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October 16, 2022Saturday morning, ten o’clock. The sun is shining, the air is just the right amount of crisp with the promise of warmth later on, and I have no plans for the entire day.
It’s also early April, 2020.
And aside from my once-every-two-weeks trip to the grocery store, I haven’t interacted with another human in-person for days or actually been anywhere. Unlike when I lived in major cities, I no longer live in a neighborhood that’s easy walking distance to shops, restaurants, parks, or other attractions.
So I fill a travel mug with coffee, put on some shoes, and head outside.
Forming new habits during the pandemic
During the pandemic, I started changing some of my habits for the better, and the coffee walk–now two and a half years later–is one that’s stuck.
Mind you, walking with coffee was not a new concept for me. I frequently went on walks with coffee in hand when I lived in New York, Boston, and even Vienna (where, as far as I’m aware, “coffee to go” only started becoming a thing in more recent years). But for each of those walks, I was usually on my way to someplace else. A walk with no actual destination in mind, just a spin around my neighborhood, was different.
But I’d asked myself how I could turn a simple walk around the neighborhood into more of a special treat. And the answer was “bring coffee.”
It was something to look forward to, something I knew I could do on weekend mornings or even during the week on my lunch breaks while working from home. I felt not only refreshed, but also like I was doing something fun just for me.
How did the “coffee walk” help me?
I’m not talking about a revolutionary concept here. I mean, I was walking. With coffee. Really, it’s not that exciting. But in the world of Spring 2020, it was exactly the type of little thing to look forward to that I needed.
After said coffee walk, I’d head home and spend time on the porch curled up with a book or working on my own writing, or (if it started raining, as it often does during spring in the mountains), put on a cozy show or movie.
It was a simple way to break up my day, to make me feel like I’d gone “out” to do something even while stuck at home. And, if I was tired and didn’t feel like going to somewhere else outdoors where I could walk around (which would have required me to drive somewhere), I could step outside my front door for some simple self-care.
Other simple self-care measures
While the coffee walk was a fun recharge to look forward to, and a way to get out of the house that required little effort, it wasn’t the only measure I took to take care of myself. Here’s a short list of small things that I’d like to share in the hopes that they strike inspiration for others’ everyday lives, pandemic or not:
Immediately stepping outside after the workday ended at 5:00 to either rest on the porch or go for a walk
Identifying and cutting out foods that don’t help my ultra-sensitive skin (I’m already a vegetarian, but I cut out dairy as much as possible, and it was easier than expected!)
Waking up a bit earlier to write (or to read and enjoy a slow, relaxing morning before work)
Reminding myself to breathe (sometimes with the help of meditation apps!)
Listening to podcast episodes while cleaning the house, doing laundry, or doing dishes (it definitely makes all of these activities more enjoyable!)
Creating a Sunday evening routine to help chase away the Sunday scaries
All of these activities have two things in common: 1) they are small steps geared toward improving my own well-being, and 2) they are easy to incorporate–and keep–in my routine. Along with the “coffee walk,” they not only helped me during the pandemic, but have been great additions to my day-to-day life in general.
Image: Pixabay, Alexas_Fotos [...]
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April 10, 2022I walked into the classroom full of first-day-of-school optimism, shiny new notebook in one hand, water bottle in another. Ready to take on my History PhD program. The seminar started, and the professors and my classmates began a discussion. A fast-paced, laced-with-jargon discussion. At one point, I had trouble following the conversation.
And something like this began happening in my head:
Uh-oh. I haven’t contributed to the discussion yet.
What do I say? No, that point is way too obvious.
I have NO idea what they’re talking about. And I’ve never read anything by this Foucault person they keep mentioning, either.
I don’t deserve to be here.
Hang on. (Cue the record scratch sound!)
Did I, or did I not, get into this program just like each of these other students? Hadn’t I proven my intelligence, or knowledge, or whatever else they needed to know about me?
On that day, I didn’t think so. And I started to get very, very nervous.
What is Impostor Syndrome?
Impostor syndrome is the feeling of not believing you deserve a certain achievement, position, or distinction, and that you’ll be “found out” as a fraud and lose said opportunity.
Studies show that about 82 percent of individuals experience it at some point, and that it disproportionately affects high-achieving individuals on whom there is intense pressure to excel, especially in environments where it’s easy to compare oneself to others.
It’s a fear-driven response to being in a situation where we are expected to do well, but in which our confidence has–for whatever reason–taken a hit. And it can lead to stress, anxiety, burnout…in short, it’s terrible for our mental and physical health.
How Have I Experienced Impostor Syndrome?
The most pronounced experience of impostor syndrome I had was in graduate school. It’s happened in other situations before, but this was my worst and longest-running bout with it, so I’ll use it as an example here. During those years, I constantly feared someone discovering I wasn’t smart enough to be in a PhD program, and then asking me to leave.
This feeling persisted throughout every stage of graduate school, from fearing my research topic wasn’t worthy enough for a dissertation committee to award my PhD, or fearing that I wouldn’t succeed in general. (This feeling was exacerbated when, after presenting at a history conference in Mainz, Germany in 2015, my paper was the only one excluded from the published volume of conference papers because it wasn’t deemed “academic” enough, or something like that. It still stings when I think about it.)
While completing my program helped lessen my impostor syndrome, it didn’t disappear entirely. I had to take a full-on break from being a historian after finishing my PhD because I was completely burned out. And as I dip my toe back into that world these days, I still feel impostor syndrome lurking below the surface (cue the Jaws theme here).
Yet after that long-term struggle with impostor syndrome, the metaphorical sharks have started to seem a bit less threatening this time around. Because I know I can succeed despite my impostor syndrome.
Pixabay – VirtualWorldDesign
How Has Impostor Syndrome Made Me Stronger?
Experiencing impostor syndrome forced me to take a good, long look at my self-esteem in relation to my competencies and credentials. And I realized there was a discrepancy there.
I thought about why I was experiencing impostor syndrome, and saw that it was a combination of comparing myself to others, feeling like I was the least-smart or the least-accomplished person in the room, and of fearing others didn’t think I was enough.
So–to continue with the Jaws analogy–I think what I needed was to get myself a bigger boat.
(The “boat” here is self-esteem, by the way.)
And somewhere along the way, from tough jobs (including a stint in business development where I had to have a thick skin), to surviving my dissertation defense, I realized that I had put myself in situations where I had to challenge myself and make the most of my potential. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have developed impostor syndrome in the first place.
But I also wouldn’t know what I was capable of.
Do I want to be in situations like that all the time? No, definitely not–it’s exhausting. But facing my impostor syndrome by realizing why it had developed in the first place has allowed me to see that I should be damn proud of what I’ve accomplished. And that includes any failures where I dared to dust myself off and get back up again. (That conference paper? It became a key component of a dissertation chapter.)
How Do I Still Experience–and Deal with–Impostor Syndrome?
These days, I’m refusing to let impostor syndrome win when it comes to my favorite creative pursuit–namely, writing fiction. Knowing how toxic impostor syndrome was for me during graduate school, I can’t let self-doubt poison the fiction-writing that I love so much.
And, on the historian side of things, as I slowly work toward revising my dissertation into a book, I’m keeping tabs on how I’m feeling. If I have a moment of thinking “This isn’t scholarly enough,” or worse, “I’m not qualified to write this,” I remind myself that it’s just my impostor syndrome talking and that I’ve more than proven myself.
And then I try to tell myself the following:
Think about everything you’ve accomplished.
You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t earned it.
You are a strong, intelligent woman.
That’s how I tell my impostor syndrome to shut up. (And it’s the moment where–dun-dun–there’s a record scratch on the Jaws theme.)
Feelings of self-doubt are a normal human reaction to situations in which we’re expected to meet a certain intimidating standard. But focusing on our strengths and accomplishments that got us to the point of experiencing it–rather than on the fear of what we may or may not be lacking–is one small way to fight it. So if impostor syndrome has started to creep in for you in whatever situation you’re in, take a moment to think about what you’ve accomplished so far that’s gotten you to this point. And then take another moment to be proud of yourself.
Image: 0fjd125gk87, Pixabay. [...]
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February 2, 2022I was an overwhelmed graduate student when I first heard of the Pomodoro Technique, sometimes also called the Pomodoro method. In Italian, the word pomodoro means “tomato.” What, you might wonder, do tomatoes have to do with productivity?
Not much, except that kitchen timers are sometimes shaped like them. The technique was developed by Francesco Cirillo, who used a kitchen timer as a student to get work done, and found it an effective tool for time management.
What is the Pomodoro Technique?
The key to the Pomodoro Technique is timers. When faced with a task, set a timer for 25 minutes (called a “pomodoro”), then take a 5-minute break. Set the timer for 25 minutes again, then take another 5-minute break. After a few pomodoros, take a longer break (about 30 minutes) if you plan to start the cycle again and continue doing pomodoros.
There are variations on the method; some people, for example, may advocate for 50 minutes of focused work, followed by a 10-minute break. As for me, sometimes I only have time for a 10-to-15-minute work sprint followed by a short break before going on to whatever I need to do next.
Ultimately, though, I find that the 25-minute time frame works best for me, and I can get a solid chunk of work done before taking a break. I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how much I can do in that amount of time.
How the Pomodoro Technique helped me finish grad school
I would not have finished my dissertation without the Pomodoro Technique or variations of it. I’d set a timer and tell myself that I only had to spend the next 25 minutes making edits on a chapter draft. (And there were a lot of edits.) Knowing that there was a clear end in sight, after which I could take a break, kept me motivated.
When I was really not in the mood to work on the dissertation (which was often), I’d use any already-constricted time as what I’ll call micro-pomodoros. I’d scribble out edits while riding the train to work, while waiting at the doctor’s office, or while heating up dinner. Sometimes, when I was especially un-motivated, I’d put a show on Hulu and make edits during the 90 seconds of commercials. It sounds a little desperate, and it was, but those 90-second sprints all added up and helped move me one step closer to being done.
How the Pomodoro Technique helps with “fun” writing
For my current writing projects, what I have referred to as “fun” writing since finishing my dissertation, I’ll also use pomodoros. Whether it’s doing tricky research, or whether it’s editing a piece that’s due, I’ll set that timer, put on some music, and focus.
Knowing that I have those 25 minutes to focus on a single task helps immerse me in my work. I might be doing another 25-minute stretch–or three or four more 25-minute stretches–right after it, but the timer holds me accountable. This is what I’m supposed to be doing in this moment. And sometimes, when I get into a flow state, I keep working even after that timer goes off.
Where and how else have I used timers to get things done?
Though I consider myself to be a relatively organized person, I can get easily distracted when I have multiple tasks to tackle, jumping from one thing to the next without much focus. When I’m feeling scattered, pomodoros come to the rescue. For instance:
On a typical Sunday afternoon, I might have to do laundry, finish a piece that’s on deadline, read for a writing group, do meal prep so that I have lunches to take to the office, or pack for a work trip–but often it’s some combination of all of the above.
On a Monday morning at the office, I might divide my tasks into 25-minute chunks to avoid the usual beginning-of-the-week overwhelm. For example, I frequently answer emails in 25-minute batches!
On a Thursday evening, one of my typical house-cleaning days, I might do modified pomodoros, spending 15 minutes on the kitchen, 10 on the living room, etc.
It sounds regimented, but honestly, it doesn’t feel that way. What it does feel like is holding myself accountable for time spent, and making sure I use it wisely. I actually enjoy writing out my Sunday afternoon and early evening schedule, which I give credit for chasing away the “Sunday Scaries.” The Pomodoro Technique also helps me get through–and even make a game out of–the tasks I’m less excited about, like emptying the dishwasher. (Cue the Mary Poppins music–what was it she said about finding the “element of fun”?)
When I’m more mindful of how I spend my time, I feel like I have more time to relax and enjoy other activities, like curling up with a book for a couple of hours on Saturday morning, going for a long walk, watching my latest favorite on Netflix, or having dinner with friends.
And yes, I also wrote this post in pomodoro stretches.
Image: Pixabay, kat7214 [...]
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January 5, 2022“How are you?”
“Busy.”
I’m so busy. Three powerful, tiny words.
Three destructive words.
Three words that burned me out, that hurt my mental health, that made me feel like I wasn’t doing enough if I wasn’t “busy.”
Like I’d fail at whatever I was setting out to achieve, like I’d be viewed as lazy.
But what I was really saying was I’m so tired. I’m too tired.
We live in a world that constantly makes us wonder if we’re enough. Smart enough. Pretty enough. Active enough. Successful enough. Rich enough.
And, frankly, it’s gross.
So how about this: Enough of glorifying busyness and burnout.
Rest Does Not Equal Laziness
Repeat after me: I need rest.
Whatever that looks like for you, whether it’s a good old-fashioned nap, an hour of watching your favorite comfort show, a long walk through nature, or curling up on the porch with a good book, figure it out and make it a regular habit.
I still feel guilty sometimes when I’m taking a break rather than working on something with a looming deadline. But breaks are essential. They’re human. It took a pandemic shutdown in the spring of 2020, when the entire world had to stay home, for me to finally see how desperately I needed to rest.
Redefining Success
“Busy” does not equal success. The “work smarter, not harder” mantra has merit. It’s a learning curve, but I’m working on it.
And in the almost two years since the world as we knew it flipped on its head, I’ve had a few wake-up calls in that respect.
First, my sheer exhaustion clued me in to how humans are not built for a grinding 40-hour work week. Some people do well with it. But…it’s not the only way to work. It’s not conducive to rest or to a slower pace. And I think more and more people are recognizing that.
Second, I was going at about 100 miles per hour when I should have been going, like, 30. After living in big cities for so long, after juggling a full-time job with finishing a dissertation, I was used to a fast pace. And I was having a really hard time downshifting from that.
Third, I felt pressure to be busy all the time. Like, all the time. If I wasn’t busy, I wasn’t accomplishing anything. But I needed to stop telling myself that lie.
My success, I needed to understand, did not depend on being busy.
Self-Care > Being Busy
Here’s the thing–rest and self care are accomplishments. If, in the fast-paced world we live in, you’re able to recognize what you need and when you need to slow down, then that’s a huge victory right there. Your mental health and well-being are top priorities. Reframing self-care as a priority has helped me make it a key part of my week. Slowing down is self-care. Rest is self-care. Compassion for yourself is self-care.
