Bull City

I find myself defending Durham a lot. I am constantly saying, “Durham is not dangerous” or “I promise, it’s very hipster and trendy now” or “I have never seen someone get shot in Durham” and “yes, it’s safe.” I have lived in Durham my entire life and yes, Downtown Durham used to be considered dangerous. However, in the last 10 years, Durham has drastically changed. Most of Durham is peppered with trendy coffee shops, hipster bars, and delicious restaurants (we were voted Tastiest Town of the South).

Most of Downtown Durham is now filled with burgeoning artists, whether that be music, visual, or food art. That is a stark contrast to the Durham I knew 15 years ago. When the film Welcome To Durham came out in 2007, that only intensified the stigma that Durham was riddled with gang violence. Did Durham have gangs? Yes. Do we still have gangs? Yes. Don’t most cities? 

But it seems as if some people still cannot see beyond Durham’s once sordid history. Would it help if I told you that six new apartment complexes are being built in Downtown Durham and the rent for each apartment is what my paycheck is each month? (And yes, that's not a lot, but I promise they are very fancy.)

There is still this stigma about Durham that I hope is beginning to dissipate. Not only is Durham filled with award winning restaurants but the antiquated buildings now house some of the most popular breweries and dessert shops in RDU. All of this is to say that I love Durham. I have four Durham themed shirts. I hate bumper stickers, but I have a “Durham” bumper sticker. There are secret gems and obvious places I love about Durham. I want to share some of those with you.

1. Nanataco is literally my favorite restaurant right now. Not only is it amazing food, but it's a great price. The lunch special is two tacos with whatever meat (their "dirty" meat is wicked awesome), rice, beans, chips, and salsa for $6.50. I want to go there every single day. And their margaritas are the bomb dot com. 

2. Geer Street Garden is my favorite place to grab a drink in Durham. The inside is small (it use to be a gas station), but the whimsical outdoor seating area makes up for what the inside lacks. And if you go there you must order the pile. 

3. My favorite places to take photos are at American Tobacco and this great wall near The Parlour. American Tobacco has all these striking walls and allows for great lighting that makes really captivating, interesting, Durham themed photos. The top of the parking garages also offer a perfect view of the Downtown Durham skyline. 

In addition to American Tobacco, this wall is stellar for photos. 

But really, this wall on Main Street is awesome. Just look. 

4. My favorite concert venue has to be Motorco. It's a great space for a show, it's connected to Parts and Labor (another cool bar), and a former Riverside student's dad co-owns the venue. There are always food trucks around so after whatever show you attend you can grab overpriced dumplings and pizza. 

5. I'm really torn about picking between these two coffee shops. Cocoa Cinnamon is a super hipster, trendy coffee shop that has fancy drinks with lava salt in them. Straw Valley Cafe used to have very cool indoor seating - they've since done away with it and replaced it with a very pretentious restaurant - but the real draw is the outdoor seating. Either place you go, you are guaranteed to have a great cup of coffee, funky outdoor seating, and a quiet place to work or read. 

6. Breakfast is a three way tie: Rise, Guglhupf, and Monuts. Rise and Monuts have out of this world, knock your socks off, make you want to punch someone donuts. Rise's chicken biscuit makes me want to work there. Guglhupf's brunch menu, gigantic cups of coffee, and pastries are three things I want everyone to experience in his or her life. 

There are so many more things I adore about Durham: Ninth Street, Bull McCabes, Duke Gardens, and about 43 others things. But beyond the institutions, Durham is my home. I will forever defend this city. 

I love Durham. You should too. (Or just let me take you to all my favorite places.)

Being In My Head Is Weird

Ok. This post is probably going to emulate the stream of consciousness style that William Faulkner pioneered. Do not think that I am comparing myself to Faulkner; I am just saying that if this post is a little confusing it is because Faulkner taught me that convoluted, internal monologue sentences can be good. (Maybe. I don’t know. It’s been awhile since I read As I Lay Dying.) 

On my birthday I made a list of all the things I wanted to accomplish over the year. I knew publishing the list forced my hand in providing updates on how I am doing. I have kept up with several: blogging once a week, putting money in my savings account, watching a TED Talk once a week, and making all my friends’ birthday cards. 

