Archive for the ‘Random Musings’ Category

as we are

April 30, 2013 Leave a comment


Lately, I’ve been thinking about the ways people disappoint us. I’m not compiling some kind of asshole masterlist; I’m just considering it. Things have been odd, lately. Not hellfire bad, but certain things feel off. Certain people feel—or are—out of touch. Certain elements of life are strangely out of place. It’s like a puzzle you’ve completed a hundred times – but now you’re blindfolded and all the pieces are flipped over. It’s a lot harder to accomplish anything, to figure things out, when you can’t see.

Logical, right? Call me Captain Obvious! Or don’t. There’s only one captain, and his name is Mal. Oh, captain – my captain. *ahem* Moving on…

No one likes feeling as if they’re unimportant. As if they’re easy to be pushed to the side. No one likes being made to feel small. No one. Sometimes, on rare occasions, we allow people to trample all over us. The reasons are varied. We love someone. We are used to taking the blame. We make excuses. We think it’s a fluke. But it’s not. And we don’t put a foot down. We just accept it, because – hey, he/she doesn’t meant to do it.

But he/she doesn’t mean not to, either.

That’s the thing: if it’s a one-off instance, fine. Twice, okay. But if it’s habitual? Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Go straight to motherfrakkin’ relationship JAIL.

I realize that I’m making a number of wretched generalizations. I realize that there are reasons people do things – reasons that often have nothing to do with us and everything to do with them. But the truth is that no one likes feeling like second place, or like a consolation prize. Or like something that someone will get to when they get to it. On a whim. Whenever they feel like it. Because, yeah, that says, hey, my time is more important than yours. That says, I don’t care enough. Not, notice, that they don’t care. But that they don’t care enough.

To me, it seems that there are two kinds of people: those who don’t care enough and those who care too much. There’s really no middle ground, emotionally speaking. There are tricky people, sure – the ones who don’t SEEM to care too much, but it’s all just a cover for the gaping maw of feelings that is their heart. There are people who talk a good talk, but then it’s just useless, wind-bound words.

I suppose this begs the question of which is worse: caring too much or not giving a damn? For me, I’d rather feel a shit-ton of pain, cry, scream, rage, and wail – than not. I’d rather care too much than have a cold heart. Or not try. I’d rather fling myself into a figurative volcano. I’d rather a mad, beautiful moron – than a person made of bricks. I’d rather give chances than be unable to trust.

I’d rather say yes, instead of no. I’d rather pick up the phone, instead of letting it ring. I’d rather ask, than not know. I’d rather do the ridiculous, insane thing – instead of doing nothing. It occurs to me, lately, that I don’t know how to do anything by halves. There is no halfway. I don’t do reserved.

But other people do. And it’s hard, I think, to judge people differently than we judge ourselves. There’s an unfortunate sadness that comes with that kind of realization. We understand things as we are. We see them as we are (somewhere, Nin is scoffing at my bastardization of her quote). That is human nature.

But, to quote from Into the Woods, “nice is different than good.” And sometimes, it’s not enough to not MEAN to do something. Or not mean to make someone feel bad. You have to actively pay attention to how someone else might feel. Intention matters, yes. But actions, darlings…actions are how we judge the feelings we cannot quantify.


you’re a hard soul to save*

April 21, 2013 Leave a comment

Sometimes, we forget that it’s okay to want to be happy. This idea gets pushed aside by other things – responsibilities, obligations, and the general day-to-day grind. Happiness, or even the idea of it, takes a very dark backseat. There are always reasons, mind you. Bills. Other people. What other people want. It’s almost too easy to forget to reach toward happiness in favor of other, more practical-seeming things.

I have to do this job, because I need the money. I have to stay, because leaving is too hard. I have to stay, because of my responsibilities. I have to keep quiet, because fighting is hard; it leads to unpleasant things.

I know a lot of people who are stuck in jobs that they don’t like, simply because change is hard. I’m not talking about the economic aspect, but the emotional one. The one that requires a deep breath and a spine – and a leap to do something different. Even if it seems crazy, like running off to join the circus, work in a zoo, or open a barn. There are always reasons to do the safe, easy thing. To stay where you are, because the devil you know is supposedly better than the devil you don’t know. However, to quote Mae West, “Between two evils, I always pick the one I never triede before.”