“I’m so busy” is no longer a positive phrase. If I find myself thinking this, my next questions are, “Okay, what do I need to say no to?” or “What do I need to stop doing altogether?” Sure, I’ll have times when my schedule is busier than it typically is, or days when I have more things to get done than usual. Everyone does; it’s called “life.” And yes, I still get burned out, though sometimes due to circumstances beyond my control.
But I don’t treat busyness or burnout as an accomplishment anymore. My successes feel greater knowing that I was able to achieve them with rest and self-care.
So.
“How are you?”
Maybe I’ll have a better answer next time. [...]
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August 1, 2021Or, how I joined the 5 a.m. Writers’ Club and stuck with it.
Since mid-April 2021, I’ve been waking up earlier than usual to write. A major reason why I decided to do this? I went back to the office full-time after COVID-19 vaccinations became more prevalent.
It may surprise some people that I started this habit when working from home ended. Wouldn’t I want to sleep in as much as possible? Why add something else to my schedule?
My reasoning was simple, however: I was exhausted after getting home from work, and I often didn’t feel like writing in the evenings. If I didn’t wake up earlier, my entire day went like this: wake up, get ready for work, commute to work, work, drive home, make dinner, briefly read/write/walk, go to bed. A solid twelve hours of my day, from waking up to arriving at home, revolved around my day job.
No, thank you. That was not how I wanted to live my life.
My discovery of the #5amwritersclub on Twitter was accidental. Not long after I started waking up earlier to write, I learned about the hashtag while reading a post on an author’s website. There is a whole world out there of people who wake up early to prioritize writing. (Side note: it’s an awesome Twitter community full of lovely, supportive writers; I highly recommend checking it out!)
So how do I do this every weekday morning? Here’s how I got going and how I’ve stayed consistent:
1. The obvious solution: Set an earlier alarm
Straightforward, right? But the trick is, how much earlier? If you wake up at 6:30 a.m. normally, you probably don’t want to jump right into waking up at 4:45. Start small, like five or ten minutes earlier than your usual wake-up time.
Once you adapt to that small shift, try gradually ramping up the amount to fifteen minutes, twenty, twenty-five, thirty. Wake up five minutes earlier each week or every few days, and you’ll be surprised about how quickly you can adapt.
2. Do the regular morning routine first
While some people might prefer to write first, I like to get myself ready for work before sitting down to write. That way, while I’m writing, I’m not thinking about everything I have left to do before my commute. I can focus 100% on my writing until it’s time to leave the house.
And sometimes, if I’m doing something that doesn’t require my undivided attention with eyes on the mirror (brushing my teeth, for example) I’ll do a few handwritten edits on printed-out pages. That strategy 1) starts my writing momentum, and 2) lessens my resentment toward the time I have to spend getting ready for work.
3. Set a timer
If you want to make sure you stick to writing without getting distracted by other parts of your morning routine, then setting a timer with an easy-to-hear alarm is a great way to focus. An alarm going off also takes away the stress of potentially losing track of time. You’ll know, for example, that when that timer goes off, you’ll still have fifteen minutes left before you need to start the rest of your day or leave the house.
I swear by the pomodoro method for everything from writing (I would not have finished my dissertation without it), to emptying the dishwasher and doing laundry. A traditional pomodoro is 25 minutes with a five-minute break in-between. You can shorten or increase that 25-minute chunk depending on the amount of time you have/need.
4. Identify clear daily goals
Sometimes, the art of writing happens when you sit down and let words flow without a plan. But it can be frustrating if you set aside time to write during your busy week, and then you sit down at your desk, in your favorite chair, or on your porch, only to think: Now what?
Before you start writing, give yourself a specific goal, whether that’s writing a scene for your novel, outlining a blog post, journaling, drafting a flash story, or following a prompt.
What if you would rather not plan, deciding to go with whatever creative feelings you have in the moment? Sure, that’s great. But if you go that route, have a pen and paper (or your word processor/writing software) ready so that you’re not staring off into space for twenty minutes.*
(*Yes, I know that staring off into space can count as creative time. It’s sometimes the best way to work out a scene, imagine a character, fill a plot hole, etc. If you do end up staring off into space during your writing time, however, please actually think about your writing. Don’t waste time mulling over your to-do list at your day job, deciding what to get your friend for their birthday, or figuring out whether your cat is secretly plotting to take over the world.)
5. Plan even farther ahead
The night before, what can you do to give yourself more time during your early-morning writing session? Set out the clothes you’re going to wear? Get coffee ready to go? Organize your writing station?
Taking this further, can you plan ahead for the full week? Try taking fifteen minutes on Sunday evening to make a list of your writing goals: any overall goals for the week, plus the smaller goals for each of your morning writing sessions.
And last but certainly not least, the most important thing you can do if you intend to wake up earlier to write: Go to bed earlier. You will thank yourself in the morning. [...]
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June 13, 2021Note: This post is geared toward novelists, but there’s advice in here that can be applicable for other types of writers, too!
Writing is hard. Sometimes the most difficult part is actually sitting down to write. And sometimes, we truly don’t have the time or the energy.
Plus, there’s that pesky little thing called writers’ block. Even the most detail-oriented plotter can run into it.
Before I jump into this list, let me remind you that nothing is a substitute for actual writing. The only way to get it done is by putting one word after the other on the page. But if you’re stuck and you want to do other things to help your story, here are a few fun ways to make progress with your novel.
Create a playlist
Movies have soundtracks–why not your novel? Find music that works with the aesthetic of your novel, or songs that fit well as the background music to a scene. You can also make more than one playlist depending on the purpose you want it to serve.
For example, for my novel set in the early 1930s, which I’m currently revising, I have a playlist of songs from the actual time period (and from scores of movies set during the time period) to root me in the time and place, which is great if I want to immerse myself in the setting. For the same novel, I also have a playlist of modern songs that fit scenes or character emotions.
There have been many times when words weren’t happening and I just wasn’t up for writing. But after I went for a walk and listened to one of said playlists, BOOM! Words. Energy to write. Inspiration for something to add to a scene. So that’s an added bonus.
Map out your world
If your book is set in a real-life city, print out a map of that location. If you’re writing historical fiction, there are plenty of historical city map images online that you can print out for this purpose. For one of my novels, I printed a map of late eighteenth-century Boston. For another, it was a small German university city in 1930!
If it’s a fantasy or sci-fi novel that requires intensive world-building, this will require your own drawing by hand or on a computer, but it’s a great way to get a clearer picture of what said world looks like. Since you’re making it up, you want it to be consistent!
After you have the map in front of you, here’s the next important step: Mark the main locations in the novel (ex. the protagonist’s house or apartment, the scene of the crime, the place two characters fall in love, etc.). It can spark some ideas and help you see potential you didn’t realize was there. For instance, after adding key plot locations to a map, you might see that it makes sense for your protagonist and villain to live next door to each other to heighten the tension in the novel.
Play icebreaker games for your characters
This-or-That, Never Have I Ever, Would You Rather…all are fun, quick ways to get to know your characters. You’re working on characterization even if you’re stuck on other areas of your novel.
Maybe you find out that your protagonist has a guilty-pleasure TV show, or that your villain is afraid of the dark. Or maybe, on a deeper level, the game gives your characters skeleton-in-the-closet secrets that you can work into your novel.
Take a personality quiz as your character
If one of the reasons you’re stuck or not up for writing is your characters, here’s another strategy to get to know them better (or make them more interesting): personality tests! What’s their Myers-Briggs type–are they a gregarious ENFJ or an ethereal INFP? What’s their Enneagram–are they a goal-oriented 3 or peacemaking 9?
There are so many options here–the point is to have fun with it and get to know your characters. Heck, which of the four Hogwarts houses would they be in? How would this affect their interactions? For example, as I was writing this, I just realized that my ’30s novel’s four main/main supporting characters would each be in different houses. Things could get very interesting with that in mind!
Lastly, if you’re into astrology (or, actually, even if you’re not), you can use it to help figure out your characters. If you haven’t chosen dates for your characters’ birthdays, this is the time to do it. Look up their sign’s typical characteristics and it might help get you out of a rut!
Create setting or character “vision boards”
Okay, full disclosure: My so-called “vision boards” are actually just photos I pasted from a Google image search into a document in Scrivener. (If you don’t know Scrivener, it’s a fantastic writing software that helps me keep my writing and ideas organized–check it out! No, they’re not paying me to say that.)
Look up (or use your own) photos of the city or country where your book is set, and compile them to give yourself a stronger sense of the setting. Even if you live in the location where your novel takes place and you see it every day, it can be a helpful exercise to have multiple images right in front of you.
Or, if you’re doing fantasy world-building, find places that look like the world forming in your head. For example, is your fantasy novel’s setting a place of rolling green hills and craggy cliffs? Ummm, hello, Ireland and Scotland!
And here’s another fun one: What do your characters look like? Is there a celebrity, historical person, or fictional character who comes to mind? Collect those photos!
Each of these activities is, as I stated above, no substitute for writing. But any one of them might help you become more invested in your story, get you past a writing block, or give you a little energy boost to help you get words on the page.
Image: Canva-venicedesigns [...]
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May 29, 2021Writing, as many writers will agree, is a lot like breathing. I can’t imagine a life where I’m not writing regularly.
Yet like many writers, I have a 9-to-5 job that does not typically involve writing (I’m not counting work emails here). There’s limited time during the week to actually write.
Work takes up 40 hours of my week, plus commuting time. Plus all of the times when I have a more irregular work schedule with professional commitments outside of business hours, which are times when I’m unable to compartmentalize my job into those 40 hours. By the time I get home, I’m exhausted, and some days, the last thing that I want to do is write.
But I do.
(Caveat: I don’t have many outside-of-work commitments–no kids, no pets, etc.–so I am writing from that perspective, though many of these tips are applicable for anyone regardless of commitments outside of work.)
Here’s how I’ve figured it out.
Time-Related Tips:
Waking up earlier
I know, I know. You’ve probably heard this one before. So that I can squeeze in an hour of writing before leaving for work, I’ve started waking up an hour earlier than I usually do. I know that many people don’t have that option. But what about fifteen minutes? Five? You’d be surprised at how much you can get down on paper in that amount of time. Even if you only manage a paragraph–even a sentence–in those five minutes, that’s one more paragraph or sentence than you had yesterday.
Setting timers
To continue along that thread, setting a timer for those five or fifteen minutes goes a long way. You know exactly when your writing time starts and when it ends. This also helps you budget your time. Ready to leave for work, but you have ten minutes to spare? Set a timer for seven minutes, that way you give yourself a buffer and aren’t rushing out the door.
I wrote my PhD dissertation using variations of the pomodoro method. A traditional pomodoro is twenty-five minutes, with a five-minute break between pomodoros to stretch, unload your dishwasher, step outside for a quick vitamin D boost, whatever.
But I’d also grab minutes wherever I could in settings where I knew I had limited, structured time, doing edits during TV commercials, on the train to work, in waiting rooms at doctor’s offices, at the kitchen counter while waiting for pasta to cook, etc. And it worked.
Making the most of your lunch hour
I’m a fan of taking printed pages–or some kind of a notebook–to work. Why? This allows me to add to or edit a scene from a book, polish an article, or write a short story by hand. I just need a pen and paper and no electronic devices.
Have a lunch break that lasts an hour, but you’ve got to run errands and you only have twenty minutes left before you have to be back at your desk? Use those twenty minutes to write. Half-hour lunch break with errands? Squeeze in five–even two–minutes. (One sentence, remember?) And, following the tips above, set a timer that’s a couple of minutes less than the time you actually have.
Whatever you do during lunchtime to further your writing, please rest your eyes from a computer screen. We spend unhealthy amounts of time in front of screens (all of my computers are permanently on “night shift” mode that cancels blue light), so give yourself a break during work hours. Yes, you’ll probably end up in front of a screen after work anyway if you do any evening writing. And as a human in the twenty-first century, you have other non-work commitments that require a screen, like helping your kid with homework, finding a nearby auto mechanic or dentist, or planning a weekend away.
Using vacation time to write
If you have a 9-to-5, chances are there is some kind of vacation benefit built into that. Using vacation time to write is a luxury and probably not the first thing that comes to mind when you think “vacation.” I get it. And sometimes vacation time is needed for other stuff, like a family commitment or anything that comes up but doesn’t qualify as sick leave, like car repairs, house-hunting, or being at home when someone has to deliver your refrigerator. (On that note, you can also write while waiting for the refrigerator.)
But you can use that vacation time and take a day to 1) recharge (I’m a big believer in the 4-day work week), 2) create more distance between yourself and your job than you can during a regular two-day weekend, and 3) have more time to write with less of a time crunch.
Creating boundaries
This is a crucial one, and one that I have struggled with but have finally started to master. I used the word “compartmentalize” above. It’s difficult, sometimes, to shut off work notifications. And sometimes, depending on your job, you can’t shut them off (for example, if it’s a job that requires you to be on call).
But your job is not your entire life. So take small steps to create those boundaries between work and the rest of your life. Those steps will go a long way toward quality writing time, not to mention your overall self-care. Tell yourself you will not, under any circumstances, stay late unless it’s absolutely, time-sensitive necessary. And when you are on your lunch break, do not check your work emails on your phone. When you are at home sitting in front of the TV, do not open your laptop to work on that spreadsheet that you can finish tomorrow morning. (I am guilty of all of these things, but now understand that that behavior is unhealthy.)
Recently, I went on a work trip. After an event concluded, several others on the trip were going out to dinner. But I chose not to go. Instead, I used that time to disconnect from work and to edit the draft I wrote during NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). Writing and self-care, all in one. Boundaries.
Other strategic writing moves:
Joining a writing group for accountability
This one has been key for me. I’m a part of two virtual writing groups, and it’s been fantastic motivation. The key here is accountability; you have to show up and write during that session, or show up and share something you’ve written, or critique someone else’s work. It’s also a great way to meet other writers! You can do many components of your creative process alone (I’m an introvert, so I get that), but you cannot write in a vacuum.