Last week I had a weird hour and a half in between grading at Cocoa Cinnamon and attending the Riverside soccer game so I decided it was the perfect time to go to dinner by myself. Let the stream of consciousness begin.

I pull into the parking lot of Foster’s Market already feeling very awkward. I will not be meeting anyone here. I have no friends. Will people think I am a loser because I am alone? I mean, I don’t think people are strange when I see people eating at restaurants alone. But am I kinder than most people? I mean, I know I can be judgmental, but I think I’m a genuinely kind person. Am I? What if I think I am kind but I’m not actually that kind?

I open my car door. 

It’s a great thing that I always carry a book. Going to dinner by myself will allow me to establish some independence. I will not use my phone at all, but I will read. I will not listen to my music and disengage fully from this moment. I will be intentional. I will sit outside, listen to the birds and the traffic, and read my book. I have an hour to eat and read. This will be good. An hour of reading. 

I walk up to the counter. Do I order my usual? This is a cool, new adventure for me. Do I get the salad plate? No, I’m going to be adventurous! I’ll get the chicken caesar wrap and chips and a diet coke. Living on the edge feels so good. 

This guy looks new. He’s looking at me. He can tell I’m alone. There are only six people in here right now. He obviously knows I am not meeting anyone. Why does he care who I am here with? I am literally holding my book in my hand. Does he pity me? I mean, I surely cannot be the first person to come here alone. People do this all the time. I am not a pioneer. 

“Oh hi. Yes, I’ll take the chicken caesar wrap, these chips, and a drink,” I mutter.

“Cool. And you’re name?” He asked.

“Mira. M-I-R-A,” I spell.

“Great. Show this to her when you’re ready to leave. I’ve been meaning to read that book,” he said.

“Oh. This book? I kind of hate it. Don’t read it,” I say/laugh and walk off. I have a way with words.

I scan the restaurant. There are a few people in here but I kind of want some solitude. I’m being a little bold tonight, but I don’t want to be too bold. Let me go to dinner by myself, but where no one can actually see me. But this is for me, not other people. It’s so nice outside, so I’ll grab a seat out there. Lots of cool picnic tables and patio furniture. There is this great, giant wall of ivy on one part of the patio that separates the busy, car infested 15-501 and the restaurant, so I choose a table behind the wall. Ok. There is a table of two women. They’re talking about “the hospital”. Are they doctors? Nurses? They must belong to Duke in some way. They keep talking about showing the new people how to do their job. They have weird laughs. Whatever. I pull out my book and open it to page 232.

“Mira!” that same guy shouts and he sees me and delivers my wrap. 

Wait, how does one read and eat at the same time? My book pages keep flipping. This wind sucks. Oh, cell phone. I’ll put my cell phone on the page to hold it down. No. I can’t. If my cell phone is out I will be tempted to check Twitter and I don’t want to be tempted. Are cell phones truly evil or is our addictive nature to them (or anything really) inherently evil? I wonder if the guy or girl who invented cell phones knew exactly what he or she would be creating. Does he or she know? Is he or she alive? Who is it? I would google it but I am not unlocking my phone. I pull out my car keys instead. 

The sun has begun to set and orange and purple begin to blur the blue sky. This is so beautiful. I wish I had a porch. Oh yeah, read and eat. Reading is going well. These women keep talking. Can’t they see I’m trying to read? How often do I sit at a restaurant with friends, totally oblivious of someone, sitting by themselves, attempting to read? And I have such a loud laugh. I should really tone it down some. 

I finished my wrap and chips. Man, it must be time to go soon. I don’t want to be late to the soccer game.

Fifteen minutes have passed. 

What?! Why does it take my friends and I an hour and a half to eat a meal? I mean, I know we talk, but really. I ordered, got my food, and ate in 15 minutes. What the heck.

Ok, fine. I can read for the next 45 minutes. That’s a lot of time. This will be perfect.

