I’m no prankster. I’m no good at lying and I’m too prone to guilt and anxiety to be very good at playing tricks on people. I’m much more likely to be the fool.
But this year I realized what an important holiday April Fool’s Day can be.
This year on April 1st, I stood in a circle with a bunch of strangers in a bare room in the Lavapiés neighborhood in Madrid.
“Now,” said our bespectacled leader in his British accent. “Introduce yourself to the circle, and tell everyone how stupid you are. Say your name, and these words: ‘and I am very stupid.’” We nodded gravely and began.
“My name is Sarah. And I am very stupid.”
“Yes,” said the leader. “We can see that.” Continue reading
This blog post is late. Now, I doubt any of you have been sitting by your computers with your pocket watch out, clucking your tongue, BUT JUST IN CASE YOU HAVE, I want you to know that this tardiness is not for lack of writing. It’s not for lack of sitting still and being quiet and searching and asking unseen helpers for guidance.
But, as I mentioned before, I think the current political/media climate is doing something to our brains. At least I know it’s doing something to mine. Continue reading
I’ve been thinking a lot in the last few weeks about unfinished business. I’ve been toying with the idea of writing an essay about being on the other side of the anguish I used to feel at having nothing to show for myself except the shoeboxes of poems written on scraps of paper, shelves of completed journals, 100 pages of an unfinished novel, a one-woman show only ever roughly shown to a couple of friends, another one-woman show that would never see the light of day, 250 pages of a memoir I couldn’t bring myself to edit, and gawd knows how many little essays and short stories that would never be loved by anyone but me.
I’m not writing that essay today. Today I’m remembering how it feels to wander around feeling like my inner gears are all gummed up. Continue reading
Yesterday, a woman with Bible verses all over her Facebook wall commented in response to a political news story my boyfriend shared. “Go back to where you came from,” she said. Continue reading
This pesky vision keeps popping into my head: it’s a little house at nighttime. Its outer walls look blue in the twilight, but they might be any color. The windows are yellow with light from within. Around the house there is space and sweet smelling grass and trees; inside the house there are teacups and a fireplace. From here, it is the picture of stillness and security.
“You have to let this mopey energy go,” my partner calls to me from across our studio apartment. I groan to let him know I know he’s right, but I roll over on the bed to face the wall instead of getting up. Continue reading
Here we are facing the darkest days of the year. The city of Madrid festooned its streets with twinkle lights in early November, but no one turned them on until the 25th. This was a pretty good trick; it had me looking forward to the even longer nights ahead when the streets would feel extra magical. How clever that we, as a culture, answer our needs for anticipation and celebration in the darkness, even if we do it almost by accident, even if we forget why we started lighting lights in the first place. Continue reading
I don’t know about you, but I’ve been battling hopelessness and paralysis lately. I am grateful for the internet mechanisms that have the potential to make us the most informed populace in the history of our civilization, but unfortunately, I haven’t personally acquired the level of spiritual evolution to know how to deal with all of the information I receive everyday. Continue reading
Afternoon, October 14, 2016: My partner and I are rounding the bend on week 3 of a grueling apartment hunt in Madrid. We’ve been living out of suitcases for months already; we’ve been sick, food poisoned, and adjusting to new jobs; we’ve raced through the streets of this unfamiliar city every day this week to beat our steep competition to available apartments. On this day, we’ve seen 2 lackluster options, which we agreed to take if they’ll have us. Continue reading
I woke up this morning in a strange country. Not the one I thought I was in. Not one I know how to name. Continue reading
Halfway between the kitchen and hallway of Spanish AirBnB #2/#4 (we had to make a hasty getaway from smelly AirBnB #3), Zoriah, my Spanish mother, has set up an ironing board so I can smooth this week’s work outfits after their long stay in my suitcase. She fixes dinner while I iron and we talk about the ironing board—where she got it, how long she’s had it, etc. I spend a full 10 minutes ironing my first blouse because the conversation takes up so much of my brainpower. Continue reading