Leader Orientation

Last time I wrote we had just moved into the unit house in the Springs...and were about to begin our orientation with the other Service Adventure leaders and some of the staff of Mennonite Mission Network. From Wednesday night to Sunday afternoon, we spent our time learning about the Service Adventure program, exploring the area, discussing house setup and spiritual life, playing games, going over policies, and practicing healthy conflict and communication. Eating, making music, and laughing.

It's hard to know how to describe a week like this. Every day reminded me of the orientation weeks I spent at Highland with the summer staff: immersive, exciting, packed full of activity, and hilariously fun. In both cases, the people involved are often meeting for the first time, but they become instant friends; everyone is united in the common goal of preparing to serve in a new context together. It's the experience of preparing for a new job that is so much more than a job, because with these jobs, you can't leave at the end of the workday and forget about everything until the next morning. Your work IS your life, and your life feeds your work.

But a noticeable difference between Highland summer staff orientation and SA Leader orientation is this: At the end of the orientation week at camp, everyone lived and worked together for the following two months. We had bonded as coworkers and friends, prepared ourselves to serve according to the mission of Highland Retreat, and were ready to dive into the new adventure. Together.

By contrast, on Sunday our time together in a group of 8 leaders and 4 MMN staff officially concluded...and everyone left. Daniel and I, of course, stayed here in Colorado Springs, but the rest of our group dispersed to their homes in Kansas, Oklahoma, and Pennsylvania. By the end of August, all 5 Service Adventure units will be open, and the 8 leaders will be spread out over thousands of miles across the country: Oregon, New Mexico, Colorado, Pennsylvania, and Alaska. We ended our orientation feeling like we had all found new friends and kindred spirits, and that we're well-equipped to work and serve together....but we won't see each other again until our leaders retreat in January.

In the span of four days, this group of people went from being complete strangers to feeling like close friends. In some ways that feels silly, because how well can I really know someone after only four days? But ultimately I believe that time is a construct, one that doesn't fully capture or justify the human experience. So I do believe that these people are true friends, despite the lack of longevity so far. The next few months will present a challenge of balance in that we all want to invest deeply where we are, and yet the 8 of us are literally the only people in the entire world doing this job...so of course we should communicate enough to encourage and support one another. In a similar way, we will struggle to balance the immersive life in the unit while maintaining our important relationships with friends, family, and home communities. And last week's orientation sessions reminded me that self-care is an important part of the balance equation, too.

It won't be an easy path to pave, but I'm excited to be on this adventure. Although my heart ached to leave my beloved family and close friends and community in Harrisonburg, I am wholly glad to be here. This world is full of truly wonderful people, and I intend to know as many of them as possible.

Westward pilgrimage: Some highlights

After 3 days of travel, we arrived in Colorado Springs last night. It's a bit strange, moving into a house you've never seen before in a city you've never visited, knowing it's going to be your home for two years. I'm sure within a few days I'll start feeling more comfortable here, but right now it mostly feels like I'm on vacation in an unfamiliar place. 

It was good to feed my wanderlust on a 1,574-mile road trip. Our trip was fueled by music, trivia questions, snacks, conversation, reading, and TED Radio Hour podcasts, and that was more than enough to keep me happy. Also, west strikes me as by far the most romantic direction to be going -- maybe it's just a bit of lingering westward expansion mentality, but there was something about following all the westward-bound signs through seven states that felt extra adventurous.

Leaving Harrisonburg for the last time was the hardest part. I already miss having my family and closest friends just a few minutes away, but I still feel confident in being here.

The first day, we hauled ourselves and our tiny car packed full of belongings over the mountains of West Virginia and Kentucky. This was the longest travel day, taking us to Mount Vernon, Illinois. The second day we drove just a bit further to Saint Louis, Missouri, where I'd never been before. (I still don't feel like I've seen all that much of it, but we spent a fair bit of time walking around the downtown area.) After lunch and part of the afternoon, we headed for Topeka, Kansas for the second night. 