Twenty minutes pass. OK, I hate this book. I really hate it. But I can’t stop reading it. What if something redeems this entire book within the last 10 pages? I would be missing out on a great piece of literary fiction. Maybe I could teach this book to my AP students. And then it could change their lives. Then later on while they’re sitting on their porches watching their grandchildren play in the yard, they’ll say that they had this teacher in high school that made them read this book and at first they hated it but then their lives were forever changed by this piece of fiction and every Christmas they sit in front of their respective fires and read this monumental novel. 

Wow. This book sucks.

Power through. Do I need more diet coke? I mean, I’m running low and I’ve got about 15 more minutes to kill before I need to leave. I could do that. But don’t diet drinks give you brain cancer? Maybe I shouldn’t. Oh wait, here comes someone else. She’s alone too. Should I give her the “hey, we’re by ourselves, being all independent, eating our dinners alone” nod? Does that exist? She’s on her phone. She must be nervous. Or what if she does this all the time and I’m the nervous one? Is there a nod?! Do I communicate? But if the whole point of this is eating dinner alone then I should be alone. I should reflect. I should not try to communicate with anyone. Maybe I should spend the next 10 minutes talking to God. He can hear all of this anyway, right? Is the act of thinking about talking to God actually me talking to God? Uhh, God, I’m eating alone. 

6:15. Time to go.

Being in my head is weird.

Uh, I'm A Photographer?

Photography is a newfound love of mine. Since art is something I have enjoyed most of my life, photography naturally has become a passion. I started paying attention to photography in high school, then I began to assess, breakdown, and analyze the elements of photography, and in recent years I have enthusiastically cultivated this pastime of mine. 

In high school I was head editor (of course) of The Round Table, the school newspaper. Before I became the head editor I was the photo/graphics editor. I had to use a very inexpensive, mostly broken, digital “point and shoot” camera. I had to go to sporting events, musicals, and club meetings and document said occasions. As someone who was not particularly very cool in high school, I felt very cool getting to go onto the field during a football game and glance at my high school crush whilst he sat on the sideline; obviously I wasn’t going to like the star of the team, that would require a true knowledge about sports and I do not possess any desire to know sports. I would then take those photos into our journalism office, a truly safe space for high school me, and would download those photos and practice editing on the first version of Photoshop ever made. Looking back now, that experience was so impactful, since currently I use Photoshop on a weekly basis, and yes, my skills have improved in the last 10 years. 

When I started teaching I was hired to teach English and Yearbook. I had no experience in yearbook, especially since yearbook and newspaper were fierce rivals when I was in high school, but I needed a job. (Little tip, when it comes to education, teachers will volunteer to do anything to get a job.) “Sure, no problem! At 21 years old and a first year teacher, I am fully capable to run a $60,000 business on 90 minutes a day with high school students!” 

As someone who loves learning, being thrust into yearbook was the perfect place for me to be. I learned how to use InDesign, Photoshop (on a much more comprehensive level), how to be a saleswoman, how to manage a small business, promotion, fundraise, take 20 high schools to another state (on planes!) for multiple days, and a number of other skills you are not taught in Education school classes. Among those skills, photography was something I became most invested in during those five years as the yearbook advisor. The most important thing about yearbooks? The photos. Sure, in 20 years you’ll read the stories that accompany those photos, but today, photos are what draw in a high school student to spend $55 on a 368 page, full color yearbook. In addition to teaching the yearbook staff how to create a yearbook, I had to teach the yearbook photographers how to take photographs. I had one idiom that I followed that first year of teaching, “sink or swim” and photography was a great place to figure out which one I was going to do. 

Those five years I was introduced to DSLRs and a better camera creates a better chance for better photos. After our bills were paid each year, with some of the leftover funds, I took measures to fix our older DSLRs, purchased one, and petitioned to get gently used DSLRs donated. Word began to spread that I could take decent photos so I began doing a few random shoots. A baby dedication was the first time I shot anything outside of school. And I loved it. 

I quit being the yearbook advisor two years ago but that artistic desire did not fade, in fact, it intensified. A friend who knew I did some photography asked if I would shoot their family members’ wedding. Wedding photographers cost thousands of dollars and they wanted someone like me, who only had a handful of photo shoots under her belt, to shoot their wedding. (Little did I know what I was getting myself into and that experience is definitely worthy of a totally separate blog post.) Even though I was terrified, I did it; I shot a wedding. I did not get paid thousands of dollars, but it was an amazing learning opportunity. 

