of road made out bricks or a charming, vine covered building. While I occasionally wish I'd gone to school in place closer to nature (usually while scrolling through Instagram), Cedar Rapids is teaching me that everything can be interesting, if you let it. 

II.

After a long winter, sunny days are a shock to the system. Yesterday, our first official day of summer, my friends and I laid in the grass and took selfies. Somehow we had gone the whole year without getting a single picture of the four of us together. The moment was both sublime and melancholy: one of my friends is transferring to another school, and another is going to be abroad next semester. As I watch the graduation tents go up on the quad, I can't help feeling that quintessential stirring that accompanies every step into the unknown. In just a few days time I'll be on a plane headed for Paris. I'm both excited and stressed, and meanwhile summer has me intoxicated with heady feelings of freedom. Every day for the past few days, the clouds roll in around 4pm. The wind picks up. The temperature drops. The rain falls at an angle, with a force that stings bare skin. Everything is motion. Summer is here, and the world is all a-flutter. 

III.

Every day I see pictures of places I want to live someday. The impossibly green pastures of Ireland. The deep, dark conifers of the Northwest. Blue sky stretching above West Texas like a drum. It makes me want to speed up time, run faster, do more. What's lost in the gap between here and there? Every day I face the delusion that I should be somewhere else, when really this is the only place I can be, and the only place I am. I am reminded of this every time I see a familiar face, or double over laughing at something a friend has said. I am reminded on late night pancake runs and Sunday morning conversations with my roommates. Every time the wanderlust catches hold, it's the people that keep me grounded. This is my little place in this big, messy world. I'm not going to waste my time wishing it was somewhere else.