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Archive for the ‘Books’ Category

I subscribe to quite a few blogs/newsletters, and that’s where a lot of my daytime reading goes. Here are my musings on three that stuck out to me this week. There were a couple others from Substack, but just as it was getting interesting, the prompt to become a paid subscriber popped up, so I’ll spare you those. I may have more to say about that later (not all bad…just…more).

  • Loving Your Inner Hobbit – Ask Polly (aka Heather Havrilesky). “The truth is, I think that most of us — even those of us who outwardly appear lazy or disorganized or prone to underachieving — hold ourselves to uncomfortably high standards. We’re plagued by guilt without consciously realizing it. We’re ashamed of our regular human urges. We feel like we’re letting ourselves down constantly, just by being human.” I have been feeling this a lot recently. I mean, I have overachiever tendencies all the time, but I’ve trained them to stay mostly dormant. Not right now, though. I have a lot of anxiety – mostly about work, but also about other things in my life that I feel like I’m missing the mark on. And as much as I would love to blame other people, the bulk of this stress really is just coming from inside the house. All the grace other people are extending to me seems to bounce right off this hard shell of expectations that I have for myself. I want to embrace my inner hobbit (that’s pretty much my whole personality, btw. Ultra homebody. I don’t know anyone who loves being at home as much as I do.); I just seem to have temporarily forgotten how.
  • Coffee Table Books – Ginger Horton (MMD Book Club). “Gift books and coffee table books—you know the ones, usually hardcover with loads of glossy photos or illustrations, probably picked up in that impulse section of your local bookstore, or even in a boutique or on vacation—provide some of my favorite reading experiences. And yet when a friend asks, ‘What are you reading?’ I’m prone to forget to mention that gorgeous volume on the nightstand that’s been flipped through many times or the little book of essays that sits in the breakfast nook.” This rings so true for me. Some of my favorite reading experiences are not the things I talk about the most. They’re not the books I read cover to cover and then mark as read on my reading tracker apps. They’re the design books in my living room that I thumb through when I need to see something pretty or the short humor essays I read (or re-read) when I need a quick laugh. As I get more shelves and reorganize my collection, that’s becoming more of what’s on my TV shelf – books that are best enjoyed in increments.
  • Bracing Yourself: How To Process Breast Cancer After Treatment Ends – Bezzy BC. “You won’t be told how to manage survivors’ guilt or how to respond to the continuous stream of messages that will no doubt flood every inbox you own. You won’t be prepared for the fake quick fixes your loved ones will tell you about because they heard it from a complete stranger in a grocery checkout line. You won’t be told how to feel when people you have contact with every single day drop off the face of the earth because your cancer diagnosis is too much for them.” Another thing I wasn’t told is that there’s this weird space between treatment and after treatment. I’ve rung the bell, signifying that the big three – chemo, surgery, radiation – are done. But I still have the port because I’m still getting immunotherapy treatments every three weeks, and I still have routine checkups and tests in the upcoming months to confirm that what we did actually worked. Is it really “after” if there are still appointments on the books? If I still feel the lingering symptoms from radiation and chemo (or maybe even surgery)? Part of processing involves knowing exactly where I stand, and I’m not really sure how to do that. The ground under me feels pretty shaky right now.

I am staring down the last few hours of work and then I am looking forward to a restful weekend.

Hope your weekend is everything you want it to be!

And I hope you’re enjoying my reading reflections this month.

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“Striving is fine, as long as it’s tempered by the realization that, in an entropic universe, the final outcome is out of your control. If you don’t waste your energy on variables you cannot influence, you can focus much more effectively on those you can. When you are wisely ambitious, you do everything you can to succeed, but you are not attached to the outcome—so that if you fail, you will be maximally resilient, able to get up, dust yourself off, and get back in the fray. That, to use a loaded term, is enlightened self-interest.”
Dan Harris, 10% Happier

I’ve never considered myself an ambitious person. I mean, I have goals, and I do everything I can to meet them. But I have learned that there are many things that have to fall into place for most of the outcomes I seek to actually happen, and a lot of these things aren’t necessarily within my control.

I can apply for the job, nail the interview, have all the qualifications…and still not get hired.

I can write a good rough draft and then edit it into really beautiful prose, but I can’t make anyone want to read it (or any publisher want to publish it).