After the wedding, I began shooting baby photos, family portraits, and senior photos. And while it is some nice extra cash, it truly is a fun experience. Being able to document someone’s family or precious moment is such an intimate experience. Watching a mother interact with her crying baby, capturing a three year old running through the leaves, and documenting a senior’s mixed emotional journey that is their senior year of high school allows me to view these moments in an alternate way. Writing about those moments in something I inherently think about, but photographing those moments forces me to interact with those images in a very different way. 

With all this talk about photos, I thought I would share a few of my favorites below.

Why Music Matters to Me

I have no discernible musical abilities. I cannot play guitar, drums, bass, or keys. When I sing it is not a sound that one would ideally want to have playing in one’s headphones. When it comes to music it is best if I am the one pressing play. Even though I am lacking that gift that I so envy, I still adore music. And I have enjoyed music for as long as I have had ears. 

I remember finding my mom’s Beatles, Michael Jackson, Carole King, U2, and Rolling Stones records and wondering what these giant plates were. Later I was informed that music was captured inside of them and that magic happened when these were played.  

I remember sitting in front of the radio waiting to record Paula Abdul songs onto tapes. I would wait with my finger hovering above the “record” button just so I could capture “Opposites Attract” so I could dance to it in my room. 

I remember sitting in the car each morning on the way to school listening to my mom tell stories about Led Zepplin’s “Stairway to Heaven” and highlighting all of the drug references in Beatles songs. That was my first experience understanding figurative language and how so much can be stated with so few words. 

I remember getting my allowance each month and spending it on these fancy things called CDs. I would buy The Backstreet Boys, Hole, and George Harrison CDs and listen to them on my giant six disc, silver CD player whilst in my childhood bedroom. 

I remember waking up for school every morning and watching MTV and VH1 music videos (when those channels actually played music) with my mom. We would eat breakfast and watch the latest Coldplay, The Strokes, and Fiona Apple videos and discussed the lyrics, content, and cinematography of each video. 

I remember spending hours in the music section at each store at the mall. I would wander around FYE and Best Buy and browse the CD collections wondering what was worth spending $16.99. 

I remember trading mixed CDs with friends in AP English IV. My mixed CDs usually consisted of some hardcore rap, The Ramones, and there was always a Beatles song. I would spend time ensuring that each song properly transitioned to the next; there could be no abruptness, the music had to “flow”.

I remember going to college and making it a goal to go to a concert a month. I spent my first two years of college going to big name shows, e.g. The Rolling Stones, lesser known bands (at the time), e.g. The Bravery, and every music festival within 30 miles of Greensboro. 

I remember when I realized I needed music to function. I would sit and begin writing papers in college, feeling oppressed by the silence and would grab my new MP3 player, an iPOD, and suddenly I could churn out paper after paper. (That ability may also have to do with the fact that I love writing papers, but I would like to rely on my intense love of music for this one.)

I remember the first time I cried while listening to a song. I was in my dorm room playing U2’s “Where The Streets Have No Name” and I was playing around on this new website, Facebook. I paused and listened to the words and the chords and I started crying; I am not sure I even had a reason to be crying. After some time I realized that music can profoundly impact people, and that a perfect song can be made with great lyrics and a pleasant melody. I still cry and get goose bumps when I hear “Where The Streets Have No Name”. 

I remember being able to deconstruct and dialogue about music. It happened at Crosspointe when I first started serving on the tech team and I got to listen to live music every week. Inadvertently guided by Travis, Claybrook, and Don, I began to notice and comment on the sound of the instruments and how technology can make those sounds even better for the listener. It was good to know that I was not the only one of my kind.

All of these experiences, plus a myriad of others, have taught me that music can directly influence one’s life, just like a person, an event, or a novel. Music has taught me to engage with a world that I would have passively been drifting through. Art is such a monumental part of my world, and music falls into that. I cannot begin to fathom a life devoid of music. 