A friend of mine, once, was trying to explain a decision of his. On the surface, it seemed like a noble thing – something you could label right and leave in a nice, tidy box. You can label it, accept it, and then put it in whatever corner you like. At the end of his explanation, he said something that stuck with me, “It’s not like I’m saying that my life is over.” His voice was sad. His eyes were even sadder. Because, in a way, that is exactly what he was saying. Giving up something for something else is (on paper) a sacrifice. But there are times where that’s just insane. If you’re setting even the idea of your own happiness aside for something, or even someone else, what really happens to you?

You start to become a ghost, darlings. You start to disappear. You get sad. And you get angry. And you get lost. You lose yourself. Resentment builds up, pooling in your lungs like a swallowed scream. Disappointment shackles your leaden feet. Your smiles begin to slip from genuine to false, one by one, little by little. You become frustrated. Your days begin to blur, each one just a number. You stop laughing.

I’m not saying that it’s possible for people to be happy all of the time. That kind of thing only exists in the movies, or when you’re on vacation, or if you’re taking the good drugs (kidding, kidding). But if you cannot even fathom the idea of happiness, like a visible brass ring, how are you living? How are you any good to anyone else? (Hint: you’re really not. Because you aren’t you.)

Somewhere, there has to be a line. A thing you won’t cross. Something you won’t give up, for the sake of not losing yourself. As much as we try to forget sometimes, it is okay to want to be happy. Actually, truly happy. It’s okay to want something besides misery or even a vague idea of contentment. It is okay to want to wake up in the morning and not feel like you’re being ground into dust. It’s okay to want to smile and have it reach your eyes. It’s okay to want more than you have.

That doesn’t make you selfish. It doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make you weak – no even in the least. And it certainly doesn’t make you evil or awful, or any other derisive adjective. It makes you human. It makes you strong, because striving for better things is how we grow. It’s how we become the best version of ourselves. It’s in those moments where we are our most brave, where we say this – no. no more. Where we stop accepting things as they are and start striving toward what they could be.

Could be, my darling hearts, is such a beautiful thing. It is a phrase steeped in possibility and hope. It is a phrase that is alive and alight for the idea of maybe. It is an open door. It is the beginning of a moment where we start to save ourselves. It’s taken me a very long time to realize that, sometimes, we can’t save someone else. We can try. We can throw them an emotional life-preserver or rope. We can be there. (And, often, that makes all the difference in the world – someone being there, where in front of you or on the other end of the phone line.) But, ultimately, life is not a fairytale. There are no knights on white horses. There are, however, a large amount of dragons. There will swallow you whole for breakfast, with or without ketchup. Because either way, you are a tasty human. (Yes, figuratively speaking. There aren’t any real dragons, Khaleesi.)

Yet, sometimes, the people in our lives prey, quite easily, on our insecurities and fears. Sometimes, the idea of change is off-putting to others. It upsets the equilibrium, tips a balanced scale over, and unsettles anyone who is afraid of trying. Cowards try to hold you back. Cowards try to keep you chained and shackled, not because it benefits you. No. Simply, it makes their lives easier. It also validates the way their clutch their fears and hide in the dark. Anyone who wants what is best for you will encourage and support you, even when it seems crazy. Even when it might disrupt his/her life. Anyone who won’t cheer you on? Well, you need to reconsider that person’s place in your life. They’re like emotional quicksand, a vampire staring at its food supply. A pox. A plague. A…have I made my point? Good. Moving on…

Your happiness matters. It is okay to want to be happy. That’s not a tragedy or a crime. It is not a thing unworthy of pursuit. It is not a terrible thing to want, despite how you are sometimes made to feel. Yes, in life, most of the time, you have to save yourself. But you also need to realize, my dears, that you are worth saving.

Do what makes you happy. Be with people who make you happy. Leave behind what, and who, doesn’t lift you up. This is the only life you get. And you should spend it being happy. Light the candle on both ends, dear hearts. It gives a lovely light.

*This is a line from the new, and fucking fantastic, Florence + the Machine song — Over the Love.

when the battle’s lost and won

April 8, 2013 Leave a comment

“You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it.” ~Margaret Thatcher

There are often things in life that go on, unseen. Moments. Declarations. Bits of truth that eek out when on one is there to look on. Things unwitnessed by the world at large. This can be a sacred thing, truly. Some wars are fought in the same way: unnoticed. This can be a quiet start, a secret siege, a truly kept promise. That kind of thing is no one’s business but your own. Not all things are meant for a public parade.