I can be thoughtful, giving, kind – really, just a top-notch, sensational delight of a human being – and that person who catches my eye can still not be interested in dating me.

I can do everything right and still not get what I want.

I can do everything to the best of my ability (which often is above average) and still fail.

It took me a long time to learn that failing does not equal being a failure.

Failing is an inevitable part of the process. In fact, just about anyone who has ever worked toward anything worth having will tell you, failing happens a lot more often than succeeding.

But once I learned that I don’t need to waste time wallowing when I fail – wondering what’s wrong with me or overanalyzing what I could have done to change the outcome (answer – probably nothing, as many outcomes are 0% within my personal control) – I found that I could move on and try again a lot more easily. Turns out, trying again (even a lot of times) is not as big of a deal when I’m not bogged down by thoughts of inadequacy (e.g., I didn’t get what I want, therefore I suck) or personal offense (e.g., I didn’t get what I want, therefore they suck).

My personal goals are all based on what I can accomplish completely on my own. At work, we are implementing a “new” system that I hope will actually restructure the way we frame and evaluate our goals there, too.

I’m sharing reflections on my reading this year.

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“I mean, I just worry… I don’t think about what I want, I just worry about what might happen to me and then figure out how to keep those things from happening.”

“…becoming who you want to be is just like anything else. It takes practice. It requires belief that one day, you’ll wake up and be a natural at it.”
Alison Espach, The Wedding People

This whole book was a roller coaster for me, and this was a good year for me to read it. I’m glad it came out when it did.

I live most of my life bouncing between these two goals:

  • Throwing all my energy into doing what I can to avoid bad things like losing my job (and thus my insurance and all the things I rely on my paycheck to cover) or death
  • Creating a life that actually feels worth living

I suspect it’s the same for a lot of people.

For the most part, I can trace my best days to the ones when my focus is on more creative aspirations than when I’m just trying to elbow my way through it. The energy required is about the same – I don’t tend to half-ass things, even when they’re not technically my passion – but the reward is far greater when I can see a tangible path toward the life I imagine to be ideal.

Imagine, because I haven’t actually lived it yet. I’m not quite who I want to be when I grow up. I’ve gotten fleeting tastes of the good life and my ideal self but have yet to make either my standard.

It’s a life surrounded by books and bookish people/events. It definitely starts later in the day than my current schedule usually does. It involves occasional travel, but it’s more about creating a life I don’t need a vacation from.

My future self is a person whose default is grace and generosity of spirit (and also resources, as long as we’re wishing for things). She is curious and has the time and space to drop everything for a good story. She is a solid but soft place to land for those who need it. However, when she invites people in, she lets them sort out their own feelings about whoever else shows up rather than doing their emotional labor/conflict management for them (I think this is one of the lessons I’m learning this year).

I love planning for this future self and the life I want for her. I hope they’re both possible, and I hope they’re everything I have imagined them to be.

I’m reflecting on what my reading is teaching me this year.

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“I thought that my recovery required that I turn in any right to lament. Sick people were allowed to lament; healed people should be grateful. It wasn’t until years later that I realized how alone I had felt.”
Abby Norman, You Can Talk to God Like That

(It’s not years later yet for me. Conventional memoir/reflections-writing wisdom tells me that it may be too early to write this post. But here we go anyway.)

In August, I finished my radiation treatment for breast cancer (click on my Instagram feed in the sidebar if you want to see the video of me ringing the bell). It was a good day. I was so happy and relieved. Going forward, I have quite a few tests to make sure the cancer stays gone, but there’s a good chance that the hardest parts are behind me.

This is where I say again that I have an amazing support system. I am surrounded by people who love to hear good news because it’s currently true, not because I’m pretending or hoping it will be true. And even when the good news is currently true, they understand that there is more going on in any given situation, especially an ongoing trauma such as cancer treatment and recovery, than just the facts or prognosis. They know how to leave space for despair, even when they can see that things are working out or will likely work out in the future.

Even with such a support system in place, however, there have been (and continue to be) so many times I feel like my problem isn’t quite big enough to merit complaint. It is often hard to convince myself that I have a good enough reason to take the rest I actually need.

If you’ve had chemo or other types of treatment, you’ve been bombarded with reading material detailing how many things can go wrong. If you have spent time in those waiting rooms – you know exactly how bad it could have been. You’ve seen it. You meet so many people who have it worse.