The third day, we drove across most of Kansas and into Colorado. 

                     

I expected driving across Kansas to be boring, but it actually might have been my favorite leg of the trip. Without the extra traffic from any major cities, we were free to enjoy the landscape: a huge expanse of sky swirled with clouds, vast farmlands stretching to both sides, gentle hills dotted with silos and wind turbines.

Entering Colorado was a glorious feeling. It didn't really look any different from Kansas, but after months of anticipation, it was good to finally be in our new state.

Just before we entered Colorado Springs, massive storm clouds took over the sky. When the torrential rains started, we eventually stopped to wait it out, which ended up being a good idea when the hail started. This is what we saw through our windshield while we were waiting.

It was a LOT of water.

Eventually we made it to the Springs, and to the Rockies. 

Next up: Settling into our new home, exploring our neighborhood and beyond, and meeting the other Service Adventure leaders at our orientation beginning tonight. 

This week: Firsts and lasts

I've been waiting to write until my thoughts settled into a pattern, but I decided to stop holding out for that to happen.

Last weekend was a blissful haven spent in the shelter of some of my best friends. At the same time, melancholy and grief were stitched throughout my experiences, knowing that this was the last time we would be together for probably a year or so. Still, there were enough moments to hold onto, to carry me forward in the weeks to come. Like my last group hug with A, B, and J Sunday morning, soaking up the togetherness and love and contentment.

On Sunday afternoon, singing hymns with some of our favorite church friends. Looking around our little circle and feeling so grateful for sound and voice and the company of these friends, almost bursting with the joy of song.
Then being given a jar of wildflowers. Singing a parting song. Crying. Taking an iPad selfie with everyone. Beauty.

Reminding myself that I'm in the midst of the hard work of leaving.

On Monday, we got to meet Paula and Bruce, two of our future friends at Beth-El Mennonite Church in the Springs. Feeling the budding excitement and a sense of right-ness, the more pleasant (but equally important) counterpart to the grief of leaving.

Also on Monday, I finally got a smart phone. The first thing I did was set the ring tones. Editing out all my techno-mishaps, the second thing I did was connect to my email, and the third was to text some people a photo (a feat my archaic flip phone couldn't handle). The fourth was to download NPR and brain training apps. I've been feeling very Ravenclaw this week.

My 23rd birthday on Wednesday. Devouring pancakes and an excellent book. Packing. Dinner and chocolate cake with my beloved family.

Last day of work on Thursday. Trying to muster up some sadness, but mostly just feeling thankful for such a supportive work environment and great coworkers. It's time to move on.

Also Thursday, dinner with Brent and Kirsten, the first Colorado Springs leaders. (I didn't realize how young that unit is -- it started in 2010-2011. So we'll only be the third set of leaders.) As someone who takes a long time to make friends, it's rare for me to feel an immediate sense of kinship twice in one week, but that's what happened this time. We left feeling re-energized, excited, and supported, just like we did after coffee on Monday.

This morning, saying goodbye to one of my best friends. Seeing her future and mine bursting with new joy and potential, and wishing we could do next year together, yet knowing that every year I've had with her has been a gift. Calling to mind, not for the first time this week, the wise words of Winnie the Pooh: "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

Counting down to our departure next Sunday. Next week will be full of extreme packing and even more goodbyes. But so far I've succeeded in remembering two things: that sadness is a natural and important part of living this good life, and that endings remind us of the blessings we've experienced. May it continue to be so.

Two paths diverged in a yellow wood...

...and we took the one that leads to Colorado!

Daniel and I have been tentatively planning on something like this since we got married, or even before. We wanted to spend a couple of years in Harrisonburg, long enough to transition to post-college life and for Daniel to finish seminary. Then, our sense was that we should go somewhere else for a while. To see a new part of the world, to stretch ourselves by going beyond our current social context, and basically just to have new experiences. We felt confident that spending some time in an unfamiliar place would be good for us, even as we felt confident that we will eventually move back to Harrisonburg.

