Three Things from Back in the Real World
On Memoirs, the Baltics, and Joy!
What I’m Writing…
One of the hardest things I have to tell students when I teach memoir is that someone’s story—no matter how interesting—may not be a memoir. Instead, the writer might have three or four very good essays. A memoir is not an autobiography; it’s, as Dani Shapiro says in her terrific essay “Dear Disillusioned Reader Who Contacted Me on Facebook,” looking out just one window of your house at a time. In other words, a memoir may be about quitting drinking (Drinking a Love Story by Caroline Knapp) or the year following your husband’s death (The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion) or your youthful love affair with a fellow artist (Just Kids by Patti Smith).
Sometimes, as time passes and you write more and reflect more, those excellent essays could become the foundation for a memoir. Of course this isn’t always the case. Some memoirs present themselves more fully formed. But when they don’t, we might use too much filler to extend the page count. But as Andre Dubus III says, “We don’t want to read about every ham sandwich you ate.”
For years now, without me realizing it, I’ve been writing essays about long grief, the feelings of sadness and loss that linger after someone you love has died.
Almost twenty-five years later, I still miss Grace every day. For the amazing girl she was. For the woman who she would have been today.
So when I read that The American Psychiatric Association named this Prolonged Grief Disorder and characterized it as a mental health issue, I got pretty upset. True, anything that is debilitating and prevents you from living normally (whatever that is!) needs to be addressed. But symptoms of PGD include grieving for more than twelve months and yearning for the deceased. Seriously?
When I first read about that diagnosis four years ago, I wrote an essay about it for Rhode Island Monthly, “Building a New Nest.” More essays followed and I can finally see them taking shape into a memoir.
After my novel revisions are (finally!!!) done, this is what I’ll be turning my attention to writing. And it will be hard. But important for me, and I hope for many others.
What I’m Knitting…
Literally this.
But as we traveled this past month, I did a lot of brain knitting too. Untangling. Connecting. Planning. Stitch by stitch.
When I start a new knitting project, I read the pattern, circle my size in each row, gather my tools. Same when I start a new writing project. So I’ve ordered memoirs that might be helpful to read and set up an interview with my grief counselor for her insights on long grief. It’s exciting, but at the start feels like the dizzying pattern for these mittens.
People often ask me if I work on more than one project at a time. My answer is “kind of.” I can’t literally write two book length projects at the same time. But I can focus on one and have some dalliances with the other. I’ve also got the kernel of an idea for a new novel, so I’ll be doing some reading to help me along on that too.
What I’m thinking about…
Joy.
As I happily traveled from Dublin to Donegal, Kinsale to Dingle, Helsinki to Tallinn, Latvia to Lithuania and back to Latvia and Estonia, this is what kept popping up in my mind.
“The way we are living, timorous or bold,” Seamus Heaney wrote, “Will have been our life.”
It’s so easy to hold grudges, to simmer or spite, to stay at home or stay away. I feel all those things.
But I have chosen joy.
And you can too.
If you don’t believe me, please let me tell you—without the sordid details—that for a long time, I felt unhappy and alone. Trust me, I didn’t realize that then. I had a very close relationship with both my parents, lots of cousins and friends, my fabulous kiddos and a career I loved. I traveled for book tours and magazine assignments and just for fun. I loved my little red house with the bright blue door and tilted floors and six fireplaces. Still, we can be unhappy or lonely even in a crowd, even in a house we’ve lovingly created, can’t we?
If you are feeling this now, I want you to know that choosing joy despite the people or circumstances making you unhappy is possible. Maybe it’s something small, like knitting yet another Sophie scarf. Or eating pasta for breakfast (which I literally just did!).
Or maybe it’s something big, like a decision to leave the people or circumstances causing such unhappiness.
For years I chose small joys: an afternoon movie alone, drinking coffee with my mom, dancing like crazy with my kids after dinner. When I left my marriage at almost sixty years old, that was big. And scary. But it was time to choose Joy, capital J.
We had the great luck to see Daniel Radcliffe in the play Every Brilliant Thing on Broadway and without any spoilers, the main character keeps a list of every brilliant (aka wonderful) thing in his life, like ice cream and the color yellow and reading a good book. I think this is a terrific idea. Maybe we should all give this a try?