There is an assumption that since I am an English teacher, writer, and word lover that novels and writing have a great impact on my life. That assumption is true, but music has also shaped and molded me. It is not just the chord progressions that transform me, but it is the lyrics too. A couple weeks ago I talked about my “favorite” books, but there have been songs that have been just as impactful. And again, while it is impossible to make a list of “favorite books” and it is also nearly impossible to make a list of “favorite songs” but below are a few that have greatly shaped my life. 

1. “Where The Streets Have No Name” by U2- I already talked about this one. And yes, I’m currently listening to it and getting chills.

2. “Gravity” by John Mayer- The lyrics in this song were written for me. It is about redemption and fighting against being “here”.  “Just keep me where the light is”, I would definitely get this tattooed on my person. 

3. “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” by the Beatles- This song is an elegy for what humanity is called to do, love. The version from “The While Album” is loud, heavy, and layered with sound and it’s such a great contrast to the lyrics. And I love the fact that George Harrison wrote this, instead of John and Paul.

4. “Little Hell” by City and Colour- I just have an emotional journey during this song. It’s is so sad and depressing. And there is this idea that we are currently in hell and will get out but it does not seem that the narrator is convinced they actually will escape this personal hell. This song + a sad book + tea = me being sad and loving everything at the same time. 

5. “Numb/Encore” by Jay-Z and Linkin Park- Whoa. It was getting a little heavy there. This song literally makes me want to be a rapper. Pretty much anything Jay-Z related makes me feel that way, but I love that two different genres of music can create something pretty cool. I love mashups, unless it’s a Glee mashup, then I’m out.

6. “Use Somebody” by Kings Of Leon- I know it might be cliché to list the biggest song from a musician as one’s favorite, but I do not care. I love KOL so much and this song’s lyrics are so identifiable. Being on a quest to find someone, anyone really, that loves and understand us is what everyone wants. And I love Caleb’s raw and raspy voice.  

7. “Poison and Wine” by The Civil Wars- This song wrecks me. That is all.

8. “Till I Collapse” by Eminem- A white guy rapping like this? In high school I could not believe it. I was listening to Bone Thugs –N- Harmony and Wu-Tang and 2Pac, and other than the Beastie Boys, I was unaware that white rappers were successful.  Eminem’s lyrics are brilliant. Hands down. He is an amazing song writer and this song is from The Eminem Show, probably his best album. And the second verse pretty much echoes this post. 

9. “We Will Run” by Gungor- I know I probably should have some “Christian” music on my list but I do not believe in a division between secular and religious music. So I approach Gungor as a band that tells a great story, regardless of being entrenched in faith. This song is about returning to, in this instance, God after one has walked away from Him. Gungor’s words function as a necessary reminder in my life when I begin to feel distant from God. And I love that the song is nine minutes long; it allows me to sit and rest in those words for awhile.

10. “Yellow” by Coldplay- Rumor has it that Chris Martin just threw in the word “yellow” because nothing else worked and he tried to find another word later on that would work better, but he could not find anything. I love that art can do that. That something so unassuming and ordinary can be turned into something beautiful.  

These songs definitely do not begin to encompass all the music that I love and listen to, and I wish I could write about all the music I love all the time. So can I pick up a guitar and start playing any of the songs listed above? Not a chance. However, I can appreciate and value when someone else can, but they must do it well; I do not have time to listen to crappy music. 

Being A Student Is Hard

I’m sure at one point you’ve been a student or are now the parent of a student so, ideally, you have some idea of what it’s like to be in the classroom. You know that said student should pay attention in class, do some homework, speak up during class discussion, write some essays, do some experiments, and then graduate. Being a student is not hard.

Do you know what makes it hard?

When you cuss me out when I ask to see your pass.

When you throw your pencil across the room and then get up to get said pencil, seven times in a row.

When you keep poking the girl in front of you with a pen.

When you run away from me when I ask to see your pass.

When you play your music on your phone, during class, while we’re taking notes, and there is literally no other sound in the room.

When you keep asking questions about my personal life when I ask, “Any questions?” which is obviously a question that is directly correlated to the course material.

When you refuse to work with a classmate based on their race.

When you flip me off when I ask to see your pass.