In December of 2014, we applied to be leaders for the Service Adventure program with Mennonite Mission Network (website here), and in March, we accepted a position as house leaders in Colorado Springs. The term for leaders is two years, while the term for participants is 10 months, so we'll be there for two program cycles.

Our responsibilities involve living in the house, coordinating things like meals and worship nights, and basically mentoring these 18-year-olds as they adjust to life in a new place and work in full-time volunteer placements.

We'll have the option to work or volunteer part-time outside of our role as house leaders. (The leader role is one part-time position which the two of us are splitting.) Park View Federal Credit Union, Daniel's employer for the past two years, has made arrangements for Daniel to continue working remotely on a half-time basis. (Because Daniel does most of his work over the phone already, this is a reasonable option.) This is an obvious blessing, in part for the added stability of knowing one of us already has a job, and in large part because Daniel loves his job and will be happy to continue doing it.

I'm planning to take a break from teaching violin. I may take it up again in January, but I'd like to spend the fall season exploring some other interests. I would love to work in the nonprofit sector, especially with sustainable food systems. Specifically, I've had some conversation with Pike's Peak Urban Gardens, an organization that is doing lots of exciting things in the Colorado Springs community. I'm planning to intern with them and learn as much as possible about their work.

We're leaving Harrisonburg on July 19, and on July 22, we'll begin orientation in Colorado Springs with our fellow leaders and the director of Service Adventure. Our participants (at this point, three young women) will arrive August 7: one from North Carolina, one from Kansas, and one from Germany.

We intend to keep our family, friends, and Harrisonburg community updated as much as possible. As sad as it will be to say goodbye to Harrisonburg, I'm so excited to get to know Colorado Springs and our new friends there. In the meantime, please pray for us and for our future housemates!

Twilight sounds

Lately I've been on the lookout for new music to listen to. (New to me, I mean.) I've been remembering my tendency during high school to find a new song or artist, listen to it obsessively on repeat, and psychoanalyze it lyrically and melodically in search of greater meaning and symbolism.

I don't do that much anymore, and in a way, I miss it. So I've been wandering the corridors of Spotify, trying on new things, in part because I legitimately want to find new music I like and in part just to become more culturally literate.

Right now I like The Paper Kites.

But it's a simple fact of my life that whenever I search for a new band or album, I never have any expectation that I'll find one I love on the same plane as I love the Wailin' Jennys. There are lots of songs and artists I love, but they all exist on an inferior stratum beneath the glorious soul-enriching experience that is TWJ.

And that's okay.

Last night after dinner, in the dimming twilight of a summer evening that is my absolute favorite time, I went for a walk. I listened to Starlight and the rhythm was perfect for walking and the cool breeze blew toward me and I tipped my face up to the sky, clear at last after a rainy day, and the universe made sense.

"In the end, I wonder if the true movement of the world might not be a voice raised in song." (The Elegance of the Hedgehog, p.185)

So I'll keep listening to all kinds of music, I hope. But after all, it's still nice to know that I can always come back to this.

The home of my heart: Reflections on past, present, & future

I spent the past three days counseling at Highland Retreat, the place where a piece of my heart will always live, and let me tell you, I feel so blessed. I can say without a doubt that the absolute happiest times of my life have been the summers I've spent working at camp, and this short week was no exception.

Three days sounds so short when we look at it from the lens of typical American life. But three days at camp  s t r e t c h e s  o u t  so much more than you would imagine. It is a world unto itself. So at the close of my three days (a mere 72 hours) at my beloved Highland, I feel like I've experienced another life. I've lived another lifetime, not as a different person (because I feel most fully myself at camp -- or at least my best self), but in another context. (I could go on about how boring my everyday life seems now, but I won't.) Being there both stretches me dramatically and at the same time grounds me comfortably into my own skin. And the people I worked with, some of whom I met for the first time three nights ago, now feel like good friends.