Alan Lightman wrote recently in The Atlantic: “The simple fact that we are here, conscious and aware, is so unlikely that it borders on the miraculous. Because we experience that miracle every day, we treat it as ordinary, even guaranteed, mostly unnoticed at all. We postpone joy, assuming there will always be more time. We don’t see the beauty in small moments. We simply go about the business of life, without taking a second to notice life itself.”
Why is it so hard? Because life can knock us down. Boy, can it. Because people stand in the way. Because we stand in our own way.
But we can get out of our own way too. And take a step towards joy. Even if it’s a small one.
What can you do today to have a moment of joy? Me, I’m going to fall into a good book.
And also…
The Big Trip!
The head swirls with images, memories, wonder. Here’s a very brief roundup of some of my favorites.
Craft cocktail bars are thriving in the Baltics, rivaling NYC’s. With bars with names like Who Hit John? (Vilnius, Lithuania) and secret passwords to even get in (Whisper Sister in Tallin, Estonia), we loved our nightly ritual of trying wild, creative drinks.
What great food we ate!
The architecture dazzled us every day.
The history was sobering, yet hopeful. We visited KGB prisons, museums of occupation, and memorials. But we were always reminded of hopefulness and resilience.
And then there were such wonderful surprises!
All more stuff for my brilliant things list, I think.
PS…
Marimekko!
When I was about fourteen, a boy brought me to a play in Cambridge (MA) on a warm summer night. We arrived early, so he suggested we go to the Glass Mall, which apparently now is called CambridgeSide and has, among other things, a TJ Maxx and a Foot Locker. Sigh.
But in 1971, it was a wonder to a girl like me whose local mall was surely not made out of glass. That was the first time I saw Marimekko, those bright red flowers and hot pink patterns. The Glass Mall actually had the exclusive licensing for Marimekko then. The play, as I recall, was done at least partially in the nude. And outside. Head officially blown.
Somehow, that night held a magic that I always associate with those Finnish designs. I even have a Marimekko shower curtain and towels now.
So I had to go to the mothership when we were in Helsinki. Little did I know that those colorful, fat flowers practically fall out of the sky there. There’s even a store in the airport! Talk about joy!
PPS…
A travel tip!
I’ve heard so many people say that the night before they fly home they stay by the airport. I get it: it’s easy and convenient. But I also know that airport hotel rooms are usually pretty sterile and the restaurants have at best mediocre food.
What I like to do instead is splurge on a nice hotel and go out for a final, wonderful meal. I want to end my vacation with an exclamation mark instead of ellipses.
I had eyeballed Hotel Telegraaf in Tallinn when I was booking the Big Trip, but three nights there was too pricey. However one night—our final night—was doable.
There was champagne and charcuterie waiting in our room, thick bath towels, a big comfy bed, and French doors looking out at the old city wall.
We had our final meal at Vesta, recommended by a bartender here. She told us we had to sit at the counter, and she was right. We loved watching the action of the open kitchen. What a memorable last night!
Better than mediocre, overpriced hotel food, yes?
The poet and teacher Miller Williams used to note at the end of some student poems: “You gave me champagne all the way, but ended with Coca-Cola.” So let’s end on champagne next trip!
Thank you, thank you for reading. For taking the Big Trip with me and for taking my writing and knitting and thinking trips too. You arefinitely on my brilliant things list.
My friend Amy sent this Fly Girl this 1967 TWA recruiting film and I loved it. It made me smile and brought me joy. So I’m sharing it here with you. The hairstyles alone should make you smile. To think this was just ten years before my own flight attendant interviews…mind blowing!
How could you ever be done grieving after 12 months? Grief is a lifetime if you truly loved. It can shut you down when you least expect it, even years later. To lose a child? I cannot fathom the depth of that, yet I have friends who know it all too well. Still, even in their grief or I should say especially in their grief, they find Joy! I’m so happy you’ve not only found yours but through your words are able to remind us that it is possible. We remind our kids to never settle for a small life. Joy is everywhere if you just take the time to look.
On a side note, fried rye bread! Yes, please.
I loved reading every moment of this and loved seeing the travel photos… that library in Helsinki… the sweet stork… 🩷🩷🩷