April Bookclub!

Our bookclub met today to discuss The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab. I was so excited for this discussion because I LOVED this pick and wanted to unpack my thoughts and feelings about the read as well hear what my friends thought and felt. This was an alfresco meeting with a mural and sunshine as our conversational backdrop, and it was just wonderful. Bookclub, like the act of reading itself, is a salvation and obviously from the gods who answer during day. (Yes, I'm shading Luc [whom I adore, by the way] and referencing Addie LaRue. 😎😜) There are so many activities to enjoy with friends, and diving into the pages, coming up for air, and discussing the experience is among the best. Cheers to more lit reads with lit friends. P.S.: We put the LIT in LITerature. #welit 😉📚

The Lies I Long to Keep

I wish I didn't know what I know. I wish I could refute myself and advocate for you. I wish, but the Knowing is growing more aggressive and persistent. It wants me to understand and accept. It wants to live in my awareness like a welcomed guest even though I resent its presence with every fiber of my being. I want to wish Knowing away, and it refuses to leave me. I never asked you the question because I did not want the confirmation. If that isn't cowardice, I am unsure that I could recognize bravery. I ignored the truth, so I could cling to this breath-to-life fantasy, and my god, it was good. If that isn't foolishness, I am unsure that I could recognize wisdom. That I would reject Knowing to have this lie with you is telling, but I am still not ready to listen.

Restless

It is 2:11. Moments ago, I was rudely awakened by co-conspirators: heat and nightmares. I got out of bed, turned off the heater, and removed my socks. Now, I am lying here, chilled and unsettled. "It was only a dream." I remind myself, and of course, I am right. It was only a dream. There is no cause for alarm, and it strikes me. It's not the terrifying dream that has me in a frightened state; it is the realization that I cannot call you for reassurance. You will never say to me "it was only a dream" again. You will never calm me again. You will never be my tether back to reality again. You will never coax me from my mind again. I cannot reach for you first and immediately again. It is 2:30. I am writing a poem you will never read. As exposed as I am when I write honestly, in this moment I am not as vulnerable as I'd like to be. If I were truly brave, I would call you right now and tell you about the heat and nightmares that woke me. You would discern my obvious and subtle meanings. Because you know me so well, you would know that I neither want to be prideful nor brave, and you would allow me to just be honest about the heat and nightmares and my fears of losing you. It is 2:41. Maybe just knowing this will be enough. Maybe.

Word Weaponry II

"Damn." I think to myself afterwards. While I appreciate your particular brand of honesty, it still pushes against me like a violent gust of wind. In this moment, I am no longer ample form. I am a feather, and your words carry me away. Up. Up. Up. I am primed for a drop, and just as I can taste the venom in your speech, I can see you go alarmingly still. This descent was inevitable. I love that you never tell me what I want to hear, but your truth still hits me like a mighty blow. I am imbalanced and breathless and trying to make it all make sense. My world goes out of focus. I am grappling to stay conscious and on my feet. I cannot stifle the ringing in my ears. I'm slipping. Down. Down. Down. I am primed for a fall, and just as I can hear the contempt in your voice, I can see you sidestep my outstretched hands. This defeat was unstoppable. "Damn." This time, I say it aloud, and I do not care if anyone overhears. Here I am, going to pieces in plain view. Your words accost me over and over and over, and I wonder if this is by strategy or chance. I wonder if my pain is comparable to your disappointment. We inflict ourselves on each other. It used to be a scintillating madness; now it is just debilitating chaos. I reel from your words, and you recoil from mine.

Truth-Value

We blur the lines so much so that I cannot define if this freedom or madness. While I am aware free is not an an​to​nym of insane, I lack the linguistic depth to say this any other way. You and I? We are either liberated or out of our fucking minds. 

noun

truth-val·​ue

 | \ ˈtrüth-ˌval-(ˌ)yü  \

: the truth or falsity of a proposition or statement

Will Smith

How To Train Your Mind To Get What You Want

...Your mind has to be wildest, freest place where you have where you have everything you ever dreamed.

You always have to keep a stash of one more go.

Your own mind stops you in places that the world is going to move out of your way.

Don't ever let somebody tell you you can't do something...You want something? Go get it. Period.

Let your mind go fully to the impossible dream...Put the pieces where you want them.

Amgleshia Is Smarter Than Me

When we were children, she was my best friend. We fought...physically fought. I have a tattoo on my inner arm. Underneath the word "amor" is a feather-shaped scar. Amgleshia and I had a fight in the driveway near Solomon's car. The car's antenna was broken. Somehow, I stabbed my arm on the broken antenna. When I look down and see the scar with literal love overlapping it, I think of her. More than fight, I remember sitting in the gravel hugging and crying afterwards. 

Amgleshia is braver than me. 

I read Harry Potter at 28. She read it when we were children. She read lots of books. She was a good student. Like I said, she is smarter than me. I remember when our paths first started to diverge. She was dripped in perfect chocolate skin. A shape and curves found her while chubbiness clung to me. She could run and joined track. She could dance and joined Flashes. Boys noticed her. This shy, quiet, beautiful girl was shedding her shell. I was so damn jealous. I was so damn proud.