With a few hiccups along the way, my recovery has gone pretty well. I’ve had some scares and setbacks, but I’ve generally healed as the medical team expected me to.

Add to this that I am Gen X, oldest daughter, former gifted child, and high-masking neurospicy cocktail of a human, and before I even know what’s happening, I’m should-ing myself to death.

Should be grateful.

Should be happy.

Should be energized.

Should be back to normal.

Should be better – at my job, at my hobbies, at my life.

To my distress, I’m not usually any of those things these days. I am having a hard time.

Maybe I’m writing this post because I need a reminder right now that I have the right to lament.

My body looks different than it did before. My relationship with my body was already complicated, but now it seems like a stranger who assumes a familiarity that isn’t there. I feel like my body thinks it knows me because it follows me on Instagram. But we are not real-life friends right now.

I’m having more neuropathy symptoms now (specifically, tingling and numbness and poor grip in my fingers, especially in my right hand) than I did when I was undergoing chemo.

I am easily saddened and overwhelmed. I spend a large portion of my day and energy fighting back tears so that I don’t cry at the slightest inconvenience or change in plans. I sometimes cry for what seems like no reason anyway.

I’m tired. So, so tired. Just all the time.

I don’t know what to do with all my feelings. But I am slowly remembering that I have the right to have them. Even the negative ones.

Maybe you need someone to tell you that you have a right to lament, too. I urge you to give yourself permission to do so.

Sometimes reading brings up hard things. I’m writing out some of my reflections this month.

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“He doesn’t say what he is thinking, which is that his church is held-breath story listening and late-night-concert ear-ringing rapture and perfect-boss fight-button pressing. That his religion is buried in the silence of freshly fallen snow, in a carefully crafted cocktail, in between the pages of a book somewhere after the beginning but before the ending.”
Erin Morgenstern, The Starless Sea

The Starless Sea is one of my favorite books I’ve read this year. I love everything about it. The storyline is intricate and the characters are well-developed. It is full of mystery and surprise, and it doesn’t shy away from darker emotions.

Most of all, though, it resonates with me through little moments like this one. There is almost a holiness to the language, conjuring images and sensations that stir my soul.

I’m having a hard time putting this reflection into words. It’s something like church, though. I am a rarity among my friends in that I do actually attend church, and I find the sacred there. The care and love of a community. The big picture.

One of my favorite aspects of my faith, however, is that the divine isn’t confined to a building or a specific group of people. It’s in a million little things, like wind chimes and cloud formations. Kindness. A really good cup of coffee. A dish of water set out for the birds.

This quote reminds me of moments that make up a whole life.

I’m reflecting on my reading this month.

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“I was like a woman at a drawer, putting away her party dresses between tissue paper, and there he stood in the doorway– not Stewart Applebaum, but this feeling– gentlemanly, feral, breathtaking, peaceful, something very close to life itself, asking me for one more dance down in the meadow.”
Rebecca Lee, Bobcat and Other Stories

Getting older is strange. It’s equal parts liberating and stifling. It’s a round of “I do what I want” followed immediately by “I’m old enough to know better.” People look at you like you’re the adult in the room, and you are, even though you may reject their definition of what that means and the expectations that go along with it.

Every new change, whether it’s due to aging or sickness or just boredom, comes with packing away or throwing out the things that don’t fit anymore. Sometimes that feels good; sometimes it doesn’t.

Last Sunday, we celebrated a couple of birthdays by going to the goth club we used to frequent. It was my first time going to their new location, and I was nervous about whether I would like it.

I had fun. I missed the chandelier and the multiple bars spaced throughout the club and the second dance room. I had moments of sadness remembering people we used to see there who are no longer with us.

But the music was a great mix of new and old. There was something for everyone, which is one of the big things that drew me to the club back in the day. All the weird things we each bring to the table were welcome. Everyone can play. Just the way the world should be.

It was a good reminder that I’m not ready to pack away all the party dresses. I probably never will be.

As long as I have breath, I will dance through a thousand open doorways and out into the world.

I hope you have a good week, friends.

I’m writing reflections on the things I’ve read this year.

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“I have finally concluded, maybe that’s what life is about: there’s a lot of despair, but also the odd moment of beauty, where time is no longer the same. It’s as if those strains of music created a sort of interlude in time, something suspended, an elsewhere that had come to us, an always within never. Yes, that’s it, an always within never.”
Muriel Barbery, The Elegance of the Hedgehog

Today’s post may be a little short. I’ve not been feeling well this week. I tried to push through, expecting my default version of taking it easy by going to work a little later and canceling a meeting or evening plans a couple of times would do the trick it usually does/used to do.