These are the things that make living life not-at-camp so difficult. When you can be somewhere with incredible friendships, beautiful children, hilarious moments, profound encounters, living life at the top of your lungs -- why would you want to do anything else? When each day stretches out to include almost every emotion under the sun (but most of them good), making you feel more alive than you've ever felt before, why would you want to change anything? When you can sink into bed each night exhausted with the effort and thrill of living large, tired and glad right down to your very bones, who could settle for less?

These are the questions I've been asking myself since Tuesday night. And here is a related, but perhaps even more important, issue:

When I'm working at camp, I feel like I've found my calling, my most glorious passion in life. I feel like I'm doing what I was born to do. Who could ask for more than that, right? But I also feel -- now more than ever -- that it is so hard for me to make this work. When camp only runs 8 weeks of the year, but demands all your time and energy for those 8 weeks, how can I reconcile that life with my other responsibilities? I have to do something for the other 44 weeks of the year, and generally most of my other options want me to be committed year-round. Also, being married and working at summer camp isn't the easiest thing, especially when your spouse also has a full-time year-round job that he loves.

Which brings me to the question at hand. If working at camp is my utmost life's work, my most fulfilling and important experience, why does it feel so logistically impossible? In other words, why would God call me to do something that feels practically impossible to do?

So then, of course, I have to ask myself: Is it really impossible? Are we not to believe that with God all things are possible? Maybe I need to change the way I'm looking at the situation? For truly, if this is what I am meant to do, then I must find a way.


Thoughts and advice are welcome. Until next time, friends.

The Republic of Imagination

I'm reading a new book. Isn't it pretty?



I picked it up on a whim from the "New Books" display at the public library, and it falls under "a book you chose because of the cover" in my 2015 reading challenge -- though in truth it first caught my eye because of the spectacular title. (But the cover is pretty amazing too.)

The author has this to say about the title:

I think of it as Nabokov's "somehow, somewhere" or Alice's backyard, a world that runs parallel to the real one, whose occupants need no passport or documentation. The only requirements for entry are an open mind, a restless desire to know and an indefinable urge to escape the mundane.

That, in a sentence, is why I love to read.

Fossils of academia

I was at my parents' house yesterday, going through my old closet. I came across the giant three-ring binder from high school that had a bunch of my old papers and projects inside. I vaguely remember a teacher handing out these folders to the whole class sometime during ninth grade and telling us to use them to file our work throughout high school. At the time, I didn't really see the point of it (why save my graded homework after the class was over?), but evidently I followed the directions often enough to accumulate a fairly hefty stack of work. Now, of course, I'm glad I did.

My favorites to re-read were probably the book reports from AP English senior year. I guess I was a decent writer for a high-schooler (though of course I laughed at my younger, inexperienced self a few times too), and I read some excellent books that year. At one point I was reading Alan Paton's Ah, But Your Land Is Beautiful, and now that I've spent quite a bit of time studying South African culture and history, I should really go back and read it again. (I don't really remember it, but the themes of my paper were intriguing.)

Among the files of class writings, I found a personality assessment I had apparently taken for a class. Based on its placement in the binder, it looks to be from sophomore year, though I don't know what it was used for. Naturally, being myself, I was curious enough to take it again and see how my results had changed in seven years.

A few observations:

1. One of the first things I noticed was that only two areas of intelligence had lowered, while five indicated that my aptitude had increased. Does this mean that I've actually become stronger in all these areas (a product of life experiences, higher education, seeing the world, etc.)? Or is this an instance of increased confidence leading to higher self-evaluation? Either one seems plausible.
2. I've always had an aptitude for music, but after spending four years earning my bachelor's degree in violin performance, I'm gratified to see the increase. (At least, as much as I can be gratified by an entirely subjective, not-very-extensive personality test that I spent about eight minutes taking.)
3. And speaking of increases, let's talk about that kinesthetic situation. Anyone who knew me well in high school and still knows me well now probably wouldn't be surprised, but it does look a little extreme. It's important to note that I went through a phase (if 6+ years can be called a phase) in which I hated essentially all forms of exercise. I did not like sweating. I did not like the feeling of exertion. And I especially detested all sports (except horseback riding, which I loved).                                                                                                                       Things have changed. I became a camp counselor, where being active (and sweating) was a huge part of the lifestyle...and I loved it. Over the course of the next few years, I became who I am now -- an avid bike commuter, a lover of hiking and being outdoors, a gardener, a frequent exerciser, and pretty much willing to try any kind of physical activity as long as it doesn't require much hand-eye coordination. (I still don't love sports though.)
4. I was and still am extremely introspective. (Probably the reason I love personality quizzes.) I have a passion for the infinite complexity of all human beings, and the deep well to be tapped within every single person on earth. I love figuring out what makes people do what they do. And it's natural for this process of exploring and understanding people to start and end with myself.

I'm happy with the ways I've changed. And I wonder what kind of person I'll become in another seven years.

2015 Reading Update

In April I finally finished reading Love in the Time of Cholera, thus completing my March item from the 2015 Reading Challenge: "a book that was originally written in another language." I loved this book. It is extremely dense (hence the few extra weeks it took me to finish the book), but I was (and still am) in awe of the narrative scope. Gabriel Garcia Marquez achieves something at which many writers would fail, unveiling a lifelong love story with complex characterization, hilarious encounters, profound realizations, and rich, unencumbered detail. It was amazing; a page could contain multitudes. A seemingly major plot element could be revealed and resolved within a single sentence or paragraph. You could miss whole love affairs if you stopped paying attention for a moment.

These are my most bookmark-worthy favorite lines:

She awoke long before dawn and lay exhausted and wakeful, with her eyes closed, thinking of the countless years she still had to live. (p.137)

No: he would never reveal it, not even to Leona Cassiani, not because he did not want to open the chest where he had kept it so carefully hidden for half his life, but because he realized only then that he had lost the key. (p.192)

All at once, in the large mirror on the back wall, he caught a glimpse of Fermina Daza sitting at a table with her husband and two other couples, at an angle that allowed him to see her reflected in all her splendor. She was unguarded, she engaged in conversation with grace and laughter that exploded like fireworks, and her beauty was more radiant under the enormous teardrop chandeliers: once again, Alice had gone through the looking glass. (p. 228)

Florentino Ariza always forgot when he should not have that women, and Prudencia Pitre more than any other, always think about the hidden meanings of questions more than about the questions themselves. (p. 287)

Unperturbed, he took off his eyeglasses with a characteristic gesture, he flooded her with the transparent waters of his childlike eyes, and in a single phrase he burdened her with the weight of his unbearable wisdom: "Always remember that the most important thing in a good marriage is not happiness, but stability." With the first loneliness of her widowhood she had understood that the phrase did not conceal the miserable threat that she had attributed to it so many times, but was the lodestone that had given them both so many happy hours. (p. 300)

Maybe I'll tackle One Hundred Years of Solitude sometime now that I've got my first GGM novel behind me (and well worth the time indeed).

Coming soon, since I'm behind on blogging -- a discussion on my May choice, "a book from your childhood." And, okay, I couldn't resist taking this opportunity to re-read one of my favorite series as a kid, and it did not disappoint.

What are you reading this month??

Around the internet

So, I read a lot of articles. I'm constantly discovering awesome things online and usually want to share them with people. Sometimes, though, they just end up buried in one of my many bookmark folders to be re-discovered (by me) later. Anyway, here are a few of my recent discoveries that are, in my opinion, the most deserving of attention.