When you refuse to listen to me when I say, “please don’t touch anyone.”

When you smoke in the bathroom.

When you refuse to get out a pencil.

When you pretend to have done the reading.

When you slap a girl in class, then run back to your seat, all while I’m dealing with another situation on the opposite side of the room.

When you ignore me when I ask to see your pass.

When you fart in class.

When you use a Sharpie and draw images of the male anatomy.

When you keep touching her hair, even though I have asked you to stop nine times.

When you punch a locker after I ask you to remove your hat.

When you check Instagram every two minutes.

When you sleep in class because you’ve worked until 2:00 a.m. to help pay the rent in your grandmother’s apartment.

When you don’t have someone at home telling you that school matters.

When you don’t have money to eat lunch and you’re hungry.

When you miss the school bus because you just cannot face the ridicule today.

When you watch your mom do drugs and then expects you to care for your younger siblings.

When you have to miss school again so you can go to your father’s job and translate so he can receive the benefits he and his family deserve.

When you move from homeless shelter to homeless shelter because the system is so broken that you have been forgotten.

When you are being abused but have no one to talk to because you feel like “teachers just don’t understand.”

When you cannot study because there is too much fighting in your home.

When you cannot use a textbook because the state will not provide one for you or your classmates.

When you sell drugs at school because you need gas money to get to your more socially accepted job.

When you fight at school because your name has been dishonored and your reputation is the only thing you can control.

When you cuss out a teacher because the only way you have been taught to be heard is through volume and four letter words.

When you mock fellow classmates because you are so uncomfortable in your own skin.

When you force your partner into a sexual relationship so you feel like at least one person loves you.

When you refuse to make an appointment with a guidance counselor because all she talks about are your “A” grades when all you want to talk about is the broken home you are going home to each night.

When you act like the class clown even though you are filled with self-loathing.

When you wear revealing clothing because you just want someone to notice you today.

When you are waiting for the late bus funding to come through so you can stay after school and get extra help from teachers because you cannot fail sophomore year, again, and you need to eventually get out of the hood.

When you are a victim of the public education system and you are socially promoted and yet, you cannot read beyond a third grade level.

Being a student is hard. And being a 16 year old dealing with issues I, a responsible adult, have never, and probably will never face, is hard.  Are some students in complete control of their own actions? Sure. Are there usually greater, unknown circumstances that influence every student’s behavior? Yes. Let this serve as a reminder to me and anyone else that this life is hard and that love and grace, towards my students, my coworkers, and my neighbors, are probably the only things I should be fighting for each day. 

I Judge A Book By Its Cover (And By Everything Else)

I realize that I’m very judgmental about books. I need to be courted and wooed by a book. I need to feel as if the book was written for me, and only me. Books need to change me, even if the change is slight, in order for me to give it a stamp of approval. I do not discriminate; these parameters apply to both fiction and nonfiction texts. I want to be in a book club, but I’m afraid I’ll be kicked out because I usually negatively critique books. People have said to me, “You should read (insert book title), you’ll probably hate it though.”  I no longer find that offensive. I cannot like every book, much like I cannot (and will not) like every musician.

As an English teacher, there have been too many books that have altered my life in significant ways. I hope to create those same moments for my students, just as Ms. Duffner and Ms. Moore created those experiences for me. But having read certain books at various stages in my life, I know that I can foster a love of reading, but the meaning is entirely up to the one reading said book.

Since most of my time is filled with lesson planning, grading papers, and calling home to inform parents of their children’s behaviors, I have little time for reading for pleasure. In the summer, I fly through books. During the school year, it’s a slow crawl. With that being said, I read everywhere and whenever I can. I always carry a book with me. Not for bragging rights (“I’m so smart, look at this giant book!”) but as a reminder to fill my time with something that so greatly matters to me.  I read at the gym, every morning before work, during SSR in my lower level English classes, whenever there is a free moment at rehearsal on Thursday nights at Crosspointe, in any waiting room, at the pool, during my planning period, and the list continues. I wish I could create more hours in the day solely for reading.  