But no.

Last night I didn’t sleep a lot because I was up and sick with a fever and various other unpleasant symptoms. I finally admitted to myself around 4:00 that I wouldn’t be able to go in today at all.

I hate it. I’m so tired of being sick. It may be quite a while until I’m back to what I’m used to seeing as normal for me. The despair is so heavy at times that it’s almost a tangible presence.

I’m not much of a bright-sider, but I know that little touches of light and beauty are good tools to guide me out of the dark. Things like kind words from friends, the perfect cup of coffee, my favorite sweatshirt. My faith. My art. Constants that I can always depend on even when it seems like the bad things will never go away.

My always within never.

I’m sharing reading reflections this month. Click for the long list.

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“Give yourself permission to make your networks echo chambers.”
Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes, Sacred Self-Care: Daily Practice for Nurturing Our Whole Selves

I’ve gotten a lot of advice on how to take it easy this year. Most of it was wisdom I specifically sought out, whether in reading or asking questions of people who had either gone through what I was going through or at least seemed like they were doing something right.

When I read this quote, it punched me in the gut a little. It was gentle enough for me to be amenable to it but strong enough for me to take notice.

One of my core values is curiosity. I love learning new things. I am fascinated by perspectives and experiences different from my own. I aim to start conversations by being open to explanations and trying to understand rather than by assuming I already know their intentions and have decided they’re the worst.

This practice has served me well. I am more liberal than the average Democrat (Two-party system? More like two sides, same coin) and I live in Texas. I have a lot of…opportunities…to listen to people with whom I disagree. And with many people (not all – some people really are just assholes full of hate), when I listen to them, they let their guard down enough to listen back. And we both learn that we have more goals in common than we thought. They no longer see me as the enemy they imagined me to be.

Changing hearts and minds, one radical conservative at a time.

An echo chamber (wherein you surround yourself only with people who agree with you) is not generally conducive to this practice. My gut reaction to Dr. Walker-Barnes’s advice was immediately no.

Then the curiosity kicked in.

As I read on, I thought about all the places that I carve out in my life where I feel safe. Places where every word isn’t a constant struggle and every nuance doesn’t have to be analyzed and defined. They still challenge me and make me think (because I like that) but they at least give me a soft and loving place to do it.

I see this all over my environment. For example, the picture above was taken in my office at work. I have

  • Twinkle lights (that need new batteries but still – they’re there)
  • Pretty bottles and rocks
  • A nice mix of inspiring nonfiction, fiction, and poetry
  • Fun stuff for play and art

A visual echo chamber, if you will.

The more I read, the more I wondered what it would be like if at least one of my social media networks was an echo chamber. What if, when I opened the app, I wasn’t immediately bombarded with every snarky, petty dig someone could think to take at people who are doing what I consider to be good in the world? What would that be like?

So I tried it on Instagram. Mass unfollowing. That alone was pretty cathartic.

The days that followed, though? Heavenly. There is so much wonderful going on out there. Did you all know this? I’m a little sad that I missed out on it for so long.

It’s still not all shiny happy news, but it’s very grounding. It’s a reminder that I’m not alone (because in Texas, I often feel very, very alone).

How do you feel about echo chambers? What purpose (if any) do they serve in your life?

I’m reflecting on what I’ve read this year.

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“We are all stardust and stories.”
Erin Morgenstern, The Starless Sea

A large portion of my life – and, I think, in all our lives – is wrapped up in story. I read so much because I typically find something in every book that enriches my perspective or reminds me of someone or something important to me. It keeps my mind active and curious.

You don’t have to read to understand the wealth of a well-told story, though. We all wrap our lives in the narratives we share to show who we are and where we’re coming from.

I’ve got some exciting plans this month, including the Celebrate Life 5K, Empty Bowls, Spiderdead, and Dewey’s Readathon. At work, it’s Fall Preview this Saturday and information sessions for student staff selection for next year all month. I’m sure there will be a Halloween party or two somewhere in there as well.

While the calendar looks busy, I don’t want to get lost in an endless sea of tasks. I have blocked out lots of time for stories, and I’m excited about my list.

