back to school
begin again (and again)
6 september 2022
dear friends and readers,
i don’t know about you, but there’s something about september that makes me want to sing.
on monhegan, it is the beginning of a seasonal slowing. when the rhythm of the roads becomes less tangled with day trippers, when apples swoon amongst the branches waiting to be plucked and pressed, the sunlight in the sky begins to shift from the palest pinks to the fieriest reds, and of course, it’s always about going back to school (this year, three full-time students in the one-room schoolhouse).
i, too, am going back to school, back to the art and art history department at the university of rochester, where i was a visiting professor almost twenty years ago…
begin again
last year i was still a student in the narrative medicine program at columbia; this year, i find myself to be in the role of the teacher, a disembodied head zooming into my first day of school. regardless, i know that the classroom is my most fertile ground, always familiar but equally anew, reminding me how i embrace each role because i am equally the other.
begin again
there is something thrilling about the beginning of the school year: the promise of a new notebook or receiving a list of school supplies to be acquired and checked off one by one, although maybe that’s just me because i love lists as much to make them as well to receive.
step one. step two.
what to do. what to do next.
and always the satisfaction of crossing things off.
crisp pencil lines through a task well done.
still, sometimes my lists are endless, and sometimes i even put items on i have already done, only to feel better to strike them off, and yes, I know that’s one for the therapy jar for sure…
i’m feeling a little that way about this switch to substack because for the perfectionist, the person who likes her entire life to look like a photo shoot, putting something out when i am so much in the process is a big step.
i know i am an over-planner, an over-organizer of my success and failure.
in some respects, but certainly, not all, i get in my way.
i always mean well, but execution can be challenging, and i can become paralyzed with fear.
sometimes i think that’s why i read about the rituals of others to better know my own and to confirm “yes, that works for me too.”
substack lists seem endless regarding how to set this up for “success.” new tips arrive in my inbox daily.
what i know is sometimes i need to start before i’m ready, knowing i can equally always
begin again
i’m choosing to lean into one of the readings assigned to my students about what it means to be an artist:
be inconsistent—this is what allowed me to find my way…variability allows one’s work to breathe. don’t resist something if you are afraid it’s taking you far afield of your usual direction. that’s the wild in you, feeding this is how you will evolve. new systems of meaning, new combinations and unexpected unions. the way you keep from being caged.
i am a perfectionist, and this first newsletter is only a new beginning—i can sit with both rather than allow one to be self-limiting, reminding myself i made this choice because of the possibility of commentary and the creation of community.
and so i ask for patience while i play. it's just another way i'm heading back to school.
begin again
organized or knot, september means my summer sojourn is coming to a close, but i'll do my best to savor these final days and ways to be on island: be it stacking a 1/3 of a cord of wood or facilitating a retreat.
i'd love to know—what does september mean to you?
thanks for reading,
xosew
in the news:
𝚘𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝚗𝚘𝚠
and
holding and being held: in conversation with anne leighton massoni
at this critical historical juncture, abortion stories can no longer be held in secret or shame. they must be shared in support and service to generations of future women, to actively be unspoken no more.
be it through the act of writing or reading, my deepest gratitude to all who shared in story ~ thank you instruments of memory for the opportunity to work together again.
attention attention
gathering (in grace) notes is going live at tru
a new monthly workshop series at tru yoga, rochester, ny
writing your practice: from breath to pen
join me to weave ancient yoga teachings into a contemporary tapestry to map and make meaning of our bodies and embodied experiences. each workshop will begin with a theme, a narrative thread to be tugged and teased through the practices of asana, pranayama, guided meditation, and writing to create a more spacious container of our whole self:
from breath to pen, mat to page
this series is for anyone ready to explore how yoga + writing complement each other to become an embodied practice
sign up for each workshop as a stand-alone offering or register for the entire series
beginning October 9, 3-4:45pm EST
current contemplations:
returning the gift, robin wall kimmerer
cecilia vicuna's desire lines: what could it mean to write without words? how are we woven into histories we’ve never heard?
on why you’re more than what you make, an interview with sharon louden
and
taking a deep dive into the nettle dress
i took a social media break, only to distract myself with Indian Matchmaking, season 2
finally
because i am a sucker for simple sardine suppers, i’m giving this a try
one of the best ways to support and sustain my work is through the act of sharing. if you know somebody who would enjoy this newsletter
you can also share my posts on social media, follow me on my NEW IG account, leave a comment or send me a message privately.
as always i love knowing what speaks to you, and if you want to know more about me you can always read my archive
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