Hi friends!
I visited my local Barnes & Noble the other day because I had two birthday gift cards calling my name. Along with a notebook and some fantasy novels, I ended up buying Emily Henry’s Beach Read (turning in my library copy left me missing January and Gus) and Delilah Green Doesn’t Care by Ashley Herring Blake. Naturally, I gushed over romance novels with the person scanning my finds at the register. “Emily Henry! I loved loved loved Beach Read. She actually broke me out of my reading slump,” she said. I told her I could relate. People We Meet On Vacation was the book that broke me out of my yearlong reading slump when I feared I lost the one love I thought would never leave me: books. To this day, PWMOV is one of my comfort re-reads. And I’m grateful to the romance genre for saving my love for reading. I’m drawn to the heartache, the yearning, the confusion, the fall, the first kiss, the sex, the confessions, the adventure. I get to have my heart broken one chapter and then put back together by the end. Give me all the complicated feelings.
Here’s a round-up of my summer reads (all genres): This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert, Book Lovers by Emily Henry, The Cruel Prince by Holly Black, The Wicked King by Holly Black, The Queen of Nothing by Holly Black, Love Lettering by Kate Clayborn, Persuasion by Jane Austen, I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy, Trick Mirror by Jia Tolentino, Blue Nights by Joan Didion, Bridgerton Collection Volume 2 by Julia Quinn, Assassin’s Apprentice by Robin Hobb
I’m currently reading: Love in the Time of Serial Killers by Alicia Thompson
I’d love to hear about your favorite read/reads this summer or, even better, tell me about your weirdest (good or bad) read:
Heartbreak, Love Songs, and Singing to Your Crush
You’re nine years old and the worst has happened. This morning at school was terrible and embarrassing. You lost your best friend B because he had a crush on you and you didn’t have a crush on him. It was the first day you didn’t hang out together at recess. Your mutual friends chose sides. There were tears. This is your first introduction to heartbreak. You’ll never forget how the bashful pink blush on his pale cheeks transformed into an angry red. For the first two minutes of his confession, you were laughing because you thought he was joking. He wasn’t joking. You’re certain he’ll never call your home phone again. No more hours talking about books and annoying teachers and school gossip. You lost a friend forever. But now you’re home and you can’t think about your B-less friend life because you have bigger problems — there are always bigger problems at home.
The carpet is scratching your knees as you’re peering underneath your bed, searching for any glimpse of your favorite CD: Taylor Swift’s debut. “Our Song” is the most romantic song you’ve ever heard. You sing it in the shower. You sing it in your mom’s car (non-Christian songs are not allowed in dad’s Honda). You sing it at the top of your off-key lungs. Never mind the “slamming screen doors” and sneaking around. You want a love like that. You want to have a song with someone. You want the drama and yearning. You want to be Troy and Gabriella. Just not with B. You knew he wasn’t your “Teardrops On My Guitar” kind of love. But this lost cd isn’t your big problem. You just want to find it so that you can put it in your pink walkman, pop your headphones in, and drown out the actual problem: your parents yelling at each other downstairs. You’re trying not to listen though you have to push down your curiosity. The arguments never change. They just get louder and louder. The eerie quiet afterward is almost worse. Almost. Maybe you are familiar with heartbreak after all.
“Yes!” You say when you find the CD. You’re unaware of the heartbreak and confusion that will come in the years ahead. You’re unaware that Taylor Swift will still be your favorite songwriter when you’re twenty-five. All that matters now is that you can listen to your favorite song.
You fall asleep that night holding your walkman to your chest. The glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling light your dreams. Your heart is hurting.
At this point in my twenties, I’m discovering that I can tell new stories about my childhood to my mom. For a long time, I didn’t think to do this. I didn’t realize that our parents could learn who we are now while also learning who we’ve been and who we thought we were. She had been with me throughout my entire life, I thought. She must know everything. Moms know all. She must have read my diary at some point (it’s not like under my pillow was a genius hiding spot). This assumption was definitely limiting. It was relieving to realize my mom can and wants to learn about me, the same way I’m learning more about her with new stories and revelations. These days I’m trying to ask her the right questions. And I love making her laugh with my retellings of past embarrassments, mistakes, and crushes.
I recently told her the story of my sixth-grade talent show where I got up on stage to sing “White Horse” by Taylor Swift. This sad song dethroned “Our Song” for good.
My mom never knew about this talent show. I suspect I didn