Black vinyl flooring greets my boots, all specked with city dust
Containing flecks of concrete, stone, dirt, grime, and gritty rust:
But only a little bit of grit sticks upon my shoe,
And I track it through the gridded streets, off to somewhere new.
The soles of my feet carry a record of time and place
That keeps me grounded, so to speak, in this liminal space.
I’ve been learning German lately, and something that I found fun was writing a poem, then immediately translating it to a German version that captures the same form and feeling.
Sometimes, I feel I can do little else,
But I can give my hair to the birds.
I brush out my undyed brown strands
And waft them aloft, above.
I hope they'll be part of
Some hidden, warm nest
Of the birds I
Hear at night,
When I
Rest.
Manchmal, ich denke nichts kann ich machen,
Aber, mein Haar ist für die Vögel.
Ich bürste meine Haare und
Hebe es in den Himmel.
Ich hoffe sie werden
Eine kleine Nest
Für die Vögel
Ich höre
In der
Nacht.
(In my draft, I switched to red ink when I had to look up translating help.)
I’ll definitely be doing this again. It gave me the chance to sort of re-compose and re-examine the poem, giving it more context to be understood, albeit only for those who have access to both languages.
I think more of these will be forthcoming!
I love rocks. Anyone who knows me can tell you this. I have loved them since I was a small child, poring over the geology pages of my children’s encyclopedia, lingering over the glossy images of fluorite, quartz, and sapphire. I remember studying field guides for fun, and effortlessly acing my science quizzes on volcanoes and tectonics. As an adult, I have a tiny gem collection of my own, and have become a bit of a connoisseur of gem and mineral displays of both the educational and commercial variety. I have seen the Smithsonian’s dazzling array, looked at every booth at the Denver Gem & Rock Show, combed Oregon beaches for loose agates, devotedly searched for a rare color-change garnet suitable for my engagement ring, and more. I always enjoy a gem & mineral display, but at this point it takes some real oomph to stand out.
The new Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals at the American Museum of Natural History did not disappoint.
I and my partner chose to visit on April 22, 2022, which happened to be Earth Day—a fact we’d forgotten would mean attending the museum with dozens of school field trips and science-minded families. The added crowd turned out to be pleasant, however, as we got to see how people of all ages, particularly impressionable ages, interacted with the new exhibit. I couldn’t help but grin at each child’s reverent ”ooooooh,” uttered upon seeing a spectacular sparkle. Gems, ever fascinating, were very popular on Earth Day.
When you enter the exhibit as it currently stands, you’re immediately greeted by a colossal pair of amethyst geodes, cracked open and glittering deep violet. It’s a charming photo opportunity and serves as a bold welcome, showing visitors what is to be expected ahead.
After the geode entrance display, we turned to the left, and it’s there that my great opinion began to form; the Mignone Halls are the only exhibit I have seen to include the concept of Mineral Evolution, which describes the changes through time from the Big Bang to now that chemically allowed new minerals to form. This provides a fantastic context for understanding what minerals really are and how they came to be, and I haven’t seen it so clearly laid out in any other setting.
The exhibit is also sure to point out the necessity of minerals to the existence of life, and how some minerals only exist because of life. I have rarely seen the vitality of minerals demonstrated so concisely, and of course accompanied by twinkling specimens and memorable anecdotes.
Further, the Halls outline the industrial, historical, and cultural importance of minerals and gems. Rocks and minerals are inseparable from human history, and gems have been objects of desire and fascination since before recorded history. Something I admired was that these displays professed the importance of function and form equally; self-adornment has held just as much value, culturally, as making tools.
Throughout the Halls, we learn enough for a college course in geology; I would know, I took one. This includes but is not limited to: chemical classification of minerals, how to identify different minerals in the field, crystal growth & structure, social & environmental costs of gem mining, erosion & weathering, fluorescence, organic & synthetic gems, light & refraction, minerals local to the NYC area, Moh’s hardness, history of salt and its uses, plate tectonics, etc. This is all delightfully accessorized with enormous specimens, some of which we are even encouraged to touch. Interactive displays help to cement the day’s learning and add a playful element to it, and seemed to be enjoyed by kids and adults alike. Lastly, we are treated to a fully-stocked jewel-box alcove simply clustered with some of the finest gemstones ever found and faceted.
Entrance to the Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals is included with general admission to the museum, and I highly recommend a visit. We wandered the space for about three hours, having fun admiring the specimens and trying to guess what they were before checking their information on the placards below. The whole exhibit is thick with information, some of it easier to absorb if you’ve had prior introduction to scientific concepts, particularly chemistry. A visitor can easily spend hours reading up on rocks, or enjoy a gleaming stroll through the treasure hoard; if gemstones happen to hypnotize you, you’ll be a happy visitor indeed.
It’s come to my attention that some of my energy may have been being misused. Or, if not misused, then frustrated. Frustrated by my own self-imposed rules and regulations.
I am a fairly methodical person who enjoys science and statistics, particularly when it comes to organizing my own life. I like to track what I’ve done, when, and how often; I regularly accessorize my journal with little grids peppered with check marks, to track things like my skincare, exercise, Italian language practice, caffeine intake, and more. This year, I set myself the challenge to submit applications/auditions/etc. to 100 opportunities, so naturally I started a tracking system to calculate what works out and what does not.
