I miss music. My stint in the Simmons a cappella group didn’t last long, and I really miss choir from college. But strangely, what I miss most is piano. It was my first instrument, but once I discovered that I could sing and that I loved it, I started thinking of it as secondary. And given that I’ve always had a problem with accompanying myself and singing at the same time (I have relative perfect pitch; rhythm is something I’m not awful at but have to actually actively apply my cognition to), I’ve sadly never been able to realize my dreams of being a YouTube-discovered indie piano pop superstar à la Ingrid Michaelson. (By the way, taking suggestions for activities to improve that cognitive skill, or for books that explain how it works and how I can get better.)
Missing music is kind of a crutch and a cop-out, though, because between crit/scholarly stuff, creative writing, and music, they’re always at odds with each other for position as my NUMBERONEFAVORITETHINGFOREVERANDEVERAMEN, and generally I am always required to be working on one, desiring to be working on another, and then missing the third and thinking that my life would be perfect if only I could be doing that instead. I have to do school, and the write-a-thon (plus my new writing stint that I will be starting soon at Paper Droids and some guest posts at other blogs coming up) says that I should be writing (as should my jealousy of how many friends of mine are getting published before I am), so of course I want music. And there’s absolutely no possibility for balance between the three right now, because my life just doesn’t have that kind of leeway in it. Continue reading
Not really. Just Marcus Samuelsson, whose life experiences are similar to mine in the strangest and simplest of ways. I’ll be writing a formal review when I actually finish the book (46% currently; thanks for the ARC, NetGalley!), but since I have a feeling that review could quickly turn into just an ode to reading, I’ll do that now.
Reading is amazing when all of a sudden you find yourself in a book. I’m taking a course on developing collections for children this summer, and the other day my professor asked if we had ever read a book that really deeply affected us in a significant, life-changing way, and I really couldn’t think of that. I’m sure there has been something–I also have this problem when I consider whether or not I have any mentors or role models, and because I don’t think of things in those terms, I say no, but really I do have people who fit those roles in my life–but I racked my brain and could not call up a thing. Continue reading
My parents have been visiting, and I’ve been taking three different classes, and a fourth starts on Tuesday, hence not writing or doing anything, really. Aside from being crazy stressed about things, I’m actually really enjoying summer. It’s pretty amazing to be in a part of the country where summer means you can actually go outside and do cutesy, twee things that previously I only knew to be possible in books and movies. I have walked around MIT’s campus and around the Charles; I’ve sat on a swan boat in the Public Gardens; I’ve been to Newport, RI; I know where all the good bookstores are now; I’ve been to Concord and learned about the Revolutionary War; etc etc.
I’ve spent a lot of time saying I don’t like it here, and I still don’t want to make my life in Boston. But all of a sudden I’m again more open to just about anything in my future, and I’m a lot more comfortable with the idea that I currently live here. It’s like I needed my parents to see me living here and being a grownup and being okay before I could believe it myself. Continue reading