“Do you read things that inspire you?”
It’s a question from V at dinner.
And the answer?
Yes. No. Kinda.
Let’s start with Yes
As I move through the world, there is me—my face, my body, my expressions—encountering things, people, and places. Invisible to everyone, there is a constant curiosity that pays attention. It’s fueled by a general wonderment of the universe, planet, and things on it as well as specific topics and motifs—communication, creativity, interaction, intimacy, relating—that I’ve attuned myself to.
So in that regard, I’m just always on. Ready for inspiration to hit.
But here’s the No
I don’t know how it will hit. I don’t know why it will mean something to me. I never know when it will happen. So who can even say whether a walk down the street or a book recommended by a friend will spark it?
And now Kinda
But I’m well-trained enough to know that no matter what I touch, what I read, who I talk to, what I do that something will come of it. It’s very VERY for me rare to come away from anything without some kind of bridging action—in which outside stimulus triggers internal interest, which in turn demands some sort of artistic expression.
It’s a useful skill as an artist and in the professional world, too. All paths lead to enlightenment no matter what.
And now a concrete example of the above….
I usually read in the morning, and I recently picked up a book written in Spanish by the author Ángeles Mastretta. I first encountered this book several years ago, bought it, and have picked it up several times. The Spanish is generally too complex for me to understand without a dictionary, and yet, the music of the words is not. Just reading the sentences aloud makes my toes tingle.
Which is when I read this:
Había una luna a medias que desquició para siempre aquella noche los ordenados sentimientos de la tía Inés Aguirre. Una luna aventurera y ardiente riéndose con ella. Y era tan negro el cielo que la rodeaba, que adivinar por qué no pensó Inés en escaparse de aquel embrujo.
Cuarenta años después, cuando empezó a perder la memoria escribió en un cuaderno: «Cada luna es distinta. Cada luna tiene su propia historia. Dichosos quienes pueden olvidar su mejor luna».
My translation:
One night, there was a half-moon that forever unhinged the well-ordered feelings of Aunt Inés Aguirre. An adventurous and passionate moon laughing with her. And the sky surrounding her was so black that it was hard to divine why Inés didn’t think to escape the moon’s spell.
40 years later, when she started to lose the memory, Inés wrote in her journal, “Every moon is unique. Every moon has its own story. Happy are those who can forget their best moon.”
I never forget a good moon.
In fact, moons hold a special place in my heart since a particularly bewitching lunar smile 20 years ago with my dearest enemy.
Often I would be somewhere in life, and think: Stop. Then: Look up. And there would be the moon; I’d text that Maldita immediately. It became a game.
Some Lunar Confabs
#1
Me: Yesterday was a blue moon. Today, it’s sharp and scintillating. My, how moody it is!
Her: 🌕 🌚
#2
Her: Did you see? The moon is wearing a surgical mask tonight.
Me: It’s too foggy over here :-(
#3
Me: Milk mustache on the moon tonight.
Her: She’s been scooping the big dipper into the Milky Way again.
And so it went.
Then, I thought about two other things I’d recently read.
First, there was this story from Sara Aranda in Campfire Stories Vol 2 about her trip to Glacier National Park:
“This is all to say that when we listen, we are obliged to change, and when we talk, we are asking this of others.”
Second, an article from Anand Pandian in The Guardian about how he crisscrossed America to talk to people who disagreed with his views:
“What seems to have gone missing [from everyone] was the faith that one could live alongside others unlike oneself.”
What I love most ..
…about writing is the skill of taking things that seem so very far away like the moon or even a human being somewhere on this planet, and finding a way to bring the subject up close. So they are no longer strange but a friend whom you might have coffee with.
What I wonder most about as I live life doing Zoom calls, writing emails, trying to make money, or cleaning the condenser coils of my fridge, is how to embrace what I don’t understand so that I am less afraid to step into unknown spaces. To feel agency in this chaotic world—to be more agentic—and choose with intention who I want to be even as I meet others who are also trying to be less afraid by taking a step forward, too.
I want to know what you see, what you feel, what you think. I want to know how it resonates what’s calling to me, and how it might reshape what I do and think. To continue to make me more … me! And also, I hope, the same for you!
And lastly, here’s Sarah Kay
My parents named me Sarah, which is a biblical name. In the original story, God told Sarah she could do something impossible and she laughed. Because the first Sarah? She didn’t know what to do with Impossible. And me? Well, neither do I. But I see the impossible every day. Impossible is trying to connect in this world; trying to hold on to others when things are blowing up around you; knowing that while you are speaking, they aren’t just waiting for their turn to talk. They hear you. They feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it. It’s what I strive for every time I open my mouth: That impossible connection.
Do you feel it, too?