If you aren’t sure about finding a writing group, at least find a writing buddy, or turn to a family member or friend for moral support. If other people know you’re writing, you’re more likely to actually write.
Prioritizing the type of writing that you want to do
Is your goal to be a novelist? Poet? Journalist? Blogger? Short story writer? Essayist? Screenwriter? Copywriter? A little bit of one or more of those things, or something else not on the list?
Take some time (set a timer!) to write out what your writing goals are. You can do it in two minutes. What type of writing is most important to you, and what are some other areas you’re interested in? What are you working on right now, and what types of writing bring you the most joy? (Get creative here. I will go out on a limb and guess that “work emails” will not be on that list.)
Clarifying your vision: What do you want from your writing?
Do you want to be a hobbyist? Have a side hustle? Ditch your 9-to-5 to write full-time? Whatever the case, figure out what it is, because this will help you with your broader goals. What’s your “I can do this in a year” goal with your writing, plus a dream that’s associated with it? What’s your pie-in-the-sky, shoot-for-the-moon dream for yourself as a writer?
For me: Year goal = have the novel I’m currently revising ready to pitch to agents after it goes through beta readers and critique partners. Year dream = sign with an agent. Out-there pie/moon goal = People love my book, it’s a bestseller, I feel like I’ve truly contributed something special to the world (and, okay, it becomes one in a gazillion that gets turned into a hit movie).
Which, now that we’ve done this healthy dose of dreaming, leads me to my next point…
Setting concrete, achievable goals (day, week, month, etc.)
If you hope to be a novelist, “finish novel” is one of your primary writing goals. But let’s break that down into bite-sized pieces. What can you do today? Can you finish that scene? Probably. What can you do in a week? Can you finish that chapter? Also probably.
I set goals for myself like “write x scene” or “read through and edit x article” that can be done during a lunch hour or in a before or after-work writing pomodoro. If I’m in the middle of writing something, “finish full first draft” is usually in the three-ish month time frame.
Setting these small goals is how I managed to write a dissertation with a full-time job. And in this past year, I’ve written two novel drafts, submitted a couple of articles for online publication, entered short story contents, and churned out numerous other short stories that I’ll pitch throughout this year. I don’t say this to brag, though I do think we as writers need to be kinder to ourselves in recognizing our achievements. I say this to show that it’s not impossible to prioritize writing.
Last but not least: Call yourself a writer
I cannot overstate this enough. Writers write. You do not have to be published to call yourself a writer. It is a skill, a talent, a gift. Whatever your 9-to-5 is, you are also a writer. That thought keeps a spark going in me whenever I’m having a rough day, whenever I’m tired, whenever I’m discouraged or unhappy. But I’m a writer, and it’s something I’ll always have to turn to.
I’ll say it one more time: You. Are. A. Writer. Now say it to yourself out loud: I am a writer. In every writing group I’ve joined, every conference or workshop I’ve attended, every online community I am even tangentially a part of, this is the common thread. Own it, be proud of it, and put the damn pen to paper (or hands to keyboard).
Post image: Canva – bongkarn thanyakij [...]
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March 14, 2021After I defended my dissertation and received my PhD, I made a promise to myself: I was going to take a break from history. A break that should last at least a year. Besides, letting a project sit for a while before going back to it is a good practice with any kind of writing, because you can look at it with fresh eyes.
Well, as I write this, it’s been a little over a year. And I’m starting to look into the process of turning my history dissertation into a book. Something that, at one point, I wasn’t sure I’d ever do.
While I do not have big dreams of being a top internationally-renowned scholar (though, okay, that would be pretty cool), I do have the overall goal of being the best writer that I can be. Writing is my happy place. And, yes, I like research, too.
So…after a stressful graduate school experience during which both my love of reading and love of writing were severely tested, and considering that fiction is my preferred writing focus, how the heck did I get to this point?
It was like this.
Time Management Post-Dissertation: Knowing My Limits
After I defended my dissertation, there was that “now what?” moment of knowing that I suddenly had more free time. And after that first weekend post-defense when I took a breath (and slept a lot), I tried to fill that space pretty quickly.
(I should also mention here that four months after defending my dissertation, COVID-19 was declared a global pandemic, and so much of this self-discovery happened during the bizarre world that was 2020.)
How did I use my free time after the dissertation? In addition to running, walking, and doing a lot more “fun” reading, I filled my time with more writing. I threw myself into revisions for an old novel and started brainstorming some new ideas.
At the time, I wondered whether doing so much writing was a mistake, because I was just giving myself something else that would hang over my head (i.e., get this manuscript ready so that I can start querying it to literary agents).
But here’s the funny thing that I started to notice: It didn’t hang over my head at all. I no longer felt guilty when I watched Netflix or took a nap or spent time with friends or, really, did ANYTHING outside of my job and my writing.
Why?
It was quite simple: I was writing for fun. Not because I had a massive project looming and was desperate to finally finish grad school. I was writing because I wanted to, not because I had to.
And therein lies the difference.
Returning to the Dissertation: How Writing For Fun Made Me Interested in My Research Again
In the summer of 2020, while working primarily from home and having a lot of extra time on my hands, I began another novel that I knew I’d see through to the end. It was historical fiction, and–get this–set during a time and place relevant to my dissertation.
What made this twist of events even more comical was the research I had to do (and continue to do) for this book.
In addition to looking at old maps, photos, and the good old internet, there were other sources I had to turn to. Like books I’d read in grad school, or ones that I knew about but hadn’t read in full.
And, oh, yeah…one of those sources was a paper I’d written in my first year of grad school.
Wait…what?
The point here is this: Writing for fun brought me back to why I liked studying history in the first place: the basic premise of finding (and telling) the stories.
And that’s when I realized the true gift I had given myself by finishing my PhD: I could do history now because I wanted to. Not because I had to.
But there was another obstacle to contend with first.
Fighting Off Doubts: When Impostor Syndrome Reared Its Ugly Head
For a while, I feared that what I’d researched wasn’t “scholarly” enough, or something like that. In the middle of grad school, a conference paper I’d written that later turned into one of my dissertation chapters got rejected by a German publisher for a collection of conference papers-turned-essays for exactly that reason. And the early draft of my dissertation needed a LOT of work before I was ready to defend, again for exactly that reason.
So until I got the point of actually defending my dissertation, my confidence about my skill as a historian was, obviously, in the garbage. Even after I was done, I wondered how in the world I would turn my dissertation into a book–or even if I would turn it into a book.
But then I got some nice words of encouragement. From my committee, from fellow and former PhD students, from family and friends. And I realized that a) my work was good enough to earn me a PhD, and b) that I’d finished one heck of an accomplishment. I had indeed earned the title of historian after all of that hard work.
It’s not ready to go out into the world as a book now; of course it’s not. No dissertation is, hot off the “thank-God-it’s-done” presses. But I had a revelation recently: I have the skills to get it where it needs to be.
And so, when I’m ready, I’ll brush the thin layer of dust off my dissertation, pour myself some strong coffee, put Demi Lovato’s song “Confident” on repeat, and get to work. Because I want to, and because this time, I’ll enjoy it.
Image Credit: Canva/Marketplace Designers [...]
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December 6, 2020National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), which takes place every November, might seem like a crazy endeavor: write 50,000 words–a short rough draft of a novel–in 30 days. But it’s doable.
I just participated in my first-ever NaNoWriMo. Disclaimer, however: I have written novels before, so I had that experience under my belt to learn from. But I’d never attempted a draft in a month.
Why NaNoWriMo?
My logic was–why not? Especially in the weird world of 2020, when the only places I’d really been going were work and the grocery store, with the rest of my time spent at home being my introverted self.
This past year, I’ve also been making the most of the free time I now have after wrapping up a PhD, filling what used to be dissertation-writing/editing time with what I call “fun writing” time. And I had an idea that was a little different from my usual historical fiction, so I decided to run with it.
So in pursuing 1) a genre that was a little different, and 2) a lofty goal of a short first draft in 30 days, how did this make me a better writer?
Learning When to Write
Writing 50,000 words in 30 days works out to 1,666 per day. Confession: though I crossed the 50,000-word finish line by the end of the month, I did not hit that 1,666-word goal every day.
A lot of my fiction writing happens “when I feel like it” (which is often). But committing to this word count in a month forced me to look at when I’m at my best.
And I found that most weekdays, I was too tired to write much after work, especially if it wasn’t a work-from-home day. Maybe I’d get a few hundred words down. (A particularly rough day at work lent itself to one of two extremes: either getting a mere paragraph down, or writing pages and pages to de-stress.)
But on weekends, I could get on a roll. We’re talking thousands of words. And in the very early hours of weekday mornings before starting my work-from-home day, I found I had more energy than in the evenings.
But I made a point of writing (almost) every day. And I did stuff related to the story that didn’t involve writing. Both when I was and wasn’t writing, for example, I listened to music that was like a “soundtrack” for the story. (Part of what I wrote takes place in the ’90s, so yeah, that was fun.)
Learning Not To Strive for Perfection
As someone who has revised a couple of novels, plus a dissertation, this was a tough one for me. I have been guilty of revising as I write, which is a waste of time during NaNoWriMo.
I found I had to be okay with a scene being not-so-great. If I was trudging through it, knowing it was dry or mechanical or cliched, I just kept going. If a scene was shorter or less funny than how I’d initially imagined it, I accepted it and moved on to the next one. I adapted Dory’s mantra in Finding Nemo from “just keep swimming” to “just keep writing.”
There would be time after November to fix it.
Learning What Works…and What Doesn’t
So, with that “just keep writing” mentality, I found I noticed more when something wasn’t working. My thought process was, okay, I know that this doesn’t exactly work, but I have some ideas of how to fix it later.
How did I notice this when I was writing so quickly? Wouldn’t the pace of NaNoWriMo make it more difficult to catch the messy stuff?
Part of the answer to those questions is that I had the full story more or less mapped out it my head, but not exactly. So I knew the general trajectory and how it ended, but I left some of the details up to my imagination (and up to my characters) as I wrote. I am what writers call a “plantser”: someone who both plans out a novel (sort of), but who leaves plenty of room to fly by the seat of their pants. If something didn’t quite fit with the overall story arc, however, I noticed.
As to the other part of the answer, I should probably also mention that I wrote everything by hand. And counted every word. So I was–passively, at least–rereading everything I wrote as I went without doing a thing to revise it.
As far as mechanics, I could see:
when dialogue sounded offwhen a paragraph was clunkywhere I repeated certain words
As far as the story and characters, I noticed:
plot holes I’d have to go back and fix where another character needed to come back into the storyline after disappearing for a whilewhen character motivations weren’t convincing when a scene needed way more emotion
All of this would be useful later on. But after November was over.
I was a better writer on December 1st than on November 1st. And that knowledge gave me a little confidence boost to keep on doing one of the things I love most: just keep writing. [...]
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November 22, 2020Recently I came across this unpublished piece that I wrote several years ago, while I was still living the faster-paced city life, and wanted to share after my most recent post about making a positive life change. I needed to take a sick day, but it ended up healing so much more than my cold-addled body. And it feels especially relevant in our stressed-out 2020 world where the importance of taking care of our physical and mental health is on everyone’s minds. So here it is:
I woke up, as usual, before my alarm. It couldn’t be almost 6 a.m. already. (Please, oh please, no.) I adjusted the alarm to 6:20. That would still give me just enough time if I hurried. But the friendly little chime on my iPhone telling me to wake up, the one that of late had started inciting feelings of dread, would end up being irrelevant that day.
The afternoon before, when I started feeling that heaviness in my head, that dull ache at the back of my throat and in my ears, I was pretty sure I was getting sick. And the following morning I was proven correct: There was no way I was going to work that day.
My body felt awful. Disgusting. We’re talking a constant headache, snotty tissues, and… anyway. It was gross. But even though my body was not at its finest hour, my mind and soul felt WONDERFUL.
Wait, what?
Yes. You heard me. Nobody likes to get a cold. Nobody likes being sick. And I’m continually thankful that thus far in my lifetime, stuff like colds, stomach bugs, and strep throat are the worst I’ve ever had to deal with in terms of illness.
But I desperately needed that sick day. A day off where I was more or less incapacitated, forced to be alone at home with the thoughts bouncing around inside of my pounding head. Perhaps that was what was causing the pounding in the first place. How had I gotten to this point of being such a mess?
Rewind to two or so weeks earlier. Scene: I’m stressed out at work, starting to get a bit concerned about job security, constantly feeling like I’m under a microscope as a relative newbie who still has some work to do to prove herself. I’m not eating right, and I wake up in the middle of the night panicking about work, struggling to fall back to sleep. It’s the last thing I think about before going to bed, first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning. Hitting this goal or that goal, worrying whether I’ve done enough for this client or that client or said or written the right thing, thinking about the emails I have to send and phone calls I have to make. In short, I still didn’t feel like I deserved to be there.
All of that had finally caught up with me.
Much as I loved my job the majority of the time, the pressures were starting to become analogous to a Dementor from Harry Potter. (For those of you who are unfamiliar, these are evil creatures that make you feel doom and gloom–and ultimately suck out your soul.)
It wouldn’t take a medical degree—or a fellow Harry Potter geek like myself—to realize that this was not healthy. My body was long overdue to start yelling at me.
After I notified my boss that I was definitely not coming to work that day, I took an early-mid-morning nap. Finished the book I was reading. Took a late-mid-morning nap. Ate lunch, complete with Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Snoozed again. Did some writing for fun on odd projects I’d started. Swept the floor. Did a little bit more sleeping, or at least some more sprawling-on-the-couch-with-my-eyes-closed. Picked up a new TV show. Worked on my lonely little recently neglected history dissertation for grad school.
Hold the phone. Worked? Worked?! On what was, technically, a day off?
Yes. After taking most of the day to do, well, nothing, I finally had the time, energy, and mental clarity to tackle another challenging project totally unrelated to my job. One that had been looming in the background, and that I’d completely forgotten how to enjoy because it had been buried deep under the pile of stress from work, and shoved behind other priorities in my life. In that one sick day—maybe even just an hour of that one day—I remembered 1) why I’d decided to study history in the first place, and 2) how to enjoy writing about it. (It also didn’t hurt that the show I picked up that afternoon was NBC’s Timeless, with a kick-butt female historian as its time-traveling main character.)
