reminder no. 10 in a series • by drew myron
This is number ten one in a series of reminders that serve as notes to myself (and now you). Consider this a public service announcement, poetic nudge, sticky note, or just idle chatter.
Reminder, a series by Drew Myron
No. 1 - Note to Forgetful Self
No. 10 - You Belong In Your Life
On a weeklong writing project, I lost my way.
There was an agenda, a map, and destinations designed to inspire writing.
But the days got choked with smoke and my haze turned at first to malaise and then to rebellion: Who needs a vista! Who wants some fancy special event?!
I made plans, rescheduled those plans, then cancelled completely. I did not take the hike, drive to the lookout, or dine with the writers. I went instead to my favorite no-pressure, all quiet, mostly clean and quiet place: the library.
And there I wandered, losing my self on the Oregon Trail, in Walt Whitman, in snarky humor, and origami. I wrote and wrote and wrote, mostly a jumble, but maybe a nugget hides in the rubble.
The best part was the sweet relief, realizing inspiration comes to the willing. It's all here and here and here, all within reach. I know this, I do, but often forget.
On this Thankful Thursday, I am thankful, oddly, for plans that unravel and expectations unmet. In a small way, my frustration allowed another sort of writing to take foot, stumble, then, albeit wobbly, stand.
How to Fold
Find a flat surface.
Start with a single fold.
Fold in half.
Fold to back.
Rotate. Flip.
Fold. Unfold.
Difficulty will increase.
You may feel the chill of not knowing.
Keep steady. Like any trick, it will
take practice and a curious mind.
From luck to wisdom to surprise
you’ll build confidence.
Peel back the petals.
To create wings
fold a loving heart
and hold the center.
— a cut-up poem by Drew Myron, with lines from The Joy of Origami by Margaret Van Sicklen
It's Thankful Thursday.
Gratitude. Appreciation. Praise.
Please join me in a weekly pause
to appreciate people, places & things.
What are you thankful for today?
You have your own oceans
Your mind is quick and sharp and strange.
You don’t have to be afraid of the oceans inside you.
Let the tides do their work. The moon grows
bright then dark, and then bright again.
Do not dwell in too much darkness.
Do not make a home in deep caves of loss.
Tell yourself.
If there’s no way to predict the thing that comes next,
what freedom would it give you to imagine this week and next?
Your ambition doesn’t
have to be greedy to hold its own wild energy.
It doesn’t have to be noisy to change
the world around you. Embrace the messy.
Remember to pay attention to where
sorrow lives inside you, and where in
your body you store love.
You don’t have to think your body into clarity.
You might feel the change roaring in the distance
and the change rumbling under your feet. What urgency
has held you tight and what are the words you want to hear?
You’ve traveled a long way through a world that is not your own.
Push your way back.
You have your own landscape, mountains and forests
and plains full of life. You have your own oceans
uncharted and blue and wild. You know the shape
of the world you move through.
Show up and just be you.
— a mash-up by Drew Myron of horoscope lines
from Madame Clairevoyant and Holiday Mathis
I'm in a quandary: Is this found poetry, a cut-up poem? Is attribution enough? My mind runs and reels. To borrow, to take, to remake — is this moral, correct, kind? If assembly is required, is it art or is it theft?
Dear Reader, is this a poem and can I call it mine?
So, wherever you came from, whichever way you swing,
whatever is standing in your way, just remember:
You’re bigger than that. Like the man said:
You contain multitudes.
— from Lawn Boy
a novel by Jonathan Evison
This semi-autobiographical story is packed with angst, anger, and the ingredients of real life: race, class, snark and smiles.
“What I wanted was a book written by a guy who worked as a landscaper or a cannery grunt or a guy who installed heating vents," says Mike Muñoz, the 22-year-old protagonist who mows lawns and imagines his life as an author. "Something about modern class struggle in the trenches. Something plainspoken, without all the shiver-thin coverlets of snow and all the rest of that luminous prose. Something that didn’t have a pretentious quote at the beginning from some old geezer poet that gave away the whole point of the book. Something that didn’t employ the ‘fishbowl lens’ or a ‘prismatic narrative structure’ or any of that crap they teach rich kids out in the cornfields.”
Thankfully, Lawn Boy cuts a fresh tale, true to life with hints of hope.
weightlessness
is to want
nothing
is to have
everything
is to hold
a certainty
you will
outgrow
and forget
you ever
owned
to want
the weightlessness
of age 10 is
to want to crest
a hill on a bike
alone for the
first time on
a road you
don’t know
with nothing
but strong
legs and
fearlessness
— Drew Myron
The world is wracked and wrecked, frantic and full. It's Friday, let's finally, for a moment, set aside worry and slip into something more comfortable.
What's your Feel Good Friday?
Friday, August 31, 2018 at 8:48AM