This past year, I spent way too much time wearing pajamas all day, eating carbs, and watching crap tv. I’d fallen into, if not a Slough of Despond, then definitely one of low expectations and mundane days. Maybe it was the relentless grind of the Covid years, a sudden cascade of health bitch-slaps, and an approaching milestone birthday that sapped my energy and curiosity. I still caught glimpses of who I had been—all my old wild desires and preposterous plans and schemes—but I'd lapsed into a dull sublunary state of mind. One day, though, I came across a quote in John Donne's biography that said even at the end of his tumultuous and sometimes hopeless life he believed that “it is an astonishment to be alive, and it behoves you to be astonished.” I don't know why it lit up like a neon sign in my mind, but I kept thinking about it, writing it in my journal again and again, and trying to figure out why I returned to it over and over. I didn’t have a classic epiphany or a sudden “road to Damascus” experience, but the nagging of it made me start to pay attention to astonishment. Astonishment that the same day I’d read Donne's quote in Super Infinite, I saw “Infinity” handwritten on an old boat by the roadside in my neighborhood and also had a casual conversation with a stranger about my infinity tattoo. Astonishment when I returned to the movie theater after a long stultifying stint of streaming and remembered why I adore the communal experience of magic and wonder that can’t be found in front of my tv. Astonishment at suddenly rediscovering my love of writing and the glimmer of a new project during a long weekend visit of creative talk with an old friend faraway. I confess that I spend a lot of my life being oblivious to the world around me, wandering around with my third eye closed, but something was trying to prod me awake. No miracles or visions, just astonishment illuminating the commonplace and being able to see it for the first time in a long time.

I love coming across common little facts that I’m learning for the first time. For instance, I just noticed that my Good Grips kitchen scissors has built-in notches called herb strippers. I’ve used the scissors dozens of times over the years and only recently happened to see the inscription along the blade. I could have avoided all that labor of stripping fresh thyme by hand (if I actually cooked). Maybe less well-known, but so lovely, is that the white tip of a Border Collie’s tail is called a “shepherd’s lantern” because when held high it guided its owner home in the dark after a day's work. It makes such perfect poetic sense. I love it when tiny discoveries like these seem to slot into place in my brain with a click of ordinary amazement.

Can you have a crush on a dead poet? I’m reading Super Infinite by Katherine Rundell about the 17th century "rockstar" poet/preacher John Donne and trying not to badger everyone I know into picking it up, too. I fell in love with Donne the first time I read “The Sun Rising” in an introductory lit class and then discovered the famously romantic Lothian portrait of him. Those eyes, that hat! His work ranges from the erotic to the spiritual, sometimes mixing both (“Batter my heart, three-person’d God”), and when I learned Rundell was coming to speak at The Charleston Literary Festival, I quickly ordered a ticket. Still not sure if it's your cup of tea? Maybe this Guardian piece will convince you to give both Donne and Rundell a try. (And if you're going to the festival, don't overlook the appearance of Claire Keegan who will discuss her prize-winning book Small Things Like These. Soon to be a movie starring the luscious Cillian Murphy and another of my crushes, Ciaran Hinds.)

I like to make little playlists for my iPhone periodically, and this is my latest. After I finished it, I noticed that, with a few exceptions, it mostly leans toward the melancholy side of the songbook. My favorite on this list is the gives-me-goosebumps version of “Here's to Life" by Shirley Horn. I accidentally came across it in the background of a tribute to someone's friend on @theaidsmemorial Instagram account and found myself tearing up for a stranger. So much loss, so much love.

 

“Sea Gets Hotter,” Durand Jones and The Indications. “Here's to Life,” Shirley Horn. “Stranger on the Shore,” Acker Bilk. “Ballad of the Sad Young Men,” Roberta Flack. “Hard Woman,” Mick Jagger. “Nocturne in C Sharp Minor,” Chopin. “The Chill of an Early Fall,” George Strait. “This is Where I Get Off,” Robbie Robertson. “Can I Kick It?,” A Tribe Called Quest. “How Do You Fly This Plane,” Lisa Marie Presley.