My writing, in short, was like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. It just needed a little love.
Hmmm. Let’s take that analogy a bit farther, all the way to its obvious logical conclusion. You probably know where I’m going with this. You might say that I was like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. I just needed a little love. Not from the people around me; I am fortunate to have that in spades from family and friends. But from me. ME! That day, somewhere in the middle of my second Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, I realized that I had to remember how to take care of myself, take care of the things that were important to me, whether something as huge as a dissertation or something as small as my penchant for coloring books (or Harry Potter).
That day, I started to relax. I started thinking about all of the other important things in my life and reevaluating my priorities. Giving myself a kick in the pants for not pressing “pause” sooner. Bear in mind that through all of this, my head was still pounding, my throat felt like sandpaper, and my ears felt like they were underwater. (Never mind all the boogers.) But I felt…happy? Free? More myself?
I started thinking about work-life balance. About not sweating the small stuff. About small changes I could make to de-stress. About the people, places, and things I really loved, and how, in the grand scheme of life, I was lucky and shouldn’t worry. I started realizing that I needed to unplug completely from work whenever I wasn’t there, and just be. To stop worrying about work while I was spending time with family and friends. To write more, draw more, paint more, run more, walk more, read more, sit around and do absolutely nothing more. Be me more, in short. To not be so hard on myself all of the time. Actually, that one’s so important that I need to repeat it: To not be so hard on myself all of the time.
Moral of the story? When your body starts yelling at you, slow down and listen. It might tell you more than you realize you needed to hear. [...]
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September 7, 2020I could call this post, “How I worked up the nerve to finally move exactly where I wanted to live.” Another apt title would be, “How I stopped pretending to be something I’m not” (i.e. a city girl). But those don’t have the same Mark Twain-inspired ring to it.
Small steps can lead to one giant leap, and that giant leap is to the location and lifestyle I’d wanted for a long time.
This short post, in honor of it being just over two years since that big move, is less about the new place I started calling home than about taking big leaps of faith in life when you get the chance–or, more accurately, when you give yourself the chance.
In my former city, I left a wonderful job with a “work fam” most people would envy, a great apartment in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in town, and friends and family nearby. I made some amazing memories there.
So (you may be wondering) why in the world would I leave? Why would I move, when I only lived there for about two years? Had I really given it a fair chance?
Short answer: I’d been doing the northeastern city thing for years. It was cool in my 20s when I was excited to take on the big city, but then it became, well, less cool. For me, the cost of living, pace of life, crowded-ness (especially on public transportation), traffic, and cold weather wore me down.
And I started listening to myself. Would I be comfortable staying in my current city, living there longer-term? Sure, I guess. Would I be happy? Possibly.
But “I guess” and “possibly” don’t cut it. It was a nice life. But it wasn’t my life.
I didn’t want to wake up in a year and still be in a city where, sadly, the feeling of dislike had started to creep in. I’d loved that city and still do (I’m talking about Boston, by the way), so I never wanted to put it in the “I hate this place” category that New York had ended up in years ago.
Most importantly, I didn’t want to hit my mid-thirties and not recognize my life anymore.
It was time to go.
But where? The answer, it turned out, was easy: It was a place tucked into rolling green mountains that had been on my radar for quite some time. It was simple–so, so, simple. Sure, there were a lot of steps I’d have to take (find job, find apartment, sort out a bunch of stuff in the northeast, etc., etc., etc….).
But after I got started, it wasn’t as overwhelming as I thought it would be. Interview, job offer, apartment hunt, moving company. Once things were in motion, I was absolutely blown away at how quickly things started falling into place. (I took that as a sign that I was doing the 100% right thing for me.)
Was it easy? Heck no. Was it sad to leave? Yes, primarily because of the people I met during my time there and the little things about Boston I knew I’d miss. I had Leona Lewis’s “Happy” on repeat that spring, a song which I more or less interpret as being about taking a chance and changing things in your life, despite the difficulty, for the sake of your own long-term happiness.
Would I have regretted not taking that chance? Absolutely. Moving was one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life.
So, to sum it up: Listen to your gut. Take that chance. It might not happen again. [...]
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June 29, 2020Joy. That’s what was missing. I’d gone over draft after draft, completed both major and minor revisions. This is part of any writing process, to be sure, but the mechanical nature of writing a dissertation was painful, and I combated it in two ways: leaving space within my chapters for storytelling and descriptions, and…
…writing other things. And by “other things,” I mean fiction.
It had broken my heart when I realized that reading had become a chore in grad school, so I made a point to fix that (and succeeded). But writing. I couldn’t lose that, too.
So in the middle of writing a dissertation, I started 1) writing a new novel, 2) revising an earlier draft of another, and 3) jotting down some travel adventures and other musings (some of which are published on this site).
Why, you may be asking, would I do that to myself? I already had enough writing to worry about.
The answer is simple.
Writing–and, yes, even revising–fiction has never felt like work to me. I love coming up with scenes, then later embellishing the descriptions or tightening up the prose. Adding vignettes, putting my characters in charge, picturing everything like a film in my mind. I love figuring out a concept for a short story or novel, and then putting together the plot. I also love getting my personal thoughts and experiences down on paper.
And no, it did not “take away” from my dissertation-writing time, which I kept carefully compartmentalized and away from all other parts of my life.
So why in the world did I go and get a PhD? I’m still sorting that out, actually. I had wanted to be a history professor, once upon a time, but that dream pretty much fizzled out toward the beginning of grad school, when I decided I wanted to pursue a career outside of tenure-track academia.
Side note: One of my main fiction jams has always been historical fiction. So. Some expertise there has helped with my writing in that genre. I can apply my research skills–and the stuff I actually like about doing history–without being bound by certain scholarly rules and expectations. I can paint a picture of a time and place without worrying that it’s not “academic” enough.
I know there are some scholars out there who would be appalled by this, but they’re not me, and my life is not theirs.
Plus, creative license is nice. As is not writing footnotes.
Anyway.
My point is this: If you want to write after (or even while!) finishing a PhD, but you don’t know where to start and you’re less than thrilled at the prospect of turning your dissertation into a book anytime soon, ask yourself:
What do you like to write about? What do you like about the writing process itself? What brings you joy in your life?
ONLY the things you like, nothing else.
Make a list if you have to. And start there.
Maybe you want to write a story from the perspective of your cat. Some Disney fan fiction. An editorial about the state of the world. A funny account of your travels. A political satire. An ode to your coffee cup. Or even something in your field that you wanted to write about in grad school but your professors thought was not important enough (insert eye roll emoji here).
Whatever it is, make it something that you’re happy and excited to write. Something that compels you keep a pen and paper next to your bed–just in case you wake up in the middle of the night with an idea.
If you love writing, but the PhD messed that up for you, start small. Go with your gut about the writing that makes you happy. Ignore your dissertation once you’ve defended and submitted. Be proud that you did it, but step far, far away from it for a while.
And then, if you do ever decide to turn that dissertation into a book, maybe you’ll have distanced yourself enough to appreciate it again. [...]
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April 12, 2018This is something a little different from my usual style and content. I originally wrote this for a more literary-style context and not as a blog post, but I thought it was fitting today, as you’ll soon see.
Somewhere on my walk between the modern gray blocks of Soviet-era buildings and the old town center, the day had started to turn to darkness, the sky fading out to an inky blue. It was not quite five o’clock, and the damp chill of the January evening cut through my coat and numbed my toes. I shivered, and scanned the length of the block for the coffee shop I had spotted earlier. The soft thud of my boots, the occasional passing car blaring a song in English or Polish, and the distant background hum that comes with any city were the only sounds on the wide, curving street.
This was my third day in Warsaw, and by far it had been the most important. My meeting had just ended, a meeting with someone I may never have spoken with had circumstances been different, had the past been different.
I sipped my coffee, the steam warming my face, the familiar rich smell reinvigorating me in a way that the cold had not. I didn’t intend to stay in the shop for long. The bright lights and modern atmosphere, the walls in bold colors and comfortable chairs, jarred with the thoughts swirling around in my head.
An empty evening loomed, but I looked forward to the winter solitude in this city, a city I had seen with new friends in the heat and liveliness of summer, but never like this. I was a long walk away from the little studio I had rented for the week, but it was a walk I wanted to take, needed to take, today. Though I had a few notes from my meeting, I wanted to recall every detail about what had just happened, and a solitary walk through the streets of this cold town was the way to protect my short-term memory from the cramped rush hour streams of people chatting away on their cell phones, the buzzes and dings and wheezes and automated voices of the bus or metro.
Snow had started to fall by the time I reached the Stare Miasto, the old town, with its beautifully restored buildings that had been both reconstructed and repainted with intricate details. Replicas of the past, giving the illusion that they had always looked that way. Yet some had been built back up from nothing, from the rubble and ruins that had at one time comprised ninety percent of the old town.
I turned onto the plac Zamkowy. A tree covered in candy-shaped lights and left over from the holidays dominated the square. Purple, blue, silver, and gold strands of lights formed in the shape of gifts at the foot of the tree added to its festiveness. Images of snowflakes were projected onto the Royal Castle behind. Here in the square there were people, and with them the quiet hum of voices, the occasional laugh or shout. Perhaps a few were tourists, some students, some locals. Beauty and cheerfulness that felt odd to me after my afternoon, but also strangely fitting, comforting, a reminder of the present. Just past the tree, in the main square of the old town, the Rynek, children ice skated against a backdrop of lights and buildings painted in rich blues, reds, yellows, and greens. Music played, the words only vaguely discernible. The scene made me smile, but I continued on my way.
After walking for well over a half hour, I had warmed up by the time I reached my neighborhood. The sounds of the Rynek began to fade as I crossed the bridge that traversed an old castle defense wall, dividing the Stare Miasto from the Nowe Miasto—new town. I made my way along the cobblestone street that stretched up into the Nowe Miasto and led almost directly to my door. In the summer, this area was bustling with outdoor cafés, tourists, and lively chatter. Tonight, in the cold, a few locals ducked in and out of the grocery store, grabbing a few needed items. I joined them under the bright fluorescent lights, but left as quickly as possible, eager to reach the coziness of my little rental and write down the details of my afternoon.
With grocery bag in hand, keys in another, I rounded the corner of the apartment block and looked down deliberately at the sidewalk. Wanting to see it again, to remember, to somehow let the past know that someone, somewhere, was trying to pay attention. There was the narrow strip of stone, less than a foot wide, maybe just six or seven feet long.
“Mur getta, Ghetto wall, 1940-1943.”
Passersby would probably miss it if they weren’t looking down. Mur getta. A simple strip of stone, one of many throughout the city, this one right outside the courtyard gates of my apartment. It marked the boundaries of a place that no longer existed. But it had existed, once, an instrument of destruction. The jolt of realizing the proximity of where I was staying to this piece of history, a jolt I had felt when I had noticed the words on my first night in Warsaw, returned.
It was International Holocaust Remembrance Day, 2015, the commemoration of the liberation of Auschwitz. I had been wandering through a city’s history. My meeting had been with a Holocaust survivor, someone who had been a child during the Nazi occupation of Poland, a Jewish child forced into hiding. Our questions and answers, the conversation we had had, focused on the past, but also took the time to consider the present. While I did not attend one of the memorial ceremonies taking place that day, I chose instead to remember the past by processing what I had just heard on my walk. It was a past visible in Warsaw, but only when looking and listening closely enough.
I looked up, turned the key in the lock of the courtyard gate, and stepped inside the apartment block. The metal clank behind me echoed in the empty street.
April 12, 2018, is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, the anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising.
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March 29, 2018Disclaimer: While this post is mainly geared toward grad students, there are points in here that I think are important for everyone to remember, and you can definitely interpret/adapt it however you’d like.
I’ll keep this as short and (semi-)sweet as possible.
Rule number one, grad students: Your dissertation is not your life.
Stop for a second and think about that.
Then repeat.
Time doesn’t freeze while you’re writing. Sorry.
You get one life. One. And sure, while the dissertation is a significant part of your life, is a cool accomplishment, and is a gateway to opportunities you may want to pursue, don’t let it decide everything. And yes, you have to work hard at it. But your path to a PhD is not a dictatorship. Don’t let it run every aspect of your life.
Don’t forget who you are…and learn some new stuff about yourself along the way.
Rule Number Two: Choose Wisely
Here’s what I mean. Think about:
where you live
who you surround yourself with
what you do for fun
what projects (PhD-related and non-PhD related) you take on
when and how you do your research and writing
your dissertation topic
your satisfaction with vs. stress about your financial situation
why you started your grad program in the first place
And probably a few other things I’m forgetting. If any of what’s listed above isn’t making you happy, it’s time to re-evaluate them.
Pursuing Hobbies While Finishing a PhD
Do you love painting? Playing the guitar? Hiking? Writing for fun? Competing in triathlons? Becoming an expert on imported wines? Going to Comic-Con? Gardening? Learning Hieroglyphics? Jet skiing?
You get the idea.
My list? Running, reading for fun (thank you, Sophie Kinsella), painting, hiking, writing for fun, traveling, watching alllll the film/miniseries adaptations of Jane Eyre, drinking probably too much coffee, nerding out about languages and Harry Potter…
Anyway.
Don’t forget the stuff you love to do that makes you, well, you. And making time for that fun stuff can be a nice little reward system to get some writing done beforehand. (I’m a BIG fan of the Pomodoro method. If you don’t know what it is, look it up. You’re welcome.)
Building Non-Academic Skills While in a Graduate Program
Ready, set, go: Internships, volunteer work, a part-time or even full-time job…outside of your university. (And maybe you’ll be so lucky to land something to stick with for the long haul after you finish your grad program.)
I’m a firm believer that EVERY PhD student should do at least one of those things while in their program–and afterward.
Preferably, it’s something that builds up skills and experience that you can’t get while doing your research, writing, and teaching. Even if it’s once a week: help out at a nonprofit, lead a museum tour, do an internship at a publication, pick up some temp work in the summer, etc.
