On Gratitude

ET Winn, May 15, 2019

I’ve been reading “Writing As A Way Of Healing” by Louise DeSalvo and gleaning innumerable bits of good advice, reminders, and practical tips to guide a writer in their craft. I’m sure I’ll end up discussing this book again because it has been a wildly informative teacher to me, first as a therapeutic text recommended by my therapist and then as a book that I dove into to help my writing and finally as a guide for grounded living as a writer.

Right now, I’m diving into my gratitude. DeSalvo makes a case for reading as both a tool to help us write and also as a means to connect with other humans. She argues that reading allows us to form deep connections in our community, to strengthen friendships, and to bring us into contact with those we admire. She advises us to practice gratitude in as many ways as we can possibly think of. One way she suggests felt new and especially important to me: to thank our favorite authors.

I felt drawn to this way of practicing gratitude because I so often feel isolated from a writing community that is present in my life. As I prepare to eventually attend graduate school, I work in a flower shop. I find time to journal and practice gratitude mindfully, but my waking hours aren’t built around writing, reading, or revising. This makes the time I have with my favorite works all the more special. Spending time with Sharon Olds might mean, very literally, sacrificing time I would be writing my own poetry.

To me, this sacrifice enriches my own writing and also reminds me to be grateful for the time I make for myself to visit these authors and their handiwork. And so, after reading DeSalvo’s advice, I composed a short tweet and sent it into the universe, very simply thanking two writers (Ada Limón and Maggie Smith) whose work has had a profound influence on my writing and my very self. I felt centered, calm, and appreciative. I had taken some very good advice and felt satisfied in my doing so.

Never expecting any reply, you can imagine my swell of thankfulness and delight when both authors responded to my simple missive. DeSalvo’s assertion that gratitude not only brings us into contact with our best writing and our best selves but also with others was proven true in such a timely and important way for me. Feeling that responsiveness from people whose work has deeply moved me. I want to urge everyone who wants to be a writer to thank those who inspire you. Not only are they probably sacrificing time and energy to consume and create work that moves others, they are also most likely practicing gratitude in their own ways. Breaking down walls of separation and competition between writers serves us all, and I feel lucky to have taken such good advice and also to have gotten such kind responses.

The practicing of gratitude takes many forms: journaling, prayer, verbal affirmation. Making that gratitude personal taps into what drives us all to write: desire to connect with those around us in ways that build up the human spirit and keeps us all connected to our roots and deepest yearnings. Thank you for reading this piece, thank you for joining us at roam, and most of all, thank you for writing.

On Joy

— Elizabeth Jenike, April 10, 2019

Something I’m trying to explore more deeply and define more clearly: joy.

‘Joy’ and ‘happiness’ are sometimes used synonymously, but to me they’re not the same. Choosing to ‘be happy’ is not something we all have the power to do.

Merriam-Webster defines joy as:

emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune. (source)

Let’s take the first item in that list: well-being. For me, the experience of joy is closely attached to how I feel both physically and mentally. It’s how I choose to look at things despite the panic attack gathering in my chest, despite the dust gathering on my novels and the dirt gathering on my floors unabated. Despite how tired I am, even though I am sleeping more than ever.

Happiness is separate from joy. Happiness, to me, is a state of being. A personality trait, even. I generally have considered myself a happy person, but now, at nearly 30 years old, as I have taken a step back and assessed myself from different angles, I’m not so sure.

Lately, instead of striving for some sort of amorphous idea of happiness, I have had the opportunity to try to discover the joy in hardship. Depression is like a monster under your bed — it’s there, you know it’s there, but sometimes asking for help dealing with it can feel like you’re asking someone to come inside your own personal brand of fantasy. Especially if you have been taught that depression can be “fixed” with more vegetables, or more sunshine, or more sleep. It’s an illusion, some voices tell you. Just be more positive.

Depression is the monster under my bed, and in the past few weeks and months the grumbling has grown louder. This is not something positive thoughts are going to whisk away — but luckily, I have a team of people ready with baseball bats and hot cups of tea and DBT-based coping strategies. Most of all, they’re ready with acceptance and love.

Finding joy is a small sword against the horde of depression orcs, more important than the larger, more unwieldy concept of ‘happiness.’ It’s Frodo’s Sting, shining, poking tiny holes in the darkness. And so I have to figure out how to uncover these pinpricks.

The little moments.

Joy is finding that minute to sit in the sun with a book. It’s writing even just 100 words of your novel. It’s cuddling a fat cat in the difficult moments, pushing your face into warm fur when you feel like nothing is going to get better. It’s the anger in your partner’s eyes when they hear about why you’re full of sorrow. It’s waking up in the morning, getting out of bed and brewing one cup of coffee in your favorite handcrafted mug.

It’s midnight Overwatch games with the best friends who have become your family.

It’s wind chimes ringing in the backyard.