I can’t write a post about books without listing, and critiquing, a few of my favorite books. Even writing a list of “favorite” books seems absurd since my “favorites” are always changing. Here a few I have enjoyed reading multiple times, have learned from, and will always recommend to others in search of a new book to read.

1. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Yes, I have a Gatsby shirt. Yes, I disliked the most recent movie. No, I will not judge you if you hate the book. This novel, by far, is the novel I have read the most. I’ve taught it almost every semester I’ve been a teacher, read it in a few college classes, and read it in high school. That comes to total of at least 13 times, ±3. Each time I read it I learn something, discern something, and fall more and more in love with the characters. I have indulged in the writing, believed in the green light, and wanted to slap Daisy. I can’t imagine going 30 weeks without reading about failing dreams and the promise that the future could hold.

2. Bossypants by Tina Fey. The funny, strong female autobiography books are coming in strong these last few years, but Bossypants is by far the greatest. The first time I read it I stayed up until 4 in the morning sobbing laughing. Obviously, Tina Fey is hysterical. Fey’s writing about her awkward teenage years, her awkward college years, and her awkward adult years helps the reader identify with her, but it also humanizes her. And she sort of gives me hope that my life can be just as great, not despite the awkward, but because of the awkward. Fey is quick and witty in her writing (Duh, have you seen 30 Rock?) but she also writes about some poignant moments in her life.

3. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safan Foer. This novel takes everything I thought I knew about writing and storytelling and flips it upside down, shakes itself around, and then sets it down sideways. Weaving in the reality of 9/11, the fiction story of Oskar, and the ideas of self-preservation and trauma this novel tugs at the heart strings and makes you marvel at Foer’s creativity. Foer pulls in a varying amount of writing techniques and art throughout the novel that force the reader to engage with the novel in an unorthodox way which at first intimidated me (“How should I feel?!”) upon my first reading. Now I see the artistry and the complexity in the novel. Foer is one of my top authors right now.

4. The Kite Runner by Khaled Housseini. Whoa. This novel wrecked me. And then wrecked me again. The novel is set in Afghanistan during the fall of Afghanistan’s monarchy all the way to rise of the Taliban. It centers on a father and son relationship. One of the most compelling concepts of the novel are the themes of guilt and of redemption. Housseini does a remarkable job of writing about Afghanistan’s history, creating characters that are identifiable, and making me touch despair and then bringing in the light. It’s a beautiful novel.

Yes, I judge books and their authors. And I love doing it. Regardless of my judging, I love books. I love reading. I love how books and reading make me feel and think about myself, my life, and this world.

Channeling Thoreau

This week I have needed some inspiration. I have sought inspiration in my teaching, inspiration in my crafting, inspiration in my cooking, and inspiration in my writing. In the last week I have solicited coworkers, Pinterest, blogs, and the book 642 Things to Write About. And as I walked away, logged off, moved to another web page, or picked up another book I still left feeling uninspired. Could it be that I had higher expectations for this school year and they have already fallen short of the reality? Perhaps it is the lack of money that is keeping me from being as crafty as I’d like to be? Cooking is so relaxing, but “cooking for one” leaves me with less freezer space; and after being awake since 5 a.m., I use less brain cells causing me to revert to the same meals I usually make. Writing fills me with such joy, but I always find a reason, or reasons, to not have enough time.

Those are all excuses. Not a single one of those thoughts are productive or motivating. It’s so easy to convince ourselves that we don’t have enough time, that we’re too tired, or that situations are gloomier than what we expected. But where is the creativity? Where is the optimism? I realize this sounds a little “cheerleadery” and if you know me, you know I’m fairly cynical and that this is not “normal” for me.

I have decided that I’m going to approach this next year filled with hope and creativity. Hope that I will find some comfort in my job. I will be creative in how I use my artistic abilities. I will be adventurous in my cooking, no matter how exhausted I am. And I’m making an effort to be more intentional in my writing.

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” 
-Henry David Thoreau

No, I’m not giving up my possessions, moving into the woods, and observing all that this world has to offer. But I am making a choice to look deeper into what I already, so routinely, do.  I’m making a choice to look at my life and patterns through a different lens. I want to experience all that life can offer, even if it just cooking dinner.