I’d never have guessed it a year ago, as I chased a toddler around a lakeside house in Denver, dated a guy who thought putting my earrings in a ziploc bag and returning them to me was a “big step emotionally” for him, poured hours crafting what would be tens of unanswered cover letters to all sorts of writing and teaching related potential employers, that a year later I’d be surrounded by mint green walls I painted with Lost Boy, hurrying to finish a book review so I could scratch up six dollars for us to enjoy happy hour wine at our neighborhood wine bar, where we rub shoulders with an accountant-turned-playwright, marriage and family law practitioners, and Burt Reynold’s former personal assistant. I couldn’t have guessed that some evenings, I’d meet my mom there. I have friends who are still surprised that life’s serpentine path can’t be mowed straight with a little determination and focus, or beaten into symmetrical submission with good behavior, but–bless their hearts–they are fewer and farther in between. And if I’m perfectly truthful, I cling to my own mythologies of Grand Control, ignoring the fact I have very little.
Things not surprising:
I’ve started a new voice, called the Tipsy Librarian. She’s been there the whole time. I am really not sure what her second post will look like after her debut, a holiday book-buying guide. Maybe there will be a discussion of Adelle Waldman’s The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. And a conceptualist’s take on popular farmhouse ales.
I am still working on becoming employed, and somehow the second draft of the book will also get further underway.
But first it is time to crank up the gas heater, wash the sheets for the umpteenth time (because we can! we have a functional washer and dryer!) and pour a bottle of Trader Joe’s two buck in a saucepan with a dash of cinnamon and some satsuma peel.
I am taking a little breather and I’ve snagged a few writers to curate Nola Studiola in the meantime.
Here’s to coming home–whether it be a piece of real estate, a person, or a smidge of acceptance within yourself about yourself.
What part of today might your year-ago self be surprised about?
Julia Carey will be January’s curator to ring in the new year. To tell you the truth, I’ve been hoping this would happen for more than a year.
Nola Studiola rings in 2014–which all omens predict will be a good year–with January’s curator, Julia Carey. I met Julia in the hallways of LSU, and shared a pizza with her once before I left for Denver. I admire her honesty, I’m comforted by her charm, and I’m inspired by her focus. However, I do think you’ll find her words introduce her best; after I read them, I found I had little inspiration to add more exposition, but great interest in hanging up my blogger hat for a bit and embracing the role of reader.
Statement of Curatorial Intent