It’s the blanket you and your mom crocheted together.

If you will indulge me one moment. Something that has brought me joy over the last few years — past two horrific moves, family illness, other family issues, career uncertainty — is the podcast The Adventure Zone, a real-play tabletop gaming show created by the McElroy brothers and their dad, Clint. Near the finale of the first season of the show, Clint’s character, Merle, is faced with the question (posed by a character voiced by the Dungeon Master, his son Griffin): What brings you joy?

Merle: What brings me joy is… life. I think you can find joy anywhere in life, I think it’s a conscious choice. I think you choose joy in life. And no matter how bad things are, no matter how crummy, no matter how dark… you find joy. […] I don’t always do things right, and I don’t always do things smart… but whatever I do, I find joy in it.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all you got. It’s looking back on the joy you had, and the joy you found, and the joy you gave other people.

For now, ‘happiness’ may be beyond what I can muster. But I can find excitement and delight in those little things. And so. I choose joy. Hardship will come and go, but for the sake of myself and the sake of my family, I choose joy.

Many thanks to azurite-draws for this beautiful artwork.

On Vulnerability

–ET Winn, April 3, 2019

I wasn’t taught that being vulnerable is the best way to write. But the best writing I’ve ever produced comes from writing about the things I don’t want to write about. It sounds simple. And it is, but it’s deceptively simple. To pick at the places we’d rather not visit takes a willingness to return to what we’d rather leave behind.

I should probably shudder to think how many people have read poems and pieces that are the equivalent of my diary. I’ve covered topics from my own mental illness to my experiences with addiction, all in admissions essays– an admittedly risky move that really has paid off. I’ve made myself able to be wounded, the Latin meaning of the word ‘vulnerable.’ I’ve shared things online the average person wouldn’t want their grandma to read. On Facebook. Where I’m friends with my grandma. Who definitely read them. And if she’s going to disown me, it hasn’t happened yet.

The return of grace, kindness, and openness has shifted my understanding of vulnerability from something scary to something necessary for creative growth. I may not be able to tease vulnerability out of you, or even myself all the time, but I want to give you permission to be so for yourself. To open yourself up to write the painful, the messy, the worst things that have happened to you. The embarrassing, vitriolic, sensual, shameful, and painful. To tackle your experiences of sex and death and see where you get reborn. To be willing to be wounded, to share the parts of you that don’t feel fit for public consumption, to reckon with yourself and come out holding a piece of writing that you’re proud of.

Explorer’s Notes: Tips for Roaming is our weekly blog where we share our visions as editors, as writers, and as humans. It’s our field guide to navigating the world. Join us!

On Daydreaming and Staying Hungry

Michelle Sikorski

I’ve decided to give up on my dreams.

Well, my daydreams.

I can’t manage a car ride alone without acting out my half of some imagined conversation. We’ve all been there. You defend your side of an argument you’re never going to have, or reconstruct witty dialogue you wish you’d summoned while talking to that cute barista.

Or maybe you do what I do: Imagine you’re being interviewed on some fabulous talk show. For me, it’s either Ellen or Jimmy Fallon. We’re old pals at this point. Ellen always hypes up whatever work I’ve made it famous for, and Jimmy is likely to laugh hysterically at even my most half-baked jokes. I come off enormously likable whether I’m airing at day or night. The audience loves me. My twitter following goes wild for weeks after the interview goes live.

And then I get out of my car and walk into the dentist office feeling satisfied and pleased and not remotely inspired.

As fun as it is to picture myself chatting with a talk show host or accepting my Prestigious Award or whatever, I’ve realized it leaves me feeling like I’ve done something. I think I’ve been spending this time rewarding myself for the mere act of wanting to succeed. I don’t need to reward that. I need to stoke it.

So I’m done imagining my fame. I’m trading masturbatory daydreams for the entirely unsatisfying reality that there’s so much work to do.

Daydreams are junk food. Don’t fill up on them. You need to stay hungry.

Explorer’s Notes: Tips for Roaming is our weekly blog where we share our visions as editors, as writers, and as humans. It’s our field guide to navigating the world. Join us!

we’re here.

If two roads diverged in a yellow wood, ideally, you’d be traveling in pairs. Someone could take one, someone the other, and you could meet back and report what each road was like. Or maybe you’re wandering through the woods in groups of three, or seven, or twelve. Maybe someone takes one road; someone crashes through the underbrush; someone climbs a tree; someone sits quietly, staring down the road less traveled and listening closely for the distant wanderer step, step, stepping toward them.

This is roam. We’re fascinated by artists’ ability to find their own paths away from a common starting point. We want you to look at our prompts and show us what kind of creative roads you can pave. Show us your weird, your romantic, your scary, your joyful, your “things we can’t anticipate because we are not you.”

We are here in pursuit of stories told by the only person who could possibly tell them. Thank you for showing us where you roam.

Submit to our first issue now.