Weekend Guide: 10.02.2020
I recently signed up for a seminar on how to write an essay collection. This is something that I have never done before - but it is with an author I love and respect, so I am going for it. In preparation I had to write down 25 Things You Don’t Know About Me.
Here are a few that stood out and may serve as a jumping off point for an essay.
When my youngest brother was born, my parents let me name him. I decided on Alex, after my best friend in my first grade class. We were very close, almost inseparable. Alex moved. He never came back for second grade and I never saw or heard from him again.
I have always wanted to do acid, but I am too scared. For some reason I feel like there is no way that I would not have a bad trip.
Whenever I start a book - I finish it, even if I am not that into it. The only book that I stopped halfway through was Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy. It totally lost me. I may try to revisit it one day.
When my grandmother was dying of breast cancer, my father met a stranger in the supermarket who claimed to know that my grandmother was close to the end. She wanted to come over and wash her feet. My parents feel like this was her guardian angel.
I’ve been mining my 33 years for something of note. Honestly, anything extraordinary to write down. I think about the big moments, and I think about all of those little moments. Those tiny flourishes that still remain lit in the depths of my memory. None of which seem worthy of writing down. The alternative would be to find something happening in the world worth providing a take on - but journalism is not my bag, baby. So I must trust the process.
Pulling up for a minute to take a breath is important. Only when you take your car off the track are you able to stop, wipe the fog and gain a bit of perspective. I think it’s totally fine to be selfish for a bit and run through your life, year by year, for the stories that made you who you are. It seems that we wouldn’t have anything to entertain us if we were all too scared to wade through the shit. No movies, no amazing coming of age novels. It seems that a bit of navel-gazing can go a long way.