As Thatcher alluded, some wars are over in a moment. But some? Some are a long fight in the dark. A star held in the hand. Some struggles persist throughout the years. And the only way to lose the fight is to walk away from it.

Good things are not easily gained. The things are that are hard won are a special kind of wonder. Yes, this might result in a few more scars. It might make you a little gunshy, sometimes. You might have some strange flashbacks of moments you’d rather forget. Only, everything we’ve done and said has led us to right here and right now. Everything.

I like the idea that every moment is a fresh start. A chance to begin. A new possibility. A place to issue a challenge.

The thing about a battle, though, is that you have to know what you’re fighting for. It isn’t enough to simply parry a thrust. It isn’t enough to merely dig your heels in. You have to know what you are hoping to gain. You also should know what the other side is hoping for. This is everything. If you’re fighting a war without any parameters, without any terms, than what exactly are you doing?

Admittedly, there are many ways to fight. Everyone fights differently. Most of the time, I try to fight cleanly. I could, at any given moment, throw gasoline on the lot and light it with a flamethrower. But what would that solve, except to burn a bridge and turn everything to ash? When fighting, it’s always wise to fight above the belt, to tackle the issue at hand, and not to use things that should not be weapons. People aren’t pawns. Circumstances aren’t reasons.

There are times where it feels like the battle’s lost. And most people throw in the towel, toss up their hands, and concede. But a battle isn’t a war. And a battle’s only lost when there’s nothing left to fight for. I’ve said this before, but we all decide what fights we walk away from. It’s also a choice. But it is also not a choice that should be made out of fear. Some people are worth running toward, always. Some things are worth the sacrifice. You choose, and then you do. Words are pretty things. And yet, often what you do speaks louder than you can ever imagine. Actions and emotions, together in a whirlwind, count for more than what you’ve said. Or not said.

I’ve never walked away from a good fight. Even when that might’ve been considered conventionally wise. Conventional wisdom can be quite droll. I’ve known people — one in particular — who couldn’t make up his mind what he should fight for. He was, essentially, at war with himself. One minute, the choice was one thing. The next, it was the opposite. This, I suppose, is what happens when the heart and the head are at war — when, perhaps, one measures one’s decision by should and shouldn’t. But my thinking is always that if one is that conflicted — if one says one thing but does/feels another repeatedly — it means something. Usually it means more than one is willing to admit. When you are fighting with yourself — as he often does — you can’t really hide. You’re always in your own head/heart. And shoving it under the rug, denying that there’s a struggle, will only result in a temporary armistice. The war doesn’t necessarily vanish because you’ve turned around, turned your back on it. Eventually, the bullets start flying again, and you find yourself in a very familiar foxhole.

I’m not one to fight idly. I don’t walk into the fray without consideration. And I certainly never do it half-heartedly. I’m a whole heart kind of girl, when it comes to fighting, loving, and deciding. There is no in-between. No notion of halves. There is everything, all in — always. Which, as I’ve confessed in the past, makes me a terrible poker player. Wretched. Abysmal. An easy mark. But when it comes to risking everything, it’s a fair bet if I hope to gain everything. That is a good rule to live life by. You cannot have one foot in both places. And you cannot fight without your heart being in it. The best way to decide what to do, then, is to figure out where your heart lies. Not your duty or responsibility. Not your status or your expectations. Not should. Not have to. Those words are quick kills, at best.

Figure out where your heart lives and breathes — find the place that little monster sings and dances. That is your battleground. That is where you fight. And that is why you fight.

What are you fighting for, right now, darlings? And if you’re not fighting for something: why not?

on things discovered and recovered

March 19, 2013 4 comments

This big world is a strange, small place. And I believe in its infinite, sometimes insane, possibilities. A few weeks back, my dear friend Alicia was moving to California. She ended up trapped in a snowstorm. The roads were closed. She had to seek shelter. She ended up meeting an author, Sara J. Henry, who was (and, I suppose, is) on a book tour. They got to talking, and it turns out that Sara reads my blog (hi, Sara!). Alicia mentioned that she knew me, and Sara gave her a copy of her novel to send me. (I got it, and I’m looking forward to reading it.)

What are the odds, though? Small, I’m guessing, especially considering the randomness of the journey, the moving from one coast to another. The sheer, bizarre happenstance that is life. I have to say: I love it. I love knowing that connections can be made in the strangest of ways and places. I love that talking to strangers is sometimes okay. I love the moment of reaching out. I love the idea of being seen. I love the way things often change in the ordinary, unexpected instant.