Book Clubs

Reading Challenges

I think this is the month I finish the Libro.fm challenge! I have three more prompts left, and this is what I’m reading for them:

Plus a few more to work on other challenges:

They Never Learn by Layne Fargo

  • An academic thriller (52 Book Club)

Love, Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood

  • Women in STEM (52 Book Club)

The Charm Offensive by Alison Cochrun

  • An LGBTQ+ romance (POPSUGAR)

The Witches Are Coming by Lindy West

  • Read a book about media literacy (Book Riot)

Cozy Fall

My September reads felt pretty brutal. For example, one of my book clubs read a book that centered around the events that could lead to nuclear war, and another read a book about a prison fight club that was televised like reality TV. Both of those books were good, but they were also violent and heavy. This month, as I feel like my year has been heavy enough all on its own, thanks, I am going to dive into something cozier, or at least books with a satisfying resolution.

I have a couple of Phryne Fisher ebooks checked out from the library that I want to finish, and I want to start the Poe Baxter series by ACF Bookens. May go for the next book in the Finlay Donovan series. A couple of my book clubs are reading choose-your-own-adventure style with a spooky theme, and many of those selections are cozy in nature (except for The Reformatory – but I’m almost finished with it and it’s good enough to make an exception). And who doesn’t love books about bookshops (rhetorical – the right answer is “nobody”):

I hope you get to dive into some good stories this month or at least have the space to share a few of your own!

I’m sharing reading reflections this month. Click here to see the list!

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This year has been nuts. Even with a truly outstanding medical team and the rich support of friends and family, cancer made sure that I felt more like a pin cushion or an experiment than a person most of the year. -1,000/10. Strongly do not recommend.

Several things have saved me. I’ve never felt like I was in this alone. There has always been at least one person willing and able to accompany me (or drive me) to my appointments, treatments, and procedures. I have received so many gifts. I always suspected that if I had a specific love language, gifts would be it, and I think this year has verified that. I also have been fed and texted and encouraged and cared for in so many other ways. Even people I didn’t expect to think about me at all have come out of the woodwork to give a kind word, donate to GoFundMe, or offer much-needed wisdom.

Another way I’ve made it through is by honoring that I need regular quiet time for rest. Of course, this is true all the time, but it has been especially vital this year. When I chose quiet as my theme word for the year, I knew I had to pursue it intentionally. I figured it would mean that I would need to lay aside a lot of the things I do to keep busy – things that I genuinely enjoy but tend to cause me more stress than other responsibilities and practices. I expected a lot of FOMO

Instead, I’m happy to report that my feelings on the matter have gone the other way. Apparently, JOMO is also a thing, and I have it. I enjoy seeing people, but when I can’t or when plans get canceled, the disappointment I feel in not getting to do the thing in question is often overshadowed by the absolute delight I experience in escaping several factors that often come along with it – the noise, the crowds, the germs, the commute, the cost, or simply the constant energy expenditure it takes to make sure I am projecting the right socializing/listening/personing face to match what is actually going on in my head. 

I didn’t really mean for the year to be this quiet, but I’m also not upset about it. I love quiet so much.

One of my favorite practices that I’ve honed this quiet year is slowing down during my reading time. Part of this practice is practical. My attention span has been sparse(-r than usual) and I get tired more quickly, so slowing down has been necessary to even retain what I read. Another benefit of a slower pace is that it leaves room for jotting down meaningful quotes that stand out to me. These quotes have their own journal, and it’s the most consistent journaling I’ve done in a while. 

This month, I want to let you in on a little part of it. I’m going to share a different quote each day that I’ve taken from the books I’ve read this year and write a reflection on it. I can see this becoming a regular thing here, but it’s daily during October. 

I’ll catalogue the posts here for reference. Enjoy!

Day 2 – Stardust and Stories (October TBR)

Day 3 – Echo

Day 4 – An Always Within Never

Days 5 & 6 – Dance

Day 7 – Between the Pages

Day 8 – The Right To Lament

Day 9 – Practice

Day 10 – Wisely Ambitious

Day 11 – Inner Hobbit

Day 14 – Correct vs. Fun

Day 18 – Extraordinary, Mundane Fall Bucket List

Day 21 – Thunderstorms and Fairy Tales

Day 30 – Readathons Gone Awry

Day 31 – Hope’s Beautiful Guises

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