loose threads
spring is coming and i'm letting go
There are two kinds of women: those who knit and those who unravel. I am a great unraveler. I can undo years of careful stitching in fifteen gluttonous minutes. It isn’t even a decision, really. Once I see the loose thread, I am undone. - Stephanie Danler
I like to believe that books or pieces of writing find us when we need them most—when we’re feeling uninspired or lost, need to be jolted awake.
That’s how I felt when I found “The Unravelers” by Stephanie Danler, an essay published in The Paris Review in 2015, that I discovered my last year of college.
In this essay, Danler compares herself to that of her best friend, a knitter, who by all accounts, has her life together. Danler inserts herself in the unraveler category. She tells the tale of her great grandmother’s string of marriages and fresh starts that left messes for generations of women to clean up.
How fitting it was for me to read about my favorite writer’s tendency to fuck up her life, when I was on the precipice of mending mine—racing to the finish line that was college graduation. And I feel worlds away from that life I had at 22, which was filled with immense heartbreak and hope.
Revisiting “The Unravelers” has made me realize that no one in my family is a knitter, literally and metaphorically. I crave order and discipline but I don’t have a history to support this.
I’m another knot in a lineage of women who want more. I inherited restlessness.
And what is there to want more of? As it turns out, a lot.
In elementary school, my mother briefly remarried. My stepfather at the time proposed to her on Bow Bridge in Central Park. She saw it coming. They bought a house. The ceremony was in the middle of summer. She wore a pink dress and carried hydrangeas to match. As a family we adopted a German Shephard puppy. A year later, our move to New Jersey was set in motion—the dog was rehomed. A month after moving, my brother and I returned home from school to find our stepfather gone. Four returned to three.
I was texting a friend recently, who I’m going to visit next month. We were discussing our experiences of losing a close friendship, which led to a deeper discussion of social and emotional priorities.
“There’s so much care and detail and thought put into how you live your life,” she told me.
I realized the truth in what she said but I know I didn’t have the ability to make choices at 22 that I do now at 27. Unraveling has a different meaning now. I can pull the pin on a grenade and watch everything I want to accomplish be obliterated—the conversations I hope to have, the book I want to write, the connections I want to make in the world, the time I want to cherish while I still have it—to laugh, to cry, to create, to introduce myself.
I tell myself to knit a whole new life that will hold its shape even if I turn my back. I want to knit wooly sweaters that will hold bodies—a husband, children, friends—and I want to knit seams that will not tear.
I hold on to most things with a closed fist. The act of wanting propels me forward but can also hold me back—I know this now—that both can be true at once.
When March starts, I comb my city for signs of spring, for permission to begin again. I’m opening my hands.
Leap Day (Feb. 29) will be remembered as marketing free-for-all for the publishing and music industries, and a big day for Sally Rooney fans (Rooney-Tunes). The cobalt blue square that Faber Books posted to Instagram announcing Rooney’s next novel, Intermezzo, sent the Internet into a frenzy—who is in Faber’s good graces and will receive an ARC before Sept. 24?
“I placed my pre-order at my local bookstore because, at the time, I thought that this was all a reader could do.” Last year, Esquire was the first to report on The Merch-ification of Book Publishing, a growing trend among the bookish crowds of TikTok and Instagram that involves enviable, themed PR packages. Rooney’s last novel, Beautiful World, Where Are You (2021) inspired the creation of covetable merchandise in the form of bucket hats, tote bags, and umbrellas. The merch and its recipients are conversation starters in their own right, but is there a need for another layer of exclusivity in publishing?
2024 is the renaissance of the nonfiction/memoir genre, baby! February saw the release of Sloane Crosley’s first memoir, Grief is for People, which explores the loss of her best friend. Seasoned essayist Leslie Jamison released Splinters: Another Kind of Love Story this month, about the end of a marriage and fostering a mother-daughter relationship. Celebrity memoirs are also being churned out—from opposite ends of stardom. Anna Marie Tendler announced Men Have Called Her Crazy (out Aug. 13), which, according to her, has been years in the making. And Al Pacino, after his chaotic Best Picture presentation at this year’s Oscars, dropped bombshell book news yesterday—Sonny Boy, out Oct. 8.
“Because in the end, without the tenderness of friendship, there would be no romances to recount. No heartbreaks to archive. No love stories to mythologize.” A Story Renamed - a beautiful piece by
, about the importance of female friendship and the power of being understood.“And it is better for life to happen than to watch it from the wing. It is better to be there than to be behind the glass. I remember what it means to be glad that this is true.” Laundry Day, by
“For me, there is a benefit to letting your younger self tell you a story you’ve heard a hundred times. It puts the rest of your life into perspective. I want to encourage people to look back because I can see how much I have gained in doing so.” Dear Diary, I'm Looking for the Answers by
“I am revisiting and extending my girlhood on my own terms, with my fully formed prefrontal cortex and a better discernment for what is and is not me.”
started her own newsletter, girlhood, and you don’t want to miss out!
That’s all for now! See you in April, for National Poetry Month, and when this newsletter turns one!
Lots of love,
Thank you for including me!!
I can't wait to check out Grief is for People!! Thank you for the mention <3