I had a book when I was a child that was an old edition of Longfellow’s Hiawatha. It was bound in brownish cloth and featured a color plate of a naked indigenous boy on the cover. I loved the picture of the child, his black silky hair, his bronzed skin. Now I know that the Brahmin poet Longfellow appropriated the Onondaga legend of Hiawatha, white-washed it and sold it to the Victorian reading public. But when I was a girl caressing the high-gloss finish of the cover illustration, I felt unshackled from the confines of my small life squeezed between the skyscrapers in Manhattan, itself an island once purchased from native peoples for trinkets according to legend. I imagined the freedom of the boy in the picture and the original wilderness of the spirit where I would encounter my essential story.
Very enlightening. You leave us with much to think about. Here are just some of my takeaways: the search for the story is itself the story; how you trace your story and how it expands with the telling; all of us hitchhikers on the freeway (great metaphor); and story as a lullaby we sing to ourselves. So glad you sing yours to us.
I also identify with the message: be special, but distrust specialness. In Irish families, we get teased if we stand out or seem to put ourselves above others, as Mary Gordon points out in an essay about why so many Irish American writers become journalists and speechwriters instead of poets and fiction writers.
My sister (ten years older so a half generation apart) once asked me who was the smartest kid in kindergarten...then expressed horror when I said I was. I was aware of struggling with this when I was the parent of a kid who was good in school. I worried that other kids wouldn't want to be his friend.
Such an inspiring and moving invitation to keep listening for our story, which keeps revealing more of itself. I am astounded that at 80 I am still learning about how my story impacts me daily.
Just. Awesome. I do love Elizabeth Strout and my copies of her books are studded with post-its as I imagine yours are, too. Thank you for this rich and intimate post.
I had a wave of pleasure float through my body when she casually mentions Olive Kitteridge in "Lucy by the Sea." Thank you for the word "intimate." It's a delicate balance for a writer....self-revealing just enough.
Oh Susie, your peace is so moving. I was moved this morning by the deep truth of it and the power you have over language to express the deepest of thoughts thank you for sharing.
I can relate. My family kept each other in check with teasing and sarcasm. You had to grow a thick protective cover.
Very enlightening. You leave us with much to think about. Here are just some of my takeaways: the search for the story is itself the story; how you trace your story and how it expands with the telling; all of us hitchhikers on the freeway (great metaphor); and story as a lullaby we sing to ourselves. So glad you sing yours to us.
I also identify with the message: be special, but distrust specialness. In Irish families, we get teased if we stand out or seem to put ourselves above others, as Mary Gordon points out in an essay about why so many Irish American writers become journalists and speechwriters instead of poets and fiction writers.
My sister (ten years older so a half generation apart) once asked me who was the smartest kid in kindergarten...then expressed horror when I said I was. I was aware of struggling with this when I was the parent of a kid who was good in school. I worried that other kids wouldn't want to be his friend.
Phaaaaantastic! zingy guy
Really appreciate your engagement with my writing.
Thank you this is exquisite.
It seems to be churning around in my mind, Alice, and may require further exploration.
Such an inspiring and moving invitation to keep listening for our story, which keeps revealing more of itself. I am astounded that at 80 I am still learning about how my story impacts me daily.
Thank you, Jinks. It's indeed astonishing...but how could it be otherwise? It's the learning paradigm which makes everything possible.!
Just. Awesome. I do love Elizabeth Strout and my copies of her books are studded with post-its as I imagine yours are, too. Thank you for this rich and intimate post.
I had a wave of pleasure float through my body when she casually mentions Olive Kitteridge in "Lucy by the Sea." Thank you for the word "intimate." It's a delicate balance for a writer....self-revealing just enough.
Yesss! xo
It's a message I need to offer myself again and again.
🙏🏽
Oh Susie, your peace is so moving. I was moved this morning by the deep truth of it and the power you have over language to express the deepest of thoughts thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Rachael. I toss a pebble in the pond of our collective consciousness and hope the ripple reaches people. So pleased that it moved you.
*Piece
Beautiful article, so true. Especially "the search for that story is itself the story" - each living our own epic.
It's amazing to me that my life can seem simultaneously so large, indeed epic, and so small.
Brilliant perspective and inspiring for me. Thanks for sharing your story🙌
Thank you, Cynthia. I'm humbled.