This morning, I found my claddagh ring. It was a gift from my mother (it’s bad luck to buy one for yourself), and it stemmed out of my love for Buffy. I haven’t been able to find the ring for over six months. I’d been looking furiously for it for the past month or so. It should’ve been in a small box, on my bookshelf. Another ring was there, but it was not. I searched everywhere. I moved furniture. I reorganized my dresser. I dumped out drawers. I lamented to friends about the lost ring. The symbolism surely did not escape me; it’s a ring of relationships. It’s friendship, loyalty, and love. I wanted to wear it. I couldn’t find it. It was weighing on me.

Then, today, in the same drawer I’d emptied TWICE – I found my ring. It was tarnished, but no worse for its mysterious walkabout. I cleaned it up, and I put it on. I know that I checked that drawer. I know that I took out every single item. And yet, defying logic and perhaps reason, there it was – right in front. Right on top.

People say that when you stop looking for things – especially love – it shows up. I think that’s a load of bollocks, because you can’t find love with your eyes closed. Sometimes, love is just where it is. There’s no explaining it. You may have sought it out a hundred times, but it wasn’t right. It was hidden in plain sight. And then one day, you open a door or a drawer, and there it is. A little beat up, a little misshapen – and most likely, surprising. I certainly didn’t expect to rediscover my ring, today. But I did. With so much of life just around the corner, this feels like a sign. It feels like the beginning of spring, of possibility. Yesterday, I was scared about things I do not know, things I can’t possible find out. This made me realize how much we miss, if we aren’t paying attention. Sometimes, seeking and looking is the wrong thing. Sometimes, we just have to wait and see what comes to us – and to be mindful. That is the key to life, often times: being present. Being real. Living the moment, instead of sitting there with your questions.

Like my friend Alicia, you don’t know who you might know. You don’t know what connections you might make. You don’t know how small and magical the world really is – unless you are in it. Unless you do the unusual, or even the impossible. Relationships are formed in the oddest of ways, sometimes. We cannot account for that. Neither can we account for what might be returned to us.

Friendship. Love. Loyalty.

What is more important than those things? It is from those qualities that many, if not all, great things begin. Once they exist, they may fade sometimes; they do not ever disappear. Just like matter cannot be created or destroyed – neither can the intersection of those three traits. Truthfully, these three things cannot exist, if they are not linked together. Friendship without love rings hollow. Love without loyalty is a farce. And perhaps worst of all, loyalty without love. There is nothing honorable about that.

This big world is a strange, small place. But it is also full of magic and wonder. It’s full of promise. You never know who you might meet. You never know what you might find. And you never know what you might gain, unless you open something.

Pull open the door. Pick up the phone. Put yourself out there. Otherwise, you will be the thing tarnished in a drawer, hidden.

“Nothing in the world is ever completely wrong. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.” ― Paulo Coelho, Brida

“Don’t give in to your fears. If you do, you won’t be able to talk to your heart.” ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

“What’s the world’s greatest lie?… It’s this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate.” ― Paulo Coelho

“One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.” ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

the monster in the basement

March 12, 2013 1 comment

Generally speaking, I handle things better when I understand them. I don’t have to like a situation to handle it well. In fact, if I had a superpower, it would be that. If you tell me that worst thing imaginable (“There’s a murderous clown living in your closet, and he has eaten your puppy!” or “I’ve just finished the last of the coffee. And there is a statewide shortage!” or “I’m sorry, but you are suddenly lactose intolerant and can no longer consume cheese.”), I will not be HAPPY – but I cope with things better when there are facts.

It’s the void that gets me. The dark unknown, the universe of answers turned inside out. Not because the answers do not exist. It’s because they are hidden from view, unable to be accessed. Because some answers are tucked any somewhere – and with someone – else. And it can be very hard, very challenging to get a handle on a situation like that. Especially if there are crazy variable involved, and you’ve absolutely no way to suss them out.

This is what your brain does in moments like that. Or, at least, mine. It’s like that scene in a horror movie where a character is in a basement. Suddenly, the lights go off, and the protagonist cannot find the stairs. It doesn’t matter if there truly is no monster lurking in the darkness. Your brain goes full on oh my god, what they hell? Is that a Jabberwocky? I AM GOING TO DIE. And the character ends up tripping on a rake and impaling himself/herself for no good reason.

