Hello everyone, I’m excited to share some updates on work, travel, life, friends, and vibes. 

I’m enjoying all my projects at Fighting Words, but the residencies program has been a major highlight as of late. Throughout the year, we will complete six workshops each with classes in three different schools. In completing our second and third workshops with these schools, we are becoming familiar with the students and class dynamics, which means we are able to witness their evolution in real time. Our last two workshops have been focused around portals, world-building, and travel, which feels very relevant to my current experience. I even got to play an explorer character, complete with binoculars and “old” treasure maps that I spent ages meticulously cutting up to give them a well-worn effect. The young people had brilliant ideas, like an island built on a giant turtle’s back (with waves caused by the turtle’s flippers and earthquakes caused by its heartbeat). The originality and wonder that children bring to the workshops inspires me to bring that same wonder to my own travels and new experiences. Anything can be a portal if you treat it as such!

I have been portaling all over the place in the past two weeks. I flew to Madrid, Spain to visit my friend Lydia and Elisabeth came over from Bournemouth. It was restorative and encouraging to be with old friends in new contexts. All three of us graduated from Belmont this spring and moved to a foreign country alone this fall. We shared the struggles and triumphs that come with establishing yourself in an unfamiliar place, like searching for meaningful friendships, learning how to be a pedestrian amidst completely different road rules, navigating local slang/language barriers, moderating homesickness, and leaning into the exhilaration of utter independence. Lydia and I have traveled extensively together (we studied abroad together), and it was so fun to be back at it. The three of us (joined at some points by Lydia’s friend, Ryan) explored Toledo and Madrid together, cracking jokes at the art museum (my favorite context for situational comedy), scarfing down multiple orders of patatas bravas, pointing out every gorgeous mansion as a potential candidate for our timeshare, discussing the inherent sacredness of ancient cathedral architecture, sipping drinks on cafe patios in the most leisurely manner, nodding our heads in time with the beautifully spontaneous music and dancing that erupted in the street, and having multiple rounds of goodnights and giggles before we finally fell asleep each night. 

One of my favorite moments happened when we went to the park on Sunday morning. Elisabeth and Lydia were running 7 miles, and I simply don’t have that ability, so I spent an hour wandering the park by myself. After being in sun-starved Northern Ireland for almost three months, I had forgotten how healing powerful sunshine could be. The fire-colored trees draped their branches down towards the water, dogs pranced gleefully down the sidewalk, vendors set up candy booths, tourists paused to take videos, old men sipped coffees from takeaway cups, a run club stampeded through the main area, a saxophonist breathed a melancholic melody, and rowers raced across a large pond. The whole world was lit up. Parks restore my faith in humanity– there is just something so pure and good about people living their lives separately, but in synchronicity. Normalcy is infused with meaning in these spaces of togetherness. 

Back in Belfast, things are getting quite festive. The whole city has put up Christmas lights and Christmas sweaters abound. Last week, we got our first snow while I was out walking by the river. The flakes melted into my hair and eyelashes and painted my cheeks with rosiness. When I got back, I put on my soft flannel pajamas, brewed a cup of tea, lit my evergreen-scented candle (don’t tell my student housing), and watched The Holiday while the snow flurried frantically outside my window. I love winter, especially here. I’ve embraced the misty mornings and cherished the brief snaps of pale yellow sunlight, baked cookies to put over vanilla ice cream, watched pigeons cuddle on a bench, lept over puddles that looked like sky portals, chatted for hours at the Sunflower Public House patio, walked and thought on the Lagan Towpath, watched Wicked at the cinema, and sipped on steaming soup with friends. I have observed a sense of proactive nostalgia, feeling an overwhelming tenderness towards even the most mundane experiences, because I know that I will one day look back on them fondly and wistfully. I mark my happiness with conversations, photos, and writing, because I want to be as present and reflective in this period of my life as I can. On this Thanksgiving Day, I am very thankful for the life I’m living.