• "How to Take Long Showers and Still Save the World From Drought": 
• A fascinating look at our water usage and what we should really be thinking about. I generally think I know a lot about environmental issues, but I learned some things. Also, it's an environmental article that doesn't make you feel overwhelmingly hopeless! http://www.huffingtonpost.com/adam-j-rose/how-to-take-long-showers_b_6875644.html
• The truth about Dominion Resources
• A very well-made infographic tour about the realities of our electricity sources in Virginia. http://www.domtruth.org/
• The Infinite Hotel Paradox
• The paradox: A hotel that is always completely full -- but always has room for more. This is a TED-Ed video explaining a classic mathematical brain twister. Don't let the math-y-ness scare you, because as usual, TED is awesome. 

• "The Moral Bucket List": 
• A New York Times column about what one should strive to achieve in one's lifetime in order to become someone who "radiates an inner light." So worth reading. http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/12/opinion/sunday/david-brooks-the-moral-bucket-list.html

Dreaming of peace

I'm not one to remember dreams easily. I keep a dream journal for the ones that are vivid enough for me to recall more than just a few images, but the entries are rare, usually spaced a month or more in between.

Last night I had a dream in which I could remember most of the storyline. As with many dreams, it has laughably unrealistic elements, but upon waking, I was struck by the thread of transformation that runs throughout.

----------------------

I dreamed that I, together with a group of nameless acquaintances and friends, was sent into a building with an important task: to search the building for an escaped criminal who had not yet been found. His crimes were unclear to me, but he was thought to be dangerous.

Our group ascended the floors of the building to the very top, many stories high, into a darkened attic. We began to search the shadowy space, cluttered with boxes and furniture, and I was afraid. Before long, a member of the group found the fugitive hiding in a corner. As soon as we all saw him crouched there, it became clear to me that he was not a man, but a large dog. The man who had found him grabbed him, but he escaped. I was one of those closest, so I dove after him in pursuit.

The dog had escaped down a sort of passageway that led downward to the ground floor of the building. Rather than stairs or an elevator, there were a series of platforms and ropes, and somehow I knew how to use the ropes to swing myself down and down past the platforms, sort of like Tarzan's vines, but only straight downward. After doing this for a short while, I figured out a way to descend two platforms in one swing, which was twice as fast. I found the dog and grabbed it tight.

It wasn't the large dog I thought I had seen earlier - it was only a little shih tzu. It bit and gnawed my hand so that it bled, but I held on while someone ran to get help. 

As I continued to hold this little dog, I cradled it against my body, and soon looked down to find that it was not a dog at all - it was a newborn baby. The baby fell fast asleep, and I held it against me as it slept.

--------------------------

When I relive the story in terms of its basic events, it's nothing more than a funny collection of weird occurrences that can only happen in dreams. But as I reflected on the dream this morning, I was moved by its incredibly hopeful depiction of "evil". In this case, evil was personified as an escaped criminal, who devolved step by step into a large dog, then a small one, and finally a peacefully sleeping baby. When my dream self faced the perceived danger head-on, I found that it wasn't dangerous at all. There was only love.

May it be so with our perceptions of evil in the world today.

With love for a flower and a poem

Apparently it's National Poetry Month! So it makes sense to share a poem that always floats through my thoughts (for obvious reasons) during the first few days of spring every year. Because who doesn't love to see (or even just think about) daffodils?


I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Beautiful Dawn

Does anyone else have a song that is your absolute favorite?

Mine is this one.

"Beautiful Dawn" by the Wailin' Jennys has been my favorite song in all the world ever since I was in high school. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that in the good times and the hard times, this song has been there for me. If my life had a soundtrack album, this song would be on it twice, because it's that important to me. If Amortentia from Harry Potter really existed, and if it could evoke sounds in addition to smells, it would cause me to hear this song. I hope all of you love it too, but if you don't, you should probably keep that information to yourself.

Of course, my broad, nonspecific adoration for the Wailin' Jennys causes me to love ALL of their songs. Even my least favorite songs of theirs are still great.

So anyway, I'm just curious if anyone else feels this way about a specific song -- or even an album or an artist. What do you wish everyone else would listen to?