Emotionally speaking, that scene is a landmine of what-ifs. Your brain starts to devolve into its worst, fear-seeking self – until you’re fairly certain the reality of a situation is the most terrible version possible. That is nothing more than fear taking all your good sense, wrapping it in insecurity, and chucking it into the ocean, where it gets eaten by a mutant shark while the theme song to Jaws plays at an alarming decibel.

Personally, my problem in this kind of situation is usually twofold. The first problem is that if I’m worried about someone, and I have no idea what’s going on or any way to find out what’s going on, this does not make me worry any less. In fact, it makes it worse. It ratchets up the fear and concern to an unholy height, leaving my pulse throbbing even in my teeth. My brain tends to bounce around like an electrified pinball, occasionally catching fire and shorting out. Because when left to my own devices, I always blame myself. I find some fault in something I did and start with, “maybe…” And that maybe is a whisper that turns into a voice, knocking itself around the inside of my skull. It’s the what-ifs that kill us slowly, stupidly, and thoroughly. (This is a flaw in my personality. One I am forever working on.) You may not notice this, because most things can be hidden with a good smile. But it’s there. Because I am a worrier. I care, therefore I worry. If I give a damn, I give a damn. And no amount of space, time, or intergalactic rifts in either of those things can even remotely change that. Like I mentioned before, it’s easier to deal with a situation if the lights are on in the basement.

The second part of this problem is I am absolutely shit about being able to do nothing. I don’t necessarily need to move a mountain or render some grand miracle. But I like to help. I like to do, even if it’s just to lend an ear, or a hug, or buy you a drink. I like to help. It’s not even a compulsion. It’s pretty much the foundation of who I am. If I love you, I want to help you. End of the fucking story.

But then, there are the times where the basement is dark. Everything is uncertain. And there are two choices, either of which could be possible. In that moment, the wisest thing is to calmly walk to the stairs, moving slowly – not flailing about like a hyperventilating water buffalo. But truthfully, who is really graceful in moments of raw worry or fear? That is something you have to convince yourself to do, reasoning with your lesser self. It is probably the best choice. The second is to sit down in the darkness. Remind yourself that there’s really nothing to fear. Wait it on. The lights will turn back on. You’ll see what there is to see. You just have to wait. Waiting without knowing is the hardest thing I’ve yet to fully master. Without a finish line, an end zone, a set place of ending – something to achieve – it is terrifying thing. What-if it never ends? What if I never understand? What-if [insert thing here]?

What-if. It’s a bitch.

But in the face of what-if, the best thing is to have faith. To believe. To sit back, consider the heart of the situation, and remember that there are a few things in life that are always true: laughter cannot fix a situation, but it can right the most crooked moment. Fear is only good if you use it as a guidepost to bravery. Love is the strongest force on this earth.

I don’t think much in life is black and white. I don’t think most things are easily figured out. I believe in the power of the heart, of the way life gets complicated when we least expect it to. But I think that at the end of the day, we know exactly what it is we’ll fight for. Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, there is truly a monster in that basement. The lights go out. Your phone suddenly dies. The door slams shut. And you have, again, two choices: you let the damn thing eat you, because you’re paralyzed by fear OR you fight. Because you’d rather go down swinging than curl up in a ball and give in. That is the most important thing: even when it’s absolutely horrifying, you fight. You don’t just accept that the monster is going to eat you.

When that happens, the entire world changes if you know that someone is on your side. Someone believes in you. Someone is willing to risk everything for you. In that spirit, here is the truest thing I know – even my worst days, even when I’m scared, know this: I’m here. I love you.

something bigger than fear

March 4, 2013 2 comments

“Forget safety. Live where you fear to live. Destroy your reputation. Be notorious.” – Rumi

There are days where I forget myself. Days where I give in to the fear, stay inside the lines, and try to pretend that it’s all for the best. We all have those days. Those days where the safe, easy answer seems like the only logical, reasonable, sane choice. On those days, I often find myself hiding from so many things: from what I want and need, from who I am, and from who I could be.

Living in fear is not living. Living is shame is not living either. A reputation is just an idea based on something that someone else thinks. This not a personal standard. Reputations are a funny thing. You either have a good one or a bad one – is there an in-between? A blend of grey? A middle ground? I think, most often, one part overshadows the whole. But that’s another story for another time.