Whether or not you’re going to stay in academia when you’re done, your own efforts to develop skills outside of the ivory tower can make you more competitive, qualified, and confident, whatever path you take in your professional life.
A Little Background on My Perspective (and, okay, another disclaimer)
I’m fortunate in that I can, very easily, compartmentalize my dissertation and only work on it (or even think about it) during the chunks of time I set aside for it. This is because:
Yes, I’m finishing up a PhD, but I’m not pursuing that whole tenure-track professor thing.
I don’t have to be “in residence” at my university at this stage of my program, which was an especially healthy option once I realized that New York wasn’t home for me.
I work full time–and would not have it any other way–so there aren’t 40 hours/week to devote to the dissertation (and let’s be honest here: does anyone really want to write their dissertation for 40 hours/week? I didn’t think so).
All that said: My situation aside, I think EVERYONE needs to take a step back and make sure to recognize the importance of keeping priorities straight.
Take care of yourself, do your writing, keep the people you love–and vice versa–close, and live your life on your terms. I sure am.
Really, Really Reeeeeeally Important Note: If you’re a PhD student/candidate who is stressed out about dissertation-y life stuff, feel free to reach out. Having a support network is key, so please contact me if you have questions, feel like chatting about PhD student life, or are just in need of some perspective from someone who is/was in a similar boat. (Also, if you want that awesome mug in the photo above, check out Etsy. Let’s just say my family knows me very well.) [...]
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March 15, 2018Beep-beep-beep-beep.
The streetcar door was closing, its little red light flashing. Rain was starting to come down harder. The woman ran toward the door, feet sloshing through puddles, clearly trying to make it before the tram left. The man closest to the automatic doors stuck his umbrella out to make sure they didn’t close, and she made it onto the tram.
But this scene is typical for Vienna.
Below, I’ll look at a couple of situations from major cities where I’ve lived and experienced/witnessed those random acts of kindness. While they’ve happened in every major city where I’ve lived, I want to focus here on standout examples from cities definitely not known for being “friendly” (especially the second one).
Vienna
While I’ve always found Austria to be a warm and welcoming place, Vienna isn’t really known for its friendliness. This is a view for which I am pretty sure those infamously impassive servers at classic coffee houses are ninety-nine percent to blame. But in my year there (plus many visits before that), Vienna had its bright little moments.
The grocery store employee who wishes you a schönes Wochenende (nice weekend), the pub staff and customers who help a distraught patron find their wallet or glasses or phone, the resident who pauses to help tourists navigate the U-Bahn (subway) system, the shopper with the cart loaded with stuff who lets you jump to the front of the line with your piddly two items.
True stories, of course. These are acts of kindness that happen everywhere, even in so-called “unfriendly” cities.
New York
New York, where I lived for several years, is also not exactly known as the friendly capital of the world. I once heard the advice, “Don’t make eye contact!” It’s a behavior that many people follow when just passing each other on the street.
But there is plenty of door-holding (both in buildings and on public transit) and “oh-no-you-go-ahead”-ing. More than once, I had total strangers help me lug a massive suitcase up the subway stairs.
When a guy on a bike snatched my phone out of my hand in the ten seconds it was out of my bag (note to self: never have phone out while standing at edge of sidewalk), at least two guys across the street instinctively dashed after the thief when I started running and shouting “He stole my phone!” All to no avail, but I appreciated their effort.
Pay it Forward
These small gestures are refreshing, and help keep my faith in humanity going amid the hustle and bustle. And if I am the one who benefits from that act of kindness, sometimes it even makes my day, or turns around an otherwise not-so-great day. At the very least, it makes me smile and want to pay it forward.
Cities are not without their problems, but I feel like they get a bad rap for being unfriendly.
Sure, sometimes a city is a cold, unsympathetic, busy, selfish, everybody’s-rushing-to-do-their-own-thing-so-fend-for-yourself kind of place; I’m not disputing that.
But that doesn’t mean that basic human kindness and courtesy are absent. It’s there right in front of you if you keep your eyes open–and if you do something nice yourself.
This post was originally published in 2015 on Suite.io, and updated in 2018. [...]
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March 6, 2018After a transatlantic flight, I have one first order of business, and one only: Coffee.
(The second, if I’m landing in the UK, is to locate Munchies candy somewhere in the airport.)
But on my first day in Austria, the caffeine expedition was a bit delayed due to some combination of a shorter layover and needing to catch a train.
Unfortunately, I don’t know if I can blame the lack of coffee in my system on the language barriers I encountered that afternoon. The indecipherable words laced with rolling r’s over the train loudspeaker and the guys sitting near me carrying on a conversation in German (maybe?) should have been my first clue that something was amiss.
It went something like this….
(Cue the dramatic “Yay, I’m traveling to Europe!” music… Pretty much just think of the score to any romcom where they travel to Europe, and there you go.)
Through the rain, I saw the spires, the pink, white, and yellow rococo facades, the red and brown rooftops clustering together into an early modern fairy tale town. “Once upon a time, I lived in Austria….”
This was the place, and I couldn’t wait to dive into those narrow cobblestone streets and find some caffeine for my jet-lagged brain.
But first, there was the small matter of my two large suitcases, and navigating those cobblestone streets to drop them off at my apartment. There was the telltale green-and-yellow “H” just outside the train station, letting me know that a bus–hopefully the right bus–would be there eventually.
I boarded what I thought was the right one, not entirely certain of my stop, but knowing approximately the cross streets where I’d need to hop out. There were a bunch of Gymnasium (high school) students on the bus. Their words blended together, the lilting sounds of the Austrian dialect just discernible over the roar of the bus.
That should have been my next clue.
I hopped off the bus in almost the right place, pushing one suitcase in front of me, dragging the other behind (Did I mention it was raining?) Advice to future self: Only bring one big suitcase when moving abroad for a year. The suitcases’ wheels click-clacked on the cobblestones.
After depositing my suitcases in my apartment, I could finally turn to the very important task at hand. (Caffeine, in case you forgot.)
The streets of Steyr came into focus without the weight of my suitcases. The rain had slowed down, too. Now I could start feeling like a local going about her day-to-day business. I crossed one of the bridges, passing the large pastel church and the steep incline up to the castle.
(Of course there was a castle.)
There was the town square, the spire of the town hall.
It was all even better than the pictures.
And then I found the place. It was a dark pink building tucked between two other cotton-candy-colored buildings. I only went there the one time, but I remember it well because of what happened next.
The woman behind the counter was blond, and the button-down shirt under her apron matched the pink of the building. She spoke quickly, assuming I was an Austrian, perhaps a student at the local college.
I stared. Come again?
Four years of German, including seven months abroad, and she might as well have been speaking Greek or Mandarin or Finnish. (Note: I still don’t speak any of those languages. Yet.)
Okay, I thought, Get it together. Smile and nod, smile and nod. I think I half-mumbled a “Ja.”
Her words ran together, and I couldn’t pick out a single one.
“Ein Cappuccino, bitte,” I said. “Danke.” At least there was that. Phew.
It would take less time than I had initially thought for me to learn the intricacies of the Upper Austrian dialect, a sound that soon became familiar, comforting, second nature.
Fast forward to the end of that year, and I could understand (almost) every word. Some might even say now that I have the slightest hint of an Austrian accent when speaking German. But I never forgot that initial stumble, a reminder that, while I soon grew to consider the city a second home, I was still a traveler.
One who really, really needed that coffee.
Note: I took the photo above during one of my many walks around town, standing on a bridge covered in some rather entertaining Denglish graffiti. On the right is the castle, and on the left are the spires of the town hall and cathedral. [...]
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February 27, 2018True to my own personal mission to stop and appreciate the small, often unexpected things in life while everything is go-go-go, today I’d like to share a few highlights over the years from traveling.
It’s all of the things you wouldn’t necessarily read in the guidebooks. The best moments of traveling (and life, really) are often those we could easily miss if we’re not paying attention. (Thanks, Ferris Bueller.)
While the gorgeous scenery, the bucket-list landmarks, and the stamp in the passport are all great, this other stuff is what I remember the most.
This is by no means a complete list. I could probably come up with 2300 examples from over the years if I really tried (I won’t). Read on to learn more about why it’s always good to stop and smell those proverbial roses while traveling, and hopefully you’ll remember some of your own favorite moments along the way.
The (first, and probably not last) List
In no particular order, a random sampling:
Singing along to The Sound of Music soundtrack…while traveling through the mountains of Austria. (No shame.)
Having great conversations with random strangers while on a solo trip in Asheville, NC.
Coming up with a slew of random inside jokes while on vacations with my family.
That first “OMG, I’m in Europe!” moment of realization in Germany. (I didn’t really say “OMG.” But you get the idea.)
And then, seven years later: a German customs officer seeing my old student visa sticker in my passport, and saying, “Welcome back.”
Discovering a little sandwich place on a side street in Orvieto, Italy, where the background music was chill covers of popular songs.
Eating the best Nutella banana crêpe I’ve ever had while standing with some friends outside of a train station in Stuttgart.
Getting a seat row to myself on a four-hour train ride in Central Europe.
Irish step dancing on St. Patrick’s Day in an Irish pub. (An Irish pub in Germany, by the way.)
Finding an early edition of a Nancy Drew book in a rural Pennsylvania bookstore.
The still-unknown decent human in Bregenz, Austria, who returned the wallet I lost on a night train. (Note: always, always, always double-check before you leave the train!)
Walking across London’s Tower Bridge at night with my family.
A lady in a shop telling me I had a “really strong aura” (whatever that means).
A porch in Nashville with friends, coffee, and sunshine.
Violin music on a street in Vienna.
Eating ice cream on the beach in Siesta Key, Florida, when I was done with my workday on a business trip. (To this day, it’s one of my favorite beaches in the world.)
Riding a bike around an Austrian lake.
Getting on the earlier flight, rather than the delayed one that would have gotten me home at 11:00 p.m.
Sitting on a balcony in Umbria, Italy, while piecing together the Italian words to communicate with my no-longer-long-lost cousin.
Not a small thing, but it made me appreciate all the little things I took for granted: On two separate occasions, years apart, meeting refugees from various countries who had started rebuilding their lives in Austria, and who were some of the strongest, most positive people I’ve ever met.
Sitting on a wall along the Limmat River in Zürich on the last evening of my European study abroad adventure, writing in a journal reflecting on the past seven months.
On a lighter note: laughing with my cousin in the backseat of a tiny Italian car backing downhill on a narrow street in Assisi, while the two Italians in the front seat cursed and bickered about the road being closed. Oh, and the soundtrack to this little adventure was Johnny Cash.
Last, but most definitely not least, inadvertently crashing a wine establishment’s 20th anniversary party in rural Austria. (Yes, I will write about this in more detail someday.)
Confession: I lied about the “no particular order” thing, since those last few are some of my favorites. Often the best moments involved other people, but there are also several solo moments I appreciated and enjoyed. Either way, the list could go on.
As it should.
Sharing travel stories is always entertaining and/or inspiring. Comment below to share your own random moments of appreciating the unexpected small stuff while traveling! [...]
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February 20, 2018Mountains, music, craft beer, eclectic food, and free spirits. Let me just start with this: if you haven’t been to Asheville before, I highly, highly recommend you go. Bring a family member or friend, or make it a solo trip like I did.
Asheville is what happens when a bunch of fun, creative, outdoorsy, open-minded people from all over descend on the Blue Ridge Mountains. Local businesses, creativity, and opportunities for adventure abound. The city has a warm, relaxed vibe, and people go to Asheville because they want to be there.
Today I’m taking the opportunity to share insights from my July 2017 adventures in what quickly became one of my favorite places in the world. I’ve been meaning to write about Asheville for a while now, and finally had the chance to go back and look at my journal from the trip.
Without further ado, I’d like to share my itinerary with you, or, How to Do a (Solo) Trip Right in a Really Cool Place:
Day 1: Arrive, Drive, Explore
I flew into Charlotte and rented a car. In the middle of my two-hour drive, I stopped in the small town of Saluda for lunch at a place called Crust and Kettle, which is part eatery, part shop selling local artists’ work. It was exactly the friendly, relaxed atmosphere I wanted after a morning of traveling since 6:00 a.m.
Once I arrived in Asheville and checked into my AirBnb, I walked downtown. I was staying in the Five Points neighborhood, which is full of charming craftsman-style homes. The sun was setting as I walked across the overpass into town, and a jazz quartet greeted me on Haywood Street. (I can’t make this stuff up.)
So immediately, I was smitten. After dim sum at Red Ginger, one of the many local independent restaurants, I meandered back to my AirBnb, and called it a night.
(If you want to read more about eating dinner alone in a restaurant and enjoying and appreciating your own company, check out my earlier post here.)
Day 2: Walking Tour of Asheville & Afternoon Chill Time Downtown
Bright and early, I headed downtown. Before my walking tour, I stopped at Early Girl Eatery for coffee and a delicious egg biscuit (which I topped with the mouth-watering local O’Yeah! hot sauce). Tour highlights included the art deco details of downtown, writer Thomas Wolfe’s home, and Pack Square Park.
The afternoon was devoted to moseying and coffee: Malaprop’s Bookstore (a local fixture), the Gourmet Chip Company (sweet potato + chocolate = decadence), and High Five Coffee. All local businesses, which is one of the things that makes Asheville really special.
(Yes, I know I’ve used “local” about a half dozen times already, but that’s the point.)
After a siesta, I went back into town for dinner just in time to catch the–get this–drum circle. I’m not kidding. It was really cool; a bunch of people get together each Friday night and jam, dancing like nobody’s watching. Fun, refreshing, and uplifting.
Day 3: Hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains and Live Music
The Blue Ridge Hiking Co. is an awesome way to hike with experienced guides who know the best trails in the area. After a drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway, we spent about three hours out at Graveyard Fields. It was a mostly-overcast day, but the scenery was stunning.
In the afternoon, I headed downtown and made a beeline for French Broad Chocolates. I enjoyed a concoction called a Mudwrestler. It is as magical as it sounds, and I tried to replicate it immediately upon returning home. Local Pisgah Nitro Stout, espresso, vanilla ice cream, and chocolate sauce. (You’re welcome.)