Amgleshia is stronger than me. 

People who do not know her have their opinions. Hell, even us who know her well have had things to say. We see a single black woman with five children and say and think all the accusing things people say and think of each other. Either we do not know or forgot about the little black girl who was willing to fight a man for her mother; the little black girl who was fought and cut down by her mother; the little black girl who was othered by her father. Perhaps, even if we knew every single detail of her life, our judgements would still be final... 

Amgleshia is more resilient than me. 

She heard them. She lived with the disappointment others while managing her own. She had to two choices: fight like hell or break without recovery. She's been fighting like hell every day of her life, so she did what she knows best. She does what she knows best. She rebelled. She chose to fight like hell, bend beyond capacity, and refuse to break. She has been bombarded with abuses, insults, dislike, contempt, rumors, and disparagement. She has to nurture, provide, guide, survive and repeat. She has to balance black womanhood with single motherhood and stretch herself beyond capacity every single damn day. 

Amgleshia is no different from me.

We are from the same town and family. Our childhoods and memories overlap. We were each other's first best friends. We slept in the same bed, borrowed clothes, buried secrets, fought each other, and been willing to fight for each other. We are not the same girls who fought in the driveway over only God know what. Time and physical distance has created literal and figurative space between us. This space has provided perspective for me. Amgleshia is no different from me...except that she is smarter, braver, stronger, and more resilient.

Us Against You | Fredrik Backman

I just finished reading Us Against You, the sequel to Beartown, by Fredrik Backman. Wow. Just wow...This is the sixth book I've read by this author, and I will read and recommend Fredrik Backman's books for years to come. Us Against You, like Beartown, Anxious People, A Man Called Ove, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry, and Britt-Marie Was Here, is a tour de force in humanity. What he does as a writer is not only provocative it is evocative. Harper Leee wrote, "You never understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." Backman is a fabulous writer. He is obviously creative and talented, but what makes his works especially masterful is his ability to climb into others' skin, walk around in it, and create characters that authentically speak from their perspectives. He makes us understand and feel understood.

Tonight, I laughed, cheered, mourned, broke, and mended with Beartown and its residents. I understood, and I forgave. What a gift for an author to give to a reader.

Us Against You | Fredrik Backman

The complicated thing about good and bad people alike is that most of us can be both at the same time. It’s so easy to place your hope in people....

To think that the world can change overnight. We demonstrate after an attack, we donate money after a disaster, we lay our hearts bare online. But for every step forward we take, we take an almost equally large step back. Seen over time, every change is so slow that it’s barely visible when it’s happening.

Us Against You

It’s hard to care about people. Exhausting, in fact, because empathy is a complicated thing. It requires us to accept that everyone else’s lives are also going on the whole time. We have no pause button for when everything gets too much for us to deal with, but then neither does anyone else.

Be honest with yourself.

Lying bed, somewhere between conciousness and sleep, she heard herself say to the darkness, quiet, and sheets, "Maybe I do miss being held." 

Perhaps I am miraculous too...

Yesterday, while walking home, I stopped to appreciate the beauty that has bloomed all around me. Today, while reflecting on the intricacies of being human, I am stopping to appreciate the beauty that will bloom and the beauty that is blooming within me. Life is unbelievably hard for everyone in different and similar ways. Life is inexplicably beautiful to all in different and similar ways. There is darkness and light. There is wilting and blooming. And, somehow we, all of us, you and I continue to be through it all. 

Trevor Noah | Born A Crime

"He’s like an exotic bird collector,” she said. “He only wants a woman who is free because his dream is to put her in a cage.

Actual Resolution > Mock Repentance.

I am tempted to apologize. I am sorry sits heavy on my tongue, chiding and unrelenting. I've said those three words hundreds of times. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. My apologies were more description of being than evidence of contrition. They expressed regret for who I am as opposed to my decisions. They were more martyrdom than accountability. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. I was liberal with apologies and scant with forgiveness. The outward graciousness with inward hypocrisy only exacerbated the apologies frequency until saying I am sorry was as involuntary as breathing. I am sorry...Automatic and insincere...I am sorry...Automatic and insecure...I am sorry...Automatic out of fear... I am tempted to apologize, but I will not. 

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

She stands there until she realizes she is waiting. Waiting for someone to help. To come and fix the mess she’s in. But no one is coming. No one remembers, and if she resigns herself to waiting, she will wait forever. So she walks...

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

For every shadow, there must be light. Perhaps the darkness has an equal...

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

Being forgotten, she thinks, is a bit like going mad. You begin to wonder what is real, if you are real. After all, how can a thing be real if it cannot be remembered? It’s like that Zen koan, the one about the tree falling in the woods. If no one heard it, did it happen? If a person cannot leave a mark, do they exist?