[If you don't listen to the song, at least read the words.]


Take me to the breaking of a beautiful dawn
Take me to the place where we come from
Take me to the end so I can see the start
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Take me to the place where I don't feel so small
Take me where I don't need to stand so tall
Take me to the edge so I can fall apart
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Take me where love isn't up for sale
Take me where our hearts are not so frail
Take me where the fire still owns its spark
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Teach me how to see when I close my eyes
Teach me to forgive and to apologize
Show me how to love in the darkest dark
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Take me where the angels are close at hand
Take me where the ocean meets the sky and the land
Show me to the wisdom of the evening star
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

Take me to the place where I feel no shame
Take me where the courage doesn't need a name
Learning how to cry is the hardest part
There's only one way to mend a broken heart

2015 reading challenge

So it looks like I'm following this book challenge:

http://modernmrsdarcy.com/2015/01/2015-reading-challenge/

I happened to receive All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr as a Christmas gift and started reading it immediately. When I came across the above list, it was obvious that "a book that's currently on the bestseller list" was a natural place to start, because All the Light We Cannot See is not only a current bestseller, it is also widely considered to be one of the best books of 2014. And I so agree.

My rating: Five stars. Unquestionably. I would try to describe why, but it's hard to put it into words, because my words are so much less beautiful and illuminating and masterful than the words that are in this book. Read it!

For February, I chose "a book you've been meaning to read," because I have tons of those. I am an extreme bibliophile, which results in me frequently checking out books at the library when I already have stacks of unread books at home.

So I picked up July, July by Tim O'Brien. I hadn't read O'Brien since high school (The Things They Carried), but I had bought this one at a Gift & Thrift Book Sale quite a while ago, and I seem to remember it being recommended to me by someone or other.

My rating: Four stars
My review (as written on Goodreads): Perfectly encapsulated snippets of the monumental and the minutiae which, when woven together, form a portrait of a generation. This is a testament to the universal tendencies of humanity - love, resentment, failure, luck, tragedy, friendship, regret - and the stories that shape us all. 
This is one of those books that I hold in higher esteem after having finished it than I did while reading it. The more you read, the more it comes together.

In March, I'm planning to read Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez to fulfill "a book that was originally written in another language." I have never read any GGM (except for one short story), which feels wrong. One Hundred Years of Solitude has piqued my interest, but I'll admit that it feels like a daunting place to start. What I know about these two works is that they're very well-written and rewarding, but difficult in certain respects (extremely wordy sentences, everybody having the same name, etc.), so I opted for the shorter one. 

Hopefully writing about it now will give me enough accountability (which, given my recent literary diet of mostly YA fiction, is probably much needed) to actually follow through. 

What are you reading this month? :)

January glimpses

It is a dissonant day. I slide off my bicycle at the foot of our driveway, the last, steepest mountain to ascend before reaching home. My heart pounds insistently in the base of my throat, and I unzip the top of my rain jacket so the chilly air cools my sweaty neck.

I always walk my bike up the driveway, usually slowly, a chance to relax and take in the day before going inside again. Today, as I start the climb, tiny dots of snow begin to swirl, confused missives whirling in every direction, though the biting wind has lessened. Far above, wispy thin white clouds give way to pockets of powder-blue sky, glimpses of fair weather while massive grey storm clouds loom imperviously. And here I am, far below, small. Is it strange that I feel the most comfortable in my own life when it is placed in a context of incomprehensible vastness?

There aren't a lot of wonderful things about biking in the winter, but this is one of the moments that is worth it: a perspective that reminds me of my own insignificance in the best sense, something I never get from driving my car.

Our lawn sports a track of bicycle wheels through the snow from our front door to the shed, and I think about the many creatures that make their homes under the snow. Today is a reminder to choose a good life, to be alive before I die, and yet also to remember: I am only one of millions upon millions of creatures to carve out their little homes in the snow.