Up next, I checked out the Shindig on the Green, held every Saturday night during the summer. Bluegrass musicians perform in Pack Square Park, and it’s a fun, family-friendly atmosphere. Again, I’m not making this stuff up.
Day 4: The Biltmore Estate and Kayaking on the French Broad River
The Vanderbilts built the Biltmore (whew! Try saying that five times fast) in the 1890s. It is exactly as ostentatious and gorgeous as you might imagine. The cost for admission is steep, but worth it if you’ve never been and intend to spend most of the day there. You can also come and go as you please with the day pass, which is a nice plus. While the house itself was beautiful, the surrounding gardens and landscape were hands-down my favorite part.
(For a fun take on the Biltmore, check out the YA Serafina book series by Asheville-based writer Robert Beatty.)
In the afternoon, tired of hanging out in the Victorian era, I took a spin through the River Arts district and headed over to the Asheville Outdoor Center for a leisurely seven-mile kayak down the French Broad River, which snakes past the Biltmore Estate.
At the end of the day, it was back to the Biltmore for a wine tasting and some decadently delicious pasta at one of the restaurants. The wine tasting was free as a part of my Biltmore day pass, but the dinner most definitely was not. (Worth it, though.)
Day 5: Doughnuts, Brews, and More Live Music
Since it was my last full day in Asheville, Day 5 was a hodgepodge of stuff I still wanted to do but hadn’t done yet. Vortex Doughnuts (vegan and delicious). Driving around to West Asheville and a few other spots just outside the city. Malaprops again. A sandwich at Mellow Mushroom, yet another of Asheville’s many vegetarian-friendly places.
And, perhaps most importantly: I could NOT leave Asheville without checking out a local brewery, so I headed to Bhramari, which my hiking guide and a girl at the Gourmet Chip Company had recommended to me. I went at a slower hour, so I had time to get good recommendations from the bartender about what to try, and a recommendation for live music to check out later that day.
As a result, I ended up at 5 Walnut Wine Bar to hear some great jazz/R&B music (Siamese Sound Club, check them out!), and had a couple of those great non-small-talk conversations with random people.
Day 6: Coffee To Go
I don’t really want to talk about this day all that much, since it’s the day I left. I grabbed coffee at Double D’s (named for the double decker bus that houses it, I should immediately clarify), and off I went to the airport.
I’m convinced there’s some kind of magic in the air there. Don’t believe me? Google “Asheville vortex.” In addition to the doughnut place, search hits will include mystical stuff about energy. Apparently it’s a thing. The hills are definitely alive, y’all. Even though some of it sounds a little hokey, I’m sure not going to contradict anyone about it after being there myself.
So, long story short? If you’re looking for a vacation spot where you can both slow down to appreciate the small things and do some lively, adventurous stuff, go. Can’t wait to compare notes.
Disclaimer: Nobody in Asheville paid me to write any of this stuff. That’s how much I love it. [...]
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February 13, 2018When I was about eleven, one of my best friends told me that she was a vegetarian. She didn’t eat meat, and she made sure people knew it.
Light bulb.
Brilliant, I thought. Now I have a way to explain it.
“It” was my lifelong dislike of meat.
Granted, I knew what a vegetarian was, but I hadn’t really thought about what that could mean for me. As a kid, I’d never liked meat. I mean, really never liked it. I’m talking nights spent crying at the table. When I was a baby, a doctor wrote on my appointment notes, “Doesn’t like meat.”
Problem was, I didn’t want to seem rude by just telling people “I don’t like it,” when I got invited over for dinner or went out to a restaurant. Suddenly, “vegetarian” was my more civilized, polite thing to say.
Fortunately, within my circle of family and friends, it was no big deal when I, as an empowered eleven-year-old, announced that I was going to be a vegetarian. What a revolution!
The response, in a nutshell?
“Um, yeah, we know.”
(So…not much of a revolution, really.)
My family just cut out the part my meal that included meat (which they were mostly already doing anyway). They made sure I took extra cheese or some other source for protein. Or, if it was my Italian grandmother, told me to eat all of the remaining vegetables on the table.
For years, however, I felt the need to explain why I was a vegetarian. Mostly, the need to explain was to avoid being rude and simply answer their question. But it was also a little defensive: I would also say it wasn’t a “hippie” thing, it wasn’t a “trendy” thing, it wasn’t because of animal rights or health or environmentalism or whatever.
But then I started to think: So what if it is? Why should I feel the need to justify that?
Answer: I shouldn’t.
(Also, I hit my thirties, so I stopped caring about what other people thought anyway.)
Thing is, after a while, even though health, animals, and the environment didn’t really factor into my original reasoning, they started to over time, in an “I’m really glad I’m a vegetarian because…” sense.
And the “because” shouldn’t stop there.
Because I’m really, really happy eating vegetables? Because I consider peanut butter a food group, so I already get plenty of protein anyway? Because I’m afraid of birds? (Yes.)
In short, reasons for doing something or not doing something can evolve.
It’s OK to just say, “Because.”
Because, à la the grownup mantra, “Because I said so.” Because I wanted to, that’s why.
Or say nothing at all. Shrug, if you must.
So, my dear fellow vegetarians, whatever your reason, don’t feel like you have to justify yourself when somebody looks at you like you’re a weirdo, or says something along the lines of, “But…bacon.”
Hang in there, comrade. Laugh with them, take it in stride, go out with your non-vegetarian buddies for burgers (black bean or veggie for you, thanks very much).
Let’s take this a step further, shall we, for those non-vegetarians out there? What’s something about you that’s important to you, but you’ve felt like you had to explain away sometimes? Now substitute that for “vegetarian” here, and let that marinate for a minute. Maybe I should rename this post, “Why You Don’t Have to Justify Being a Vegetarian (or being anything else important to you, for that matter).”
In sum? Be proud of yourself for being who you are and not caring what other people think. And remember to eat your vegetables.
Photo: CC0, Einladung_zum_Essen [...]
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February 6, 2018For me, it’s always about the cafés when I travel someplace new or am looking for a new haunt near home. Parks, bookstores, maybe a library or two, a specific street or route, those are all part of it too.
But when exploring a city–whether I live there or not–cafés end up being central.
Why?
Let’s rewind to the spring of 2015. I’m sitting in a café in Vienna sipping a mocha coffee, taking a much-needed weekday off from researching and writing my dissertation to…write for fun?
(Um. You’re writing a dissertation, and you’re writing in your free time, too? Whaaaaat? Are you nuts?)
But for me, like a lot of other writers, that’s just what I do. And what better place to write than a cozy café, the extroverted introvert’s paradise?
I’m catapulted back to a memory of me doing the very same thing during my first year in New York, when a Saturday afternoon in Manhattan would consist of perusing a used bookstore, exploring new streets, and stumbling across a café where I could sit and write while taking in another dose of caffeine.
Or the many afternoons spent in Steyr, Austria, or Tuebingen, Germany, writing in my journal after class or reading whatever I was reading at the moment.
Many of the enjoyable times I’ve spent in any city have been in cafés reading, writing, meeting friends, or genuinely sitting down and getting hardcore work done. (OK, that last one isn’t exactly “enjoyable,” but being in a cafe makes it semi-pleasant.)
Being neither in an office nor at home–two spaces I usually need to separate–creates a neutral zone where I can either work or chill, be around people but still do my own thing.
The nice thing about such a special space? Every city, large or small, has at least one. (Side note: Asheville, NC, currently holds the honor of the most cafés I’ve enjoyed in the shortest amount of time.)
Of course, a comfortable atmosphere is key, so “my” cafés in New York, Vienna, DC, Boston, and a few other places I’ve either visited or lived have largely been found through trial and error.
But trial and error is part of the fun of exploration.
The café I visited that day in Vienna, for instance, was one I’d passed on the streetcar no fewer than two dozen times, and I finally found the time to go in. And yes, I’d be back; I had found one of “my” places, and returned a couple of times before leaving Vienna.
So check out that bookstore, head up to a park you’ve heard about, wander down the street that looks like it has some cool shops, or take the bus or the tram or the subway or your car out to a new neighborhood. Go! Do it.
Today. Why wait to find “your” places? For me, it’s cafés and parks. For you it might be something else.
Discovering your favorite spots in a city–whether you use that space to socialize, relax, do some work, or get creative inspiration–can give you a connection to a place that you might not have found otherwise.
A version of this post was originally published on Suite.io in June 2015, after I had discovered yet another café in Vienna where I enjoyed writing. [...]
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January 30, 2018Okay, Here goes. This is to follow up on my post from last week, where I wrote, in parentheses, “And I want to read all of Hemingway’s stuff.”
Well.
Challenge accepted.
The Details: What I’m Reading
Over the course of this year, 2018, I have decided (for no particular reason other than that I feel like it), to read all of Ernest Hemingway’s stuff.
Books. Short stories. Whatever articles of his are still out there. His writing insights. You name it.
Maybe it’s because I like what I’ve read so far. Maybe it’s because I want to become a better writer.
Anyway, whatever my reasons, I’m doing it.
First up? The Sun Also Rises. I’m almost done with it. The Torrents of Spring is probably next, since that was also published in 1926. Then I’ll switch gears and check out a few short stories and On Writing, then keep on reading the novels, roughly in order.
I’ve already read A Farewell to Arms, parts of the memoir A Moveable Feast, and a couple of his short stories, like “The Snows of Kilimanjaro,” so I’ve got a bit of a head start.
Well, sort of.
Here’s the kicker: If I’ve already read it, I’m still going to reread it. No skipping stuff; that’s the rule.
(He wrote a lot of short stories, so this may take a while, i.e. a good chunk of 2018.)
Initial Thoughts
What do I think of The Sun Also Rises?
Well.
I’ll say this: the dialogue drew me right in, and got me invested in what was going on with the characters. I could almost hear Brett’s and Jake’s voices.
And the descriptions in the book are, as is typical of Hemingway, stark, but just enough to give you a sense of the setting. “…the wood of the roof cracked and split by the weather…” or “passed the locked doors of the shops, their windows lighted…” or even “He was sitting at the table smoking a cigar.”
It’s just enough to bring a mental image to the surface and have the reader fill in the gaps. I know not everyone cares for that particular style, but I’m into it.
I’ll save some of my critical reader/writer impressions for later, after I’ve read more of his stuff. And like I’ve written before, I’m not a literary scholar, so I’m not going to go on and on with analysis and pretend to know what I’m talking about. (In the tradition of Hemingway, I’ll keep it brief.)
Hemingway for Writers: What I’ve Learned So Far
If you’re a writer and you’ve never heard of Hemingway’s iceberg theory, look it up. Right now. Do it! It will make you a better writer, in my opinion, and fits nicely with that whole writerly “show, don’t tell” mantra.
There is a certain magic that can exist between writer and reader. It happens when the writer only reveals so much to give the reader a chance to figure things out for themselves. It’s a level of respect–and a writing skill–developed over time. Hemingway knew what he was doing there.
So I did a little experiment. I started checking parts of my fiction writing against the iceberg theory, and ended up surprised at some of the stuff I cut out.
The result? What I hope is sharper, more engaging prose and dialogue, and stronger character voices. And, eventually, for future readers, a higher level of trust in their ability to use their imaginations.
And with that in mind, I’m off to go read something else.
Want to join me in my 2018 reading challenge, whether it’s Hemingway or another author of your choice who you’ve been wanting to read for a while? Comment below–I’d love to hear about it!
Reference:
Hemingway, Ernest, The Sun Also Rises. New York: Scribner, 1926. Reprint, New York: Scribner, 2006. Page references are to the 2006 edition. Quotes are from pages 117, 23, and 69, respectively. Edition pictured above. [...]
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January 23, 2018I never read The Great Gatsby in high school. Nor did I read The Color Purple. Or Lord of the Flies. Emma. Fahrenheit 451. Great Expectations. The Importance of Being Earnest. Lolita. Dracula. Anna Karenina. The Picture of Dorian Gray. Nineteen Eighty-Four. Hamlet.
You get the idea.
Sure, The Catcher in the Rye was one of my favorites as a high school student, as was To Kill a Mockingbird. I did read Shakespeare and stuff, a bit of Hemingway, some Poe, Voltaire, Virgil, and Faulkner. I did book reports on Jane Eyre, Gone with the Wind, Wuthering Heights. My school certainly didn’t deprive us.
But it was a matter of having time (or rather, not having time) to do things. At college, I was always reading, reading, reading. For my art history class, for my German class, for my intro education class, for my physics class on the Manhattan Project, for the dozen history classes I took….and so on. I didn’t really want to read anything else during the school year.
Sure, in the summer, I read lighthearted stuff, fun stuff. And, okay, exception: I did read Harry Potter, which I consider literature, whatever anyone else might say (I’m looking at you, literary snobs).
But here I’m talking about the classics that have been around for decades. Outside of my interesting-yet-challenging German literature classes laden with Goethe, Mann, Kafka, and Schiller, I didn’t read a single other classic as an undergraduate. There was simply too much else to do.
Fast forward to post-graduation, my first job, and a different kind of schedule. I had time to read outside of work. Regularly. For fun.
Whaaaaat?
I was teaching English abroad in Austria, and English teachers would recommend and lend books to me. I’d head to the local library’s English-language section if I felt like reading something in my native tongue, and began devouring some of the classics I simply hadn’t gotten around to yet.
That was the year I read Lord of the Flies, The Color Purple, Fahrenheit 451, and The Great Gatsby, among others.
The summer after returning to the U.S., I read Hamlet.
And liked it.
Enter a new job and set hours, a schedule when I had long weekday evenings stretching before me when I could sit on my porch with a glass of wine and a book. Enter Oscar Wilde, Jane Austen, and Leo Tolstoy, stage right. And when I finally worked up the nerve to read Dracula (confession: since high school, I’d been afraid to read it), I wondered why on earth I’d waited so long.
The thing about reading literature when it’s not assigned to you in a class is that you appreciate it on another level. You’re choosing, entirely on your own, to read it. Nobody is giving you a deadline. You can think what you want about it without worrying about what a teacher or professor wants to hear in a presentation, or what the guidelines for an essay are. You read these classics because you want to. That’s it.
