pardon the mess
catching up with 2024
Earlier this month, Oxford University Press announced that “brain rot” is their 2024 Word of the Year. Collectively, I think this was a shock in a fist-shaking, language-used-to-mean-something way. Simultaneously, the acknowledgement of brain rot revealed our wish to disconnect from reality—instant gratification in the form of scrolling.
Disclaimer: I was a willing participant in this phenomenon. Which of course means that I didn’t get to as many books as I wanted to and couldn’t bring myself to write even when I had something to say. And I had plenty of opportunity to not have my eyes glued to a screen, so, here’s hoping I make an honest effort to spend less time watching strangers talk about the jacket they got at a really good price, click on their link only to discover it’s $800, sigh, close the tab, and do the same thing five videos later.
In September, I attended a virtual nonfiction panel through Literary Cleveland’s annual Inkubator conference. It was called “Beauty Is a Method: Attention and Accumulation in Nonfiction” and moderated by poet and essayist Hanif Abdurraqib. I was, and still am, quite moved by what Hanif shared about his life and approach to writing.
“No matter what people think when they hear ‘Ohio writer,’ it doesn’t matter because I know we’re all trying to build something, collectively.”
It was refreshing to hear such a prolific voice in contemporary literature stress the importance of being loyal to where you came from, and continuing to identify and contribute as a creative person in that place (Hanif currently resides in Columbus and is outspoken about his community there).
Our association with a place that has shaped us shouldn’t be viewed as derogatory. It can be disheartening seeing people online bash on Ohio or the Greater Cleveland area who have most likely never been here, and aren’t aware of the creative communities being built or improved upon. It takes a lot of work, especially on the individual level.
At the same time, do I get a pang of zip code envy when I go on Instagram and see my feed populated with cool book launch events, pop-ups and the like happening in New York? Of course I do, but I don’t think New York’s reputation as a cultural hub (especially for reading/writing/publishing) is going to flounder any time soon.
Things happen in their own way and on their own time, where you are, and I’ve been lucky enough to not only witness that but participate.
In November 2022, Jemima Kirke, the actress lovingly known for her portrayal of Jessa Johansson from Girls, sent the Internet into a frenzy when she answered the question submitted by a follower “An advice to unconfident young women?”
Her response, “I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much,” brought light to the double-edged sword that is inverted self-awareness. I only came across the now-meme-ified post this year, but it did force me to do some serious soul-searching, in the sense that, no, not everyone is paying attention to me or thinking I’m disorganized, or in my “flop era.”
In my birthday card this year, my friend quoted the poem “Abundance” by Mary Schmidt:
It’s impossible to be lonely
when you’re zesting an orange.
Scrape the soft rind once
and the whole room
fills with fruit.
Look around: you have
more than enough.
Always have.
You just didn’t notice
until now.
My camera roll has reminded me that 2024 was not all doom and gloom. I somehow managed to travel a lot this year, even if I only spent a few hours in a couple of these places—April through November saw me in Philly, New York, Chicago, Palm Springs, Joshua Tree, Pittsburgh, Bedford, Columbus, and New York again. I also attended four weddings this year (!), one of which I was in and another I caught the bouquet.
I’m grateful for the time I spent getting to know new places, or places I’ve already been to. Despite my excursions, I also spent quite a lot of time at home. A good chunk of my photos from January to now are of J and our cat, Margot, snuggled up on the couch or our threadbare recliner, or of cups from one of our weekend mornings at the coffee shop we frequent.
Something I’ve never thought of before, but I’ll share with you now, in hopes that you get there, too: I admire the softness in my life and how much I protect it because of how long it took to form.
The Foodification of Color - “Butter Yellow” captured the hearts of many this year, across various industries—fashion, interior design, etc. As for me, I’m no exception, and fell pretty hard, beginning in summer 2022 when I purchased a wool argyle sweater on sale from Everlane. It’s one of my favorite sweaters, as I’ve brought it on multiple trips and look forward to putting it in my winter rotation as soon as the temperature drops. This year, I’ve acquired a few more things in this delectable hue that bring me so much joy.
The Art of the Game - At the ripe age of 28, I recently attended my first NBA game, the Cleveland Cavaliers vs. Utah Jazz. I’m not known to have a soft spot for sports, but I was drawn to this particular game because the Cavs collaborated with the Cleveland Museum of Art for their “City Edition” uniforms this season and I wanted to see them in-person.
The announcement of this pairing was controversial on social media but the execution in terms of visual marketing was so well done, and I’m still impressed by the innovation behind this campaign (down to the color name of their uniforms—“Gallery Blue.”). I had a blast at the game with J and my brother, and the Cavs fought hard for their win all the way through the fourth quarter.
I neglected my Fable account for over six months this year, so I don’t have a very exciting “Reading Wrapped” to share (I’m sorry!). I have a pretty chaotic method of reading books in general that I hope to get under control. My friend said it’s chic to take your time reading a book and to that I say, so true!
Despite my [redacted] page count, I still read things that inspired me, comforted me, or provided me with some much-needed escapism:
Fruit of the Dead by Rachel Lyon — I love Greek and Roman mythology, so I’m always on the hunt for stories in that genre. A modern take on Persephone and Demeter, Fruit of the Dead follows 18-year-old Cory as she struggles to find her calling without disappointing her successful single mother. The wealthy father of one of her campers offers her a nannying job on his private island that forces her to consider how much control she really has.
Shred Sisters by Betsy Lerner — I’ll always have a soft spot for this one, because it was the first physical ARC I ever received (I did reach out to the publisher directly, but getting it in the mail was still so cool). Shred Sisters is a tender read about one family’s experience with mental illness that changes how they interact with each other, and covers the complexity of sisterhood.
First Love: Essays on Friendship by Lilly Dancyger — I wrote about this one earlier this year, but it’s worth mentioning again. This collection of essays by Lilly Dancyger is equal parts poignant and bold, exploring the ways female friendship evolve and provide support.
Luster by Raven Leilani — This generated a lot of buzz during the pandemic and I picked it up on a whim, and was pleasantly surprised by Raven Leilani’s voice. Luster is carried by the sharp and self-deprecating Edie, a young Black woman navigating work, relationships, and loneliness in New York. The second half of the book takes an interesting turn when Edie inserts herself into the family of the older man she is dating.
My TBR list is ambitious and I can’t wait to tackle it in the new year. On my trip to New York in November, I came home with six books from McNally Jackson and The Strand. In addition to those, I hope to read Also A Poet by Ada Calhoun, a memoir about Calhoun’s relationship with her father, art critic Peter Schjeldahl and their shared love of the poet Frank O’Hara.
I’m grateful to see another ending. These past twelve months have been long, but they count for something.
Now, let’s find something good to cling to in 2025.
Wishing you a happy and healthy new year,
Grace