Today, for an inexplicable reason, I was afraid. I had a thought, and the thought followed me everywhere. It was one of those damned what-if worries. It wasn’t based in anything rational or solid. It was irrational and ridiculous. But sometimes, our brains take that crazy leap across the chasm, voluntarily landing on the other side – only to discover it’s populated with rabid wolves, quicksand, and very disgruntled cannibals. In short: BAD. Very bad. Hid the fava beans – and DRINK the Chianti.

What does one do with fear? It’s not a physical thing. You can’t stuff it in a closet. You can’t kick the shit out of it. You can’t even ignore it. You are housing it. You are holding it. You are listening to its idiot whispers in your ear. How do you fight against something akin to the wind?

The truth is: you don’t. You find something bigger than the fear. You find something stronger than it. You find something worth standing up, worth being brave for, worth risking everything for. And you do it. You dance in the middle of a crowded room. You dance by yourself in the kitchen. You dance down the aisle of a grocery store. That is both a literal suggestion and a figurative one.

It doesn’t matter what you’re afraid of. It doesn’t matter how fierce the fear is. There is always something bigger than whatever it is that you’re afraid of. There is always something to give you strength, be it a person or a passion. There is hope. There are desires. There are dreams. There is love. There is friendship.

Fear can swallow a person whole. It can stick you straight to a single spot, even if that spot is hell. And then, one day, you say enough. Then, one day, you say no more. And you change everything – even if that change begins with nothing more than a decision, a single step. That is all it takes to change anything: one move in a direction. One.

The door is wide open. You just have to walk through it.

Every Bookshelf Tells a Story

March 1, 2013 2 comments


Last night, I was cleaning off my bookshelf. It had, as most things do, become a small disaster. That’s the problem when you have what some might call too many books – and only a small space in which to display them. The others, which are vast and varied, live tucked away in various places of indignity. Some are trundled under the bed. Others are in the closet. There are even an abhorrent number of them boxed in the *gasp* attic. Book Siberia. The Isle of Misfit Pages.

Each book on that book shelf is there for a reason. Some are favorites. Some remind me of other things. Some are rare books. There are a few first editions. I realized, though, that while books tell stories, bookshelves do, as well. I came across my copy of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere. I’d lent it to my mom last summer, and it was her first Gaiman novel. Her bookmark was still stuck between the pages. Somehow, I’d forgotten that she’d read it. Somehow, I’d forgotten about the small, butterfly bookmark. But there it was, a familiar bit of story.

There’s one of Anaïs Nin’s diaries and a copy of Catcher in the Rye that belonged to an old professor of mine. The Nin book bears an inscription about two people who must part, and while neither of us wrote that, the words became remarkably true. The Salinger book wasn’t one I enjoyed at all. It was that professor’s favorite. It was his from when he was a child. It is, quite literally, a piece of his past – from the childishly scrawled block letters to the full name proudly written out and display. Funny, how even our names change as time passes. Even mine. Depending on if you call me Ali or Alison, I can tell exactly when we first met. But back to the two books: they don’t mean what they used to mean to me at all. I thought about giving them away. I thought about giving them back. Ultimately, they’re still there – next to my mother’s tattered copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. They are a reminder that we are all flawed, although not in the way we often expect.

There are also at least four books full of literary criticism. These aren’t things I use every day, but it’s nice to know that Foucault is just an arm’s length from my desk. And Jean François Lyotard’s le différend somehow became my favorite theory, thanks to a professor who encouraged me to think outside the box, then pretend there was no box, and then remember the idea of the mirror box. (That sentence makes sense if you’re a lit major.)

Stacked on one side, there are photo albums from trips I’ve taken, parties I’ve been to, and holidays. There are, undoubtedly, pictures of people I no longer see or speak to, friends who have moved or changed beyond recognition, and several of those who are not living. There are three sketch pads, an old diary, a book about reading runes, and a stack of old letters. A pewter key, with a claddagh handle, sits on display – given to me by my best friend. There’s a tiny measuring tape/level from my old boss. There are, of course, a pile of Neil Gaiman novels, Deanna Raybourn’s, and an entire shelf devoted to Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath. Each idea on that shelf is not just a thing. It’s a piece of who I am. It’s a story of its own. It’s every place I’ve ever been – and a few I intend to go.

If you want to know somebody, look at their bookshelf. Look at what they keep closest on hand. Look past the possibly haphazard arrangement of titles stuffed together too closely. Realize that it isn’t always about looking pretty or perfect. It’s about holding things close and keeping the memories right there. Every bookshelf tells a story. What does yours tell?

Categories: Random Musings