There is something satisfying in that feeling. Not only that you’ve (re)discovered these great books, but that you’ve sort of beaten the system. (“HA! I never had to write an essay about ghosts in Hamlet!” Or, you know, whatever.) You interpret the books how you want, can say what you want about them, and are not constantly looking for symbols or themes or metaphors or onomatopoeia or…you get the idea.
Not that I’m demeaning the high school English class or anything. I remember, to this day, every single book I read and some pretty animated discussions about them. I realized, however, that I enjoyed reading classic literature much more on my own, without all that structure and the pressure of deadlines and stressing about thinking up some interesting-ish and profound-ish point for a class discussion.
(Though there are always some exceptions. Some things don’t change between then and now: I didn’t like Romeo and Juliet my freshman year of high school, I didn’t like it when I glanced at it again in my twenties, and I still do not like it today. Sorry.)
Reading classic literature as an adult also came with the advantage of my reading level being a bit more advanced than it was at fourteen. I appreciated the books more not only because I read them on my own, but because I just “got it” much more than I did at the high school level.
Take To Kill a Mockingbird. That was one I read in high school and loved. I went back to it recently, for the first time in many, many years, and loved it more than I can ever remember in high school.
My list of the classics I have yet to read is still pretty long. War and Peace. A whole host of Hemingway’s stuff. (And I want to read all of Hemingway’s stuff.) The Grapes of Wrath. Frankenstein. The Scarlet Letter.
If I keep going, this might get a bit embarrassing. Huckleberry Finn. King Lear. Great Expectations. (See?) To be fair, I did start Great Expectations once.
Anyway. Maybe I’ll add a one of those to my “things to check out from the library” list this week. There are so many good books out there worth taking the time to appreciate.
An earlier version of this post appeared on Suite.io in March 2015. Since then, the list of books I’ve read has grown, of course, but the list of classic literature I haven’t read is still very, very long. And no, I have not yet tackled Tolstoy’s War and Peace. I’ll get to it, but precisely when and where I want to.
Photo: The British Library, https://www.flickr.com/photos/britishlibrary/12458978503. First folio, Mr. William Shakespeares Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies. Public domain. London: Isaac Laggard and Ed. Blount, 1623. [...]
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January 16, 2018The first time it happened, I think, was in 2008, in a place called Dornbirn, Austria.
I had visited friends in Germany for a few days, and was on my way home to Austria. In the afternoon, I headed south on a regional train. The goal for the day was to meander through some of my old Bodensee (Lake Constance) haunts and catch a night train back to Steyr, Austria, where I was living at the time teaching English.
I had plenty of time before said night train’s departure, so I started the afternoon in Bregenz, and made my way eastward as the evening wore on, toward the city where I’d have to board the night train. My plan meant less time waiting around, and more time checking out a few small towns in the Vorarlberg region along the way. I mean, why not?
By dinnertime, I hopped off at Dornbirn, and scouted out a suitable place to eat. It was a Sunday night, and it was late. (In Austria, that means one thing: nothing is open.)
I wandered a bit, and found an open Italian restaurant.
There was maybe one other customer.
I wasn’t just eating alone; I was almost literally alone. So I sat down, ordered, and wrote in my journal. Recently I dug up said journal, and will share an excerpt from it here:
21:12, Dornbirn: Sitting in an Italian restaurant drinking Merlot + waiting for my Penne Contadina. Thought I’d treat myself. Why the hell not? Plus I think everyone should go out to dinner by themselves every once in a while. I can’t remember a recent time; I did in Zürich but that was outside so didn’t really count…. I have no problem being alone sometimes, like while traveling.
Okay, so I lied. An Italian restaurant in Dornbirn wasn’t the first place I ate dinner alone, but it was the first place I recorded that exact “treat yourself” feeling of dining solo.
And so it began.
When you’re a solo traveler, whether for business or for fun, dining alone is par for the course. I’m not great with the “stay in a youth hostel and make random friends” thing (and, let’s be honest, I’m now way too old to stay in a youth hostel). So unless the restaurant seats me at a big communal table or the bar, or some nice people invite me to join them, I’m eating alone.
When people who don’t travel solo hear that, sometimes the reaction is one extreme or the other: mortified or impressed. But I just shrug it off. It’s normal for me now, but before I started traveling, it wasn’t. Like I wrote nearly a decade ago, I think everyone should try it.
Eating dinner alone in a restaurant is, I think, an acquired taste and one that requires a little bit of nerve. Eating breakfast alone? Sure. Eating lunch or having coffee alone? Fine; a lot of people take solo lunch breaks. These are typical daytime things.
But there’s something about the social-ness of nighttime that gives solo dinner dining a bit of, I don’t know, a stigma? Maybe that’s not the right word, but the point is, some people might see it as unusual. I dine out alone most often when traveling, but occasionally in my own city, too. Almost always, I bring a book and/or journal for company, and I love it. Here is how the exchange with the host usually goes:
“How many?”
“One.”
“Just one?”
“Yup.”
Yup. Sometimes there’s the flicker of something else in their face. Is it surprise? Pity? Or maybe it’s just my imagination trying to see things from their perspective for a moment. (The natural impulse of a writer, I suppose.) I’m choosing to dine alone. Nobody’s stood me up, my friends didn’t cancel on me. No, the truth is, I didn’t invite anyone else on purpose, and it’s either because I’m traveling by myself, or because I just didn’t want company.
Because here’s the thing: I enjoy my own company.
Over the years, as I’ve traveled and moved from city to city, doing things solo–not just eating dinner–has become a norm. I’m an introvert, so that helps with the whole enjoying-my-own-company thing. But I also like being around people, even if I’m not directly interacting with them. So dining alone? Bring it on!
Sure, occasionally I’ve felt a bit awkward when eating dinner at a restaurant by myself, perhaps if a place is a bit crowded and I don’t have a book with me. Most of the time, however, I think nothing of it. Who cares? Nobody, probably, because everyone’s too busy enjoying their own drinks and meals.
Exactly. Who cares? What’s there to be so concerned about? A restaurant is not the middle school cafeteria. It’s a place I want to go to to treat myself to a nice evening out.
So if you’ve never tried going out for dinner alone, give it a try. Order one of your favorite foods, go to that new restaurant that you’ve been meaning to check out, visit one of your after-work group spots by yourself.
The point is, whether you’re in your hometown or in the middle of rural Austria, you don’t need to make plans with others in order to give yourself a nice evening out. Your own company is a wonderful thing, something you will always have. Enjoy it.
Photo: Suzi Swartz [...]
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January 9, 2018It’s a warm day in May 2013. I’m sitting in an office at my university, going on about the year’s worth of history books I’ve read (which sometimes means “skimmed” or “looked at the review”).
This is the Big Exam–the one that will officially move me from PhD student to PhD candidate. There were over a hundred books on a list that I will never look at again, save for a very, very small handful of the ones I liked.
I’m not sure whether I’m saying what I’m supposed to as I regurgitate the knowledge I’ve accumulated through all this “reading.” My heart starts to pound every time an examiner gears up to ask a question. No, no, no. Please don’t ask about that…or that…or that….
It feels a bit like an out-of-body experience.
Except for, say, a tenth of those books, I’m not really into a lot of them. I know that it’s weird for a historian to say they don’t like a history book.
But honestly?
Many on the list are dry, mechanical texts that have probably influenced the robotic method I’m using to discuss them during this exam. We are talking toast-dry. No offense to toast–who doesn’t love toast?–but I don’t love dry writing.
(Confession: It was my fault, as I was the one who put together the reading list in the first place. Oops.)
So I try to stick to those nine or ten books that I enjoyed. And then–YES. One of the examiners asks about my favorite book on my list, my absolute favorite.
(It was Mark Mazower’s Salonica, City of Ghosts, by the way. Check it out!)
And I notice something weird. Suddenly I’m becoming more animated, lighting up, speaking with more confidence. Not only do I know this book well, but I genuinely liked it. A lot.
Why?
Because I actually enjoyed the process of reading it. It was well written and engaging, and it made me excited about studying history, being a historian. And above all, it made me excited about putting together words to create something that readers enjoy.
Reading books that I liked has been a conscious effort since starting graduate school. The number of dense books and poorly written (indecipherable) jargon-laden articles I’ve had to read over the years made me almost militant about it. Just about every weekend I was at the local library, picking out something light and fun to read. Women’s fiction ranging from commercial to upmarket, classic literature, suspense and mystery. I also reread the entire Harry Potter series, and yes, devoured my ongoing collection of Nancy Drew books. I listened to audio books, too, giving me something to look forward to before work in the morning or after class in the evening.
But given the amount I’ve had to read in grad school–in a history program, no less–you may ask: “Why read more stuff?”
Or maybe, if you want to be blunt about it, “What is wrong with you?”
Indeed.
Why do this to myself (and to my poor, pathetic, very nearsighted eyes, which have suffered enough already)?
Why pile on MORE reading, when the majority of my work involves it?
Because–and the answer is simple–I love reading, and I need to remember that. I need to remind myself that I have loved reading my entire life. I can’t let the vast amounts of dull, dense, and/or indecipherable graduate school reading ruin that. And when I’ve come across a book that I enjoy, it’s refreshing.
(VERY IMPORTANT side note to all historians and other scholars: if you can do narrative, imagery, and solid description, bravo. Standing ovation. And if you write clearly, meaning I don’t need ten minutes to decode a sentence in my native language, then thank you, thank you, thank you. Not everyone producing scholarly work can write like that, as I have found out the hard way.)
The problem? I’d pretty much forgotten that whole “I love reading” thing in the year leading up to my exam. Forgot. How to love. To read. To read. When I realized that I loved reading a tiny bit less because of this exam, and because of the huge amount of reading on top of that that I’d had to do over the past three years, I almost cried.
I mean, I’d loved reading since before I could read. I’d pick up books and try to figure out what they said. And once I figured out which letters went together to make which words, I’d write my own stories and books and then read them. I’d reread books that I’d devoured half a dozen times out of the sheer joy of immersing myself in the story, in reading. And to realize that I might love it even a bit less than I always had? It was a horrible feeling.
So back to May 2013.
The day after the exam, after telling myself I’m swearing off all reading for the next week save for street signs and grocery lists, I find myself in Manhattan with a bit more time on my hands than anticipated. I start wandering, and lo and behold, I end up at a used bookstore.
(The Strand Bookstore, if you were wondering. One of my regular haunts in New York.)
I laugh. Really? But then I think, Hey, I’m going to start reading again sometime–why not now?
I decide to go for something fun, and immediately know which book I want to read. I’d read it a few times before, but didn’t own my own copy. Ten minutes later, feeling lighter somehow, I walk out of the Strand with a copy of Sophie Kinsella’s Confessions of a Shopaholic, and plunk down in a café.
It’s perfect.
Reading for the enjoyment, because that is exactly what you feel like doing in that moment, is wonderful. Picking up a specific book because it’s exactly what you feel like reading in that moment is wonderful.
I had struggled with that for the previous year, with those books I skimmed and stumbled through and, yes, even despised. I was reading those books for none of those wonderful reasons why people choose to read books. Even the books I enjoyed were ones I was only reading because I had to. That took a chunk of the fun out of any potential enjoyment I got from reading them.
Maybe the sudden lack of exam stress had something to do with it, but when I picked up the exact book I wanted to read the day after my exam, my love of reading was restored to its full, pre-exam year levels. And more importantly, I felt more like myself again, which is one of the best feelings in the world.
Note: This post originally appeared on Suite.io in October 2015, and has been edited since then. And yes, I still love reading. [...]
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January 3, 2018I’ve always been a writer. I was that kid who wrote my own versions of stories after reading the classics, who folded and stapled papers together to make my own “book.” A pad of paper and pen, a typewriter, a computer (depending on which year we’re talking about here). These were my tools.
I was the kid thrilled to get a thesaurus as a gift (yes, true story). I’d sit reading under a tree or in a lounge chair while other kids ran around the neighborhood. When people asked, “Where’s Suzi?”, the response would often be, “In her room/the basement/the living room, writing.”
The new year is a good time to reflect on where I’ve been and where I’m going, and that includes as a writer. Recently, I had the chance to read some of my old stories. (Fiction has always been my jam.) We’re talking stuff I wrote circa 1997. I’m fortunate enough to have saved the papers over the years, and I’m sure there are others scattered in boxes or folders somewhere that I’ve forgotten about. If you’re also a writer and know you have your old material somewhere, go looking for it; you’re probably in for a treat.
Was some of it good? Sure.
Was a lot of it not-so-good? Um, in a word, yes. These were stories written before I really understood the “show, don’t tell” rule, or the “adverbs = mostly bad” rule. (See what I did there?)
For instance, in one story, I wrote stuff like, “I shrieked in disbelief,” and, “I answered sarcastically.” Shakespeare it was not.
(And no, I’m still not Shakespeare. Though I probably wouldn’t want to be Shakespeare anyway, considering he’s been dead since 1616 and lived in a time before indoor plumbing and vaccinations, but you get what I mean.)
The point is, I was writing something, putting in a few of those 10,000 hours toward mastering a skill. In my old stories, I also saw tiny hints that I was starting to get it. I was using dialogue beats. (Mom rolled her eyes. “Stop it, you guys.”) I knew what a hook was, even if it was a little bit cliché-ish. (When we first moved into the house, I had no idea that there was something that lurked in the shadows, ready to appear at any moment.)
(For the record, one of my favorite story lines growing up was, “Kids move into creepy old house.”)
I also looked at my more recent stuff with fresh eyes. Going through my old stories showed me both how far I’d come and what I can do to improve. In short, it gave me one of my resolutions for this year. Write more, write better. Just keep writing.
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December 26, 2017I didn’t spend my first weekend completely alone in my childhood home until I was twenty-eight years old. Bizarre, I know, that it took that long, but there was always at least one parent and/or sibling there when I visited, and before college being “home alone” usually meant a few hours, not an entire weekend.
I pulled up to the driveway late in the afternoon, car running on fumes, probably no more than twenty bucks in my pocket. Things were tight before my fall semester paychecks started up again in a week or two.
Yet I was happy in that moment. The stress had slowly left me, as it always did, decreasing and decreasing the farther away I drove from New York City and my hot apartment that was somehow depressing in the early September sun.