However, the last three weeks or so, I have been caught up in an unplanned gig which interrupted my meticulous tracking, and forced me to consider the question: is it better to go back and fix my lapse in recording, or to forge onward with submissions without looking back? Is the proof of the effort more important than dedication to the cause?
Simultaneously, I had recently said ”yes” to an opportunity I had a negative feeling about, and of course ended up somewhat regretting it. As someone who is so often a confident consult on friends’ life decisions, I’ve noticed a certain uncertainty about navigating my own, specifically about following my gut/heart/instinct in any given moment (as opposed to bending to outsider opinions or some misguided sense of ”strategy”). I freeze and question my inspirations, constantly needing to ascertain whether or not my idea is “worth” following before making a move… when I could instead simply use that energy to go ahead and find out in reality. Does every move have to be the “best” in order to be worth making?
There comes a time when calculation is just procrastination. Though it goes against my nature and habits, I think I will find my answers by choosing to recklessly pursue my own goals. Moving forward, this looks like not second-guessing when I feel like writing instead of practicing. This looks like saying “no” to opportunities even when, on the surface, there doesn’t seem to be a ”good enough” reason. This looks like releasing prior plans when they no longer suit me. This looks like posting more silly content on social media and here on this blog, regardless of who may or may not see it.
Part of it, too, will look unhinged. A career in the arts already reflects some inconsistency; reckless pursuit adds a new level of observable chaos. This new approach challenges me to take actions without caring what others think of them. In fact, it challenges me to take actions without prematurely judging them myself.
For the foreseeable future, my aim is to release routine, excise expectation, and plunge headlong into every actionable whim. I hope to remove self-set restraints, and retrain my self-trust. I intend to convert every bit of frustrated energy into forward momentum.
I’m so curious to see what will happen next.
”Commit to the bit,” right?
As a child, I was a witch, and I was powerful then;
I brewed potions out of soaps, and wished for my own garden.
I learned to tell the flowers apart, and could untie any knot;
But somewhere along the way, there’s some magic I forgot.
I sang spells at thunderstorms, made lighting crack through the clouds.
I used my voice, unthinking whether or not to be “loud.”
Known not to care, I’d never let someone take up my space,
Nor of myself, dreams, desires, allow anyone erase.
As I grow, I’ve learned to glance backward, at who I was;
She knew more than I do now, and of late, it gives me pause.
I miss you.
Not enough to visit, though. For me, distance is to love as wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, and enkindles the great.
Please understand why I’ve chosen to stay away all this time… the attraction is too strong. Were we to pick back up where we left off… well… I don’t know if I could put you down again. And I simply cannot balance that with everything else I’ve committed to, at this point. I’m a different person now.
Despite all that, despite everything standing in our way, I can’t help but think about you. I toss and turn in the dark, thoughts of you keeping me awake long after midnight. I keep thinking, “what if?” What could we have made together, if I’d stayed? What could have been different?
I remember our immediate spark, right from the beginning. You fell into my life like fate waving hello, and it all felt so natural, easy. You bent to my fingertips like you had no other wish than to obey my desire. I remember a feverish frenzy, as if each moment wasn’t enough, as if any choice we could make wouldn’t be enough to release our potential. I remember a sleepless hyperfocus, an intensity I couldn’t describe, a flow of energy unlike anything else in the world.
Ultimately it was our potential, our inability to choose one path or the other, that failed us. Passion cannot replace compatibility, and I suppose we always knew we were mismatched. Maybe it was timing… or interests… or maybe it was because I was already promised to another.
Still, you haunt my dreams. I can’t forget the hours I spent with you, cultivating our connection, persuading myself it would work out. After all that has happened, I can’t regret that precious time; I learned so much about you, about myself.
I’m not sure why I chose to write to you today. Perhaps I like to think that you’re still there for me. Perhaps I want your forgiveness for leaving you behind. I won’t apologize for doing what I needed, but I still wish we had more time… time to finish everything we started.
To my Unfinished Projects:
unwritten play drafts,
half-baked businesses,
10-page novels,
one-poem poetry collections,
abandoned fibercrafts,
half-full notebooks and sketchbooks,
dropped classes,
unused craft supplies,
sparse Pinterest collections,
unbuilt websites,
empty social media profiles,
unbudgeted travel plans,
and every lost idea I’ve ever sacrificed to the golden idol named “I don’t need to write it down, I’ll remember,“
I love you still.
Hmm, says she, I’ve been doing some thinking
About the water we have been drinking.
More common than dirt, more precious than gold,
Each and every drop a million years old.
How is it then that we are running out,
Getting scarce in every spigot and spout?
The rain still comes and the rivers still run,
But still it’s not enough… for everyone.
Some people still bathe, and steam, and shower–
Of course, they’re the ones with all the power.
Others go parched, chronic dehydration;
Ah, such “equality” in our nation.
I can’t help but feel we’ve gone all awry,
All because of an oily, greedy lie.
The Franifesto 