Introductions, Susan Glassmeyer

I’m visiting family this week, but I’m posting this in celebration of two friends of mine I met in a yoga class at my gym a few years ago. We’re decades apart in age, have wildly different careers and personal lives, and under most circumstances, never would have done anything but nod politely to each other. Fate had other plans for us though, and  even though we don’t all make it to class anymore, every few months, we get together for lunch and have the best conversations about art and books and traveling the world. It’s just glorious.

Introductions

Let’s not say our names
or what we do for a living.
If we are married
and how many times.
Single, gay, or vegan.

Let’s not mention
how far we got in school.
Who we know,
what we’re good at
or no good at, at all.

Let’s not hint at
how much money we have
or how little.
Where we go to church
or that we don’t.
What our Sun Sign is
our Enneagram number
our personality type according to Jung
or whether we’ve ever been
Rolfed, arrested, psychoanalyzed,
or artificially suntanned.

Let’s refrain, too, from stating any ills.
What meds we’re on
including probiotics.
How many surgeries we’ve survived
or our children’s children’s problems.
And, please—
let’s not mention
who we voted for
in the last election.

Let’s do this instead:
Let’s start by telling
just one small thing
that costs us nothing
but our attention.

Something simple
that nourishes
the soul of our bones.
How it was this morning
stooping to pet the sleeping dog’s muzzle
before going off to work.

Or yesterday,
walking in the woods
spotting that fungus on the stump
of a maple
so astonishingly orange
it glowed like a lamp.

Or just now,
the sound
of your
own breath
rising
or sinking
at the end
of this
sentence.

Ash and Bramble, Sarah Prineas

 

Do you ever sit down to write and get sucked into creating the perfect playlist for said writing instead? I don’t typically have time for that kind of procrastination these days, but there was something about today…Maybe it’s because the internet and all its accompanying distractions went out an hour ago, or because it’s one of those epic sunny days with a light breeze that would have meant a day at the lake when I was a kid. Maybe it’s because my coffee isn’t strong enough to counteract how little sleep I’ve gotten recently, or because somehow the morning slipped away, along with the energy from that egg burrito I ate at 7. I’m not sure what happened, but I know I sat down to write this long enough ago that I need to stretch now. Pro tip: a stretch break after the first paragraph is written is not a great place to be, productivity-wise.

It’s funny too, because fairy tale retellings are my kryptonite, and I didn’t expect to have any trouble writing about this book. I have the hardest time passing these stories up even if I’m meant to be reading something else, and this particular book kept me sane through a lot of long nights recently.

It’s the perfect blend of YA, fairy tale, dystopia, and SFP (strong female protagonist). Prineas and I probably are about the same age, and I could practically feel the bookish desires of my thirteen year old self oozing out of the pages – which is not to say it wasn’t an enjoyable read for me now, but there was something so warmly familiar about it. It felt like a story I’d always wanted to read but never had, come to life on my kindle. And although it’s not a story I would ever tell myself, it felt like I could have imagined it after a summer spent riding my bike to the cool sanctuary of our old library, tearing through the shelves every week, frantic for new material. I could have fallen asleep and dreamed of Pin and Shoe.

Playlist for procrastination*

Dancing in Gold The Von Trapps
Dead Sea The Lumineers
Sunday New York Times Matt Nathanson
The Wrong Direction Passenger
Road to Ride On Joshua Radin
Headphones Matt Nathanson
Four Five Seconds Rihanna
Brand New Ben Rector

*Eventually I started procrastinating on the playlist, which is why it’s only eight songs long.