You knew me when I was little
First, I want to say that I missed last Sunday because I didn’t have time to write. Legitimately. My best friend since I was five years old (Maddy O’Connor) was visiting. I dropped her off at the airport Sunday morning, left later that day to spend the night in Chicago with my mom, and picked up my visa from the Spanish consulate Monday morning. The Spanish Consulate was in the same building as the American Writer’s Museum, which felt like a freaky and awesome coincidence. My mom and I also met a woman from Kalamazoo at dinner, and everything she said to us felt like a sign. The whole trip was confirmation that I am on the right path, but more on that in a later newsletter, perhaps.
The absence of the newsletter last week was not due to writer’s block. I had a topic idea and everything. I just didn’t have the time. All the famous writers with quotes like the writer who only writes when it is convenient will never write a word are rolling their eyes at me. Excuses, excuses. To hop on my soapbox for a second, I dislike the writer’s block does not exist, you need to wake up at 5 am and write every morning mentality. It is essential, yes. But only to a point. After that, I find it toxic. It just doesn’t work for me. I put too much pressure on myself. I get overwhelmed. I find that I need time to think, to sleep, to daydream. That’s why this weekly newsletter has been so amazing. I get to spend all week thinking about something, I write it down, and there’s no pressure to think about it again.
The problem with the project I’m working on currently is expanding and figuring out what the heck I’m writing/want to write. I know, I know. The only way to figure that out is to WRITE, but I need some time to think! My first writing professor at Kenyon (the lovely Molly McCully Brown (buy her book!)) once told me after I spent a good 10 minutes of her office hours FREAKING OUT that anything can be work. Thinking about your project in the shower is work. Listening to music that inspires you is work. Sleeping 8 hours so that you hit all of your rem cycles and have a crazy dream is work. I believe in a balance between active and passive productivity and a nice weekly deadline to make myself start typing this newsletter strikes that balance perfectly. Maybe someday I’ll be the kind of writer who can wake up at 5 am and write 1,000 words before she starts her day, and how nice would that be?
I’m actually glad that I didn’t write last week because it just so happens that the thesis I had in mind carries over into this week. Last night, I had the pleasure of attending my cousin Garrett’s wedding to his wife Natacha. They met while he was studying abroad during his junior year of college and eloped like four years ago, but because of the pandemic and getting Nat’s family here from Europe, it’s taken forever to celebrate them. The ceremony was beautiful—outside, next to an old barn where the reception was held. They wrote and read their own vows. It was so special to see them express their love for one another and to be there to support them.
Even though I’ve known Garrett has been married and a husband for years now, it still struck me to see him standing up there at the altar, crying happy tears as Nat walked down the aisle and as Nat announced that they are expecting a little baby!!! My cousin who taught me how to play Pokemon Diamond Editon on my Nintendo DS Lite is both a husband and an almost father. But I knew him when he was 12, watching Mrs. Doubtfire in my basement. I knew him when we were little, and he knew me, and now, we’re sitting across from each other eating dinner at his wedding.
That’s the thesis: I knew you when you were little, and you knew me when I was little. The phrase came to me while Maddy was visiting. We’d gone to Saugatuck to do my favorite hike over the dunes, to Lake Michigan, and back. She was waiting in my room while I showered (where I think all of my best thoughts) when it struck me. We’ve been having conversations with each other since we looked like this.
Like, isn’t that crazy? I didn’t have a frontal lobe back then or the majority of my adult teeth. You knew me before I had all my molars. I’m modeling potential shoe options for my cousin’s wedding, but you were there when I wore heels for the first time at the 8th grade dinner dance, and you were the only reason I wore heels in the first place. I didn’t want to, but your mom had told my mom that you were, so I was like damn, if Maddy O has given into womanhood in this way I guess I should as well.
I’m obsessed with that phrase. You knew me when I was little. I can’t stop thinking about it. You knew me when I was little. There is nothing more special than that. What a gift to have people in your life who knew you when you were little.
In the book I started writing while I was in Bath, the main character ends up with her best friend’s younger brother. The three of them grew up together, and when the main character’s life starts to fall apart, her best friend’s life is taking off, leaving her with the little brother, and because she’s lonely and thinks he is all she has left, spoiler alert, they kiss. I remember when I realized that she was going to end up with the little brother. I was sitting on my narrow bed in Bath covered with bedding designed for an 8-year-old boy, and I was horrified. It was literally so messed up of my characters, but it was what they wanted, what the little voice inside my head who feeds me stories said was true. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to figure out why they get together. How do you go from ew, that’s my best friend’s little brother to I think I might need you to be the person I fall asleep next to every night?
Last weekend, I realized that it was because they knew each other when they were little. Before life got tough and bad things happened. They knew each other when the only thing that mattered was whether they got to get a popsicle from the ice cream truck after their soccer game. Back when their imaginations ran wild and they played pretend in the woods and watched Pixar movies in the basement. There is something so seductive about clinging to a relationship like that. They remember your innocence, and by falling in love with them you get to preserve that piece of yourself. And maybe you’ll get married, and then, that piece would be protected as long as you both shall live. But what my main character fails to realize is that piece of herself would’ve been protected no matter what in the heart of the best friend she believes she has lost. Except she hasn’t. “They were girls together,” and nothing can take that away.
I can’t wait to write the book so everyone can read it. I mean, I can’t wait to read it, haha. Here’s to being the writer who writes every day (maybe in Spain…). Here’s to the people who knew us when we were little. And here’s to the books/music/tv shows/places/rooms who knew us when we were little. Anne Shirely, Lake Michigan, Gregory Alan Isakov, I’m looking at you.
And last but not least, here are this week’s songs. Linked below as usual:
First, we have “Folding Chair” by Regina Spektor. I love this song. I remember when I discovered it playing in the kitchen on the family iPod on a Pandora radio station. I told myself not to forget the name, and of course, I did. But I remembered the album had a blue piano on the cover, and eventually, the song found its way back to me in my triple dorm room, Hanna 123. Ani or Shea added it to our joint roomie playlist, and it became a Kenyon staple. Emma played it at her poetry reading where Ani danced to it with our other friend Claire. “Folding Chair” is for the bffls.
I think “Forever Friend” is about falling in love with the person who becomes your forever friend aka spouse, so this one is for the main character (Mary) and the little bro (who is named Colin by the way).
“Old Friends” is a classic. I remember discovering this song while I was at Interlochen Arts Camp and being like wow, I wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to sit on a park bench at 70 with any of these people?
“Nothing” is also definitely a love song, but I think it could also be a platonic love song. There’s nothing like watching TV or doing a puzzle in utter silence with your best friend. To be friends with someone who you can do nothing with is next level because it means you simply enjoy each other’s presence, and I think that’s beautiful. Also, there’s a line about playing Nintendo. :)
Mostly, I chose this for the line “I’d swim across Lake Michigan / …to be alone with you.” Sufjan is also an artist who knew me when I was little. His music has known many a crush and many a melancholy spiral, and may he know many more, haha.
Find the pony,
Maddie