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

...it is sad, of course, to forget. But it is a lonely thing, to be forgotten. To remember when no one else does.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

No, Adeline has decided she would rather be a tree, like Estele. If she must grow roots, she would rather be left to flourish wild instead of pruned, would rather stand alone, allowed to grow beneath the open sky. Better that than firewood, cut down just to burn in someone else’s hearth.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

The old gods may be great, but they are neither kind nor merciful. They are fickle, unsteady as moonlight on water, or shadows in a storm. If you insist on calling them, take heed: be careful what you ask for, be willing to pay the price. And no matter how desperate or dire, never pray to the gods that answer after dark.

Know Thyself

Sometimes, I think it is difficult for people to grasp how painful, traumatic, and life-altering divorce is for the once married individuals. Even if there are no children involved, divorce is still painful. Even if there was no infidelity or abuse, divorce is still traumatic. Even if it was ultimately the best decision for all parties involved, divorce is still life-changing.

I do not have any qualms with marriage. When I say, "I cannot see myself remarrying," I do not mean I cannot see myself in a mutually monogamous, long-term committment. I am definitely not shitting on marriages. I think healthy, loving marriages provide secure, beautiful bases for individuals and families.

I made a promise ("til death do us part" along with many other things) to someone that I could not keep. Now, I am cautious about the promises I make and the commitments I enter into. It is not from a place of disparaging the institution itself or the individuals who enter my life and may want a future with me. This is not projection or transference. For me, it is knowing myself, and I hope that it is also wisdom.

I do not wish to be divorced again in this lifetime. Perhaps, I should say that as opposed to "I cannot see myself remarrying." One of the fundamental ways that divorce and its aftermath changed me is that it changed my acknowledgements and questions.

There are good partners.  Am I ready to be a good partner? There are quality, loving spouses. Am I ready to be a quality, loving spouse? There are healthy marriages. Am I ready to help build a healthy marriage?

I am not inquiring about my future capacity and potential that may or may not manifest. I try to task myself with seeing whether the person I am today can answer yes to those questions. Unfortunately, in all candor, as of today, I cannot.

Experience has a way of making us more honest. I bumped my head a time or two, and I learned one of the hardest things I have ever learned, accepted, or admitted. "I am the common dominator."

What I envision for the future is beautiful to me. It includes a healthy, loving mutual monogamous, long-term partnership. It includes children even if I do not birth them. It includes a healthy, stable home filled with love, openness, laughter, and understanding. It includes family and friends. It includes lots of books, music, travel, concerts, etcetera. It includes a career that I enjoy. It includes answering yes to all of those questions.

I cannot force this vision to come to fruition right now. I still have so much work to do. For now, I just desire not to lose sight of the life I always knew was possible while living in the present with contentment, gratitude, and progression. I have so much to clean up, discard, unlearn, and relearn. I cannot say who I will be at the other end of this. I know, at this time, I cannot make lifelong promises. 

Beartown II

Words matter. 

I have always believed this. Maybe the belief stems from my religious socialization. ("The power of life and death lies within the tongue.") Maybe it is my deep love of music, lyrics, and poetry. Maybe it is because my biggest dream is to write a book that impacts others in powerful, beautiful, remarkable ways. Maybe it is because I have been impacted by the words of others in powerful, beautiful, remarkable ways.

On more than one occasion, reading literally saved my life. 

When a book moves me, both the woman and little girl within me, it is a visceral thing. It is the words. It is the human experience, humanity, or lack thereof. It is seeing myself - beauty and flaws - within characters. It is seeing everyone else - beauty and flaws - within characters.

I am reading Beartown. At my desk, listening to the audiobook as I work, unable to stop tears from falling; rage from rising; and feelings of sadness, heartbreak, compassion, and fear for these fictional characters, children, and families and this fictional town, I thought, "Shit, maybe kids shouldn't read this. I am 30 fucking years old." 

But I listened on...

When I was a freshman or sophomore in high school, my English teacher, Mr. Curtis, told me "Pathos, LeKechia. Make them feel something" as we discussed the writing portion of the standardized test. That was the high I looked for in every read. "Make me feel something." As I matured as a woman and reader, I wanted to do more than feel "something." Now the goal is to understand deeper. 

Perhaps, this too is my religious socialization. "In all thy getting, get an understanding..."

I am at chapter 37 of this 50 chapter book. There are only 4 hours and 4 minutes left in this 13 plus hour listen. I am on my lunch break writing this. I have to finish Beartown, and I will today. 

This book should not be banned from any school. Young people do not need to be protected from its pages. No! We need to read. We need to discuss. We need to understand, and most importantly we need to CHANGE our attitudes, values, and culture.

Afterall, “culture is as much about what we encourage as what we permit.”

Beartown

Fredrik Backman never disappoints. I have read A Man Called Ove, Anxious People, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry, and Britt-Marie Was Here. I am reading Beartown now. Backman does not invite readers to invest in his characters, their communities, failures, victories, pains, and outcomes; he insists on it. By the end of each read, we feel gratitude for his insistence. The way he connects characters is so human, beautiful, poignant, and honest that that connection easily extends to the reader. It's damn good writing.

I am almost four hours into this read, and I do not want to stop. Backman's writing makes me voracious. I need to know how it all unfolds, but I do not want the read to end. For the fifth time now, I have been captivated. 🤓📚😊