I got out of the car and relished the peace and quiet around me. The silence was stronger from knowing that the house was completely empty; my parents were away for a couple of weeks. I was, as they say, “killing two birds with one stone” with my visit: house-sitting plus weekend mini-vacation. What was different? The more time I’d spent in New York, the more I had started to appreciate the tranquil corner of New England where I grew up. The nearest big(ish) cities were about forty-five minutes away.
That afternoon, I went out to the supermarket to pick up some fresh food. Even driving around the denser commercial area, with vast stretches of parking lots surrounded by thin strips of green, and storefronts ranging from dingy to renovated, I still wondered–what was different? I had seen these places hundreds, thousands, countless times. Always in the background, but now more vivid.
While sitting out on the back porch with a book, the answer came to me. I was seeing this place without the usual source of comfort attached–i.e. my family. It was as if the buffer was stripped off and I could see where I grew up exactly as it was, without my close-knit family’s presence as a lens through which to see it. And I liked what I saw.
Was it perfect? No. Safe, quiet, friendly? Yes. Home, still, in a way? Yes, especially considering that New York was feeling less and less like home, if it ever was. My sense of appreciation for where I had spent my childhood grew exponentially that weekend. All I had to do was shift my perspective. Growing up I’d sometimes complained–it was “so boring” and there was “nothing to do”–and couldn’t wait to get to New York or L.A. someday.
Fast forward x number of years, however, and I was taking every opportunity I could to get out of New York, even just for a day or two. In New York I was suffocating, but out on that back porch I felt limitless.
Note: I first wrote this well over a year after I’d left New York, and it originally appeared on Suite.io. The site has since shut down, but the post comes to mind regularly enough (especially when visiting family around the holidays) for me to want to re-share it. [...]
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December 19, 2017
“There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.”
That first line–and dozens of others–from Charlotte Brontë’s masterpiece are permanently etched in my memory.
“You examine me, Miss Eyre. Do you think me handsome?” “No, sir.”
Brilliant.
Books are one of the “little things” in my life that continuously bring me joy, so what better way to appreciate that than a not-so-literary review of my favorite book?
Be forewarned: If you have not yet read Jane Eyre, this post contains major spoilers, so avert your eyes from some of the paragraphs below. Or better yet, close this window right now, and go read the book. You heard me.
If you have read the book, I hope you can appreciate the musings below.
I’d also like to add a caveat: I am definitely not a literary scholar, so this is not a literary analysis. What it is is an appreciation of Jane Eyre‘s appeal by someone who discovered this book at a young age, loved it, and has returned to it many times since then.
The Basic Plot (as told by me–apologies in advance, Charlotte Brontë)
A poor, orphaned, well-educated girl in nineteenth century England, after a rather lonely existence either in her brutal aunt’s house or the cold confines of Lowood School, decides she wants to see a bit more of the world (okay, fine, of England) after eight years at Lowood as a student and ultimately teacher. (Give the girl some credit; she’s adventurous for her time and place and gender and social status and…you get the idea.)
Jane obtains a position as governess to a young French girl, Adele, at the country mansion Thornfield Hall. Adele is the ward (and possibly/probably illegitimate child) of the rich, capricious, and often mysterious Edward Rochester.
Jane and Mr. Rochester–who’s somewhere between fifteen to twenty years older than her (“perhaps he might be thirty-five”)–start falling for each other. Come on, you knew that was going to happen the second I used the word mysterious. Jane is not quite nineteen around this time, for the record, and has exactly zero experience with men.
(Not surprisingly, that weirded me out a bit when reading the book for the first time at age fourteen. The sole difference now is that thirty-five is not old compared to my age today, but the creepiness of it hasn’t really diminished much.)
Anyway. Lowood was an all-girls’ school, so pretty much the only dudes Jane has ever been around regularly are 1) the stodgy old benefactor of Lowood who thinks she is an evil sinning liar, and 2) her horrid cousin, John Reed, who thinks she is a freeloading selfish brat. Not exactly the kind of people Jane (or anybody, really) would want to hang out with. And until Rochester shows up a few months into Jane’s stay at Thornfield, she’s hanging out with Adele, the housekeeper Mrs. Fairfax, and the household staff. That’s about it. And let’s be honest: Mrs. Fairfax is pleasant but boring, and Adele is kind of shallow. Long story short, Jane is happy for a change, but ends up getting a bit restless.
So it’s understandable when Rochester, one of the first non-repulsive, intelligent males she meets, draws her in. Maybe an eighteen-year-old and a thirtysomething was less creepy in nineteenth century England?
Oh, how I love the Gothic drama of it all.
The Story: When Things Get Weirder
To be fair, Jane and Mr. Rochester are friends first, and their friendship is genuine and (initially) innocent and platonic. But various events start to draw them closer together and/or make Jane jealous, including Mr. Rochester making Jane believe he’s about to marry Blanche Ingram, a snotty little 1800s version of mean girl Regina George.
But it’s not platonic for long. Mr. Rochester’s fallen pretty hard for Jane. He eventually proposes, keeping the Blanche ruse going until the last minute. After calling him out for messing with her, Jane finally believes he loves her and accepts. Mrs. Fairfax, however, ruins Jane’s happy mood by warning her, saying she knows little of men. (Duh.) And–hoo, boy–that Mr. Rochester, well, he’s been around. Foreshadowing?
(Aaah! Don’t do it, Jane!)
But their wedding day arrives, plans made, trunks packed for the honeymoon. And voila, enter the twist: Rochester is already married. He’s kept his insane wife, Bertha Mason, locked up in the attic for years, and he–
Wait. What? What?!
And that leads me to ask the question more fervently: Why do I love this book? Stay tuned.
It’s not pretty, I know. But bear with me for a second: Rochester locked Bertha in Thornfield’s attic rather than send her to an asylum. And if you’ve ever heard anything about nineteenth century “madhouses” as they were called, you’d know that the conditions there were horrific more often than not, and in many cases the patients/residents were treated like prison inmates. Rochester knew this and didn’t want to subject Bertha to such a place, much as he’d grown to resent and loathe her. But still, Rochester is no saint. No matter the justification, locking up your wife in the attic is creepy.
And, you know, NOT OK.
(Side note: For another take on Bertha’s story–including some different interpretations of Edward Rochester and even Jane Eyre herself–check out Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys. I mean, if I had to leave the Caribbean for a big old lonely English manor…well, let’s just say I have a bit more sympathy for poor old Bertha, not least because our dear Charlotte B. chose to name her Bertha.)
So I’ll ask again: what is it about this book?
The Story’s Appeal
I first read Jane Eyre about fifteen or sixteen years ago, and have picked it up at least as many times since, to read either completely or in part. My maternal grandmother gave me the book, and it’s my paternal grandmother’s favorite, so that, naturally, adds some personal significance for me.
But regarding the story itself, to answer the question about why I love it so much, I’ve come up with this:
Jane Eyre is one of those books that I could open to any page and start reading. Any. Page. I know chunks of the damn thing by heart, and some of the more powerful scenes can evoke all the feels.
A selection of some of the standouts:
The scene where a terrified Jane, locked in the red room of the Reed’s mansion, fears that her uncle’s ghost will return? Chills–and a reluctance to turn out the light.
Poor Helen Burns, Jane’s one true friend who dies of consumption at Lowood? Break out the tissues.
Jane meets Mr. Rochester for the first time in a spooky lane? Time to curl up with a cup of tea.
Jane saves Mr. Rochester from a fire and realizes she may have more-than-platonic feelings for him? Sigh. (At that point, the not-fiancee Blanche Ingram and poor Bertha Mason haven’t entered the picture yet.)
And Jane’s speech where she declares herself Mr. Rochester’s equal? Well, for that I have no words. Standing ovation from all women ever. (In 21st century terms, it would probably go something like this: “Dude, cut the crap. You realize I have feelings, right? Just because you’re some rich important guy and I’m a poor, plain nobody doesn’t mean we’re not equal human beings. And if you’re not okay with that, please buzz off, because otherwise, you’re wasting my time.”)
All of these scenes are page-turners. But that’s not even what makes the book work. Here’s the magical thing about all of those scenes: we’re seeing everything from inside Jane’s head. It’s all in the first person. And it’s Jane’s head in retrospect, to be exact: she’s telling us the story years ahead of when it originally happened, without actually revealing what ended up happening later on.
We get her thoughts and her emotions with a hint of hindsight, but not enough to give the whole story away. Jane may appear outwardly dull, plain, and so on to snooty, shallow people like Blanche Ingram. But Jane’s mind is anything but. This woman is introspective to a fault. Her emotions are raw.
And the wonderful part is that she shares them, deliberately, addressing us directly: We are “reader” throughout. She engages us, asks us questions, confesses her deepest secrets to us well before she does to any character in the novel. She’s not hiding anything from us except later details of the plot. We’re basically like a diary, and it’s beautiful.
Additionally, Jane Eyre is a coming-of-age novel that has certain universal qualities, even though it’s set in nineteenth-century England.
Who can’t identify with Jane’s feelings of jealousy as she watches Blanche Ingram flirt with Mr. Rochester? Just about every human has experienced similar feelings. Jane’s jealousy is especially poignant since she has already admitted her feelings for Mr. Rochester to herself… and had thought he might-possibly-maybe reciprocate.
(Okay, it goes like this: Jane saves Mr. Rochester’s life. When she goes back to bed, she can’t sleep, because he told her that he “knew you’d do me good someday” and that she “did not strike…delight in my inmost being for nothing”…all while holding her hand. I mean, hot damn. If someone told me that, I’d probably think they were into me, too.)
There are other moments, too: We feel the sting of her horrible cousin’s punches, the sadness and loneliness when Helen Burns dies, the disappointment when Rochester leaves for weeks at a time, the emptiness and betrayal when Jane learns about Bertha, the hope and happiness when she discovers long-lost, non-horrid cousins.
Other People Like Jane Eyre, Too
I am not the only one who is fascinated. Hollywood has repeatedly jumped on this story. There are well over a dozen English-language adaptations–feature films, miniseries, TV series. A quick iMDb search yields pretty impressive results.
Have I seen a significant number of them? Um, yes. (For the record, my hands-down favo(u)rite is the BBC’s 2006 miniseries version starring Ruth Wilson and Toby Stephens.)
If you’re unsure of which one(s) to check out, there was a wonderful article in Slate from 2011, just before the release of the Mia Wasikowska/Michael Fassbender version, which addressed Mr. Rochester’s “creep factor” in each film adaptation–as a response to why Jane Eyre fans are so into him. (Link cited below–I pretty much agree with the author’s assessments and highly recommend the read.)
So in short, even though there are clearly some problems with the story from the perspective of us twenty-first century folks (there are for example debates as to whether it is/is not a feminist book), and the ending is a little bit happily-ever-after (which, depending on your taste, is lovely, annoying, boring, etc.), it’s still a wonderful book.
Jane is a woman both of and ahead of her time. Her independence and contentment are her number one priorities, and love starts to complicate some of those ideas about herself, her expectations, and her life experiences.
And we get a front-row seat to see how Jane figures out the direction her life will go next. She’s an incredibly approachable literary character, and even if we don’t agree with her about everything, or get annoyed with her occasionally, we can identify with her emotionally on some level.
That, in not-so-short, is why my copy of Jane Eyre is so dog-eared, why I can open it up to any page and start reading, and why I love this book so much.
References:
Winter, Jessica. “Up in the Eyre: Why are there so many movie adaptations of Jane Eyre, and which one is best?” Slate magazine, 10 March 2011. http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/culturebox/2011/03/up_in_the_eyre.html
Photo: The British Library, https://www.flickr.com/photos/12403504@N02/11297317024/. Public domain. Illustration by Edmund Henry Garrett, in Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. London: Walter Scott, 1897.
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December 11, 2017Note: This post originally appeared on the site suite.io, and was published on May 14, 2015, back when I was living in Vienna, Austria. The site has since shut down, but I thought that this particular piece was an appropriate way for me to kick off this blog.
When I returned to the United States after seven months in Germany, I had the peculiar feeling that I’d left something back in Europe.
But wait a minute–I couldn’t have. I’d packed everything, handed over my keys, closed my European bank account, wrapped up all of my obligations at the university, and dealt with all of the German bureaucratic-y stuff that foreign students are well familiar with. I’d forgotten nothing.
But as I stood in the U.S. customs line at the airport, as I rode home along a highway with my parents, as I spent that last month of the summer visiting family, picking up a few shifts at the local ice cream place, and travelling to a few different U.S. cities, I realized what it was.
I’d left part of myself behind. Emotionally, that is.
This was back in 2006. I was a college kid, had just spent an extended semester studying abroad, and had loved basically every second of that experience.
In Charlotte Bronte’s novel Jane Eyre, there is a scene where Mr. Rochester describes feeling like there is an invisible string linking him to Jane, one that would eventually break from the strain of being separated by distance if she were to leave. My connection to two continents–North America and Europe–reminded me of that scene. Except I wasn’t necessarily linked to a person. Part of my heart and mind were always in another place–with the people I had met there, the experiences I’d had, the place itself. I felt something similar after leaving Austria in 2008, and I feel it fairly frequently in Europe today, especially after chatting with family and friends in the U.S.
Perhaps people who grew up between two continents, or people who have spent a significant amount of time living in another country, have experienced this feeling. Maybe it’s even relevant for people who have lived in another part of their own country, like a Bostonian who moves to California for a decade. The string between two places is always there, and you have to keep up a connection–continuously–in order to avoid breaking it.
I have two homes: One where I grew up and where the vast majority of the people I love live, and one where I have learned about myself, discovered, had memorable adventures, tested my limits, challenged myself, and met wonderful people who will also be friends for life. Both places are incredibly special to me for different reasons, and while I will probably spend more time in the U.S. in the future, my “other” home–Europe–is always going to be a part of my life.
I write this from my “other” home with the knowledge that I’ll be returning to the United States within a few months. It will be just as difficult to leave Europe as it has been every other time I have left. The knowledge that I’m leaving one home for another, however, makes me feel lucky that I’m someone who is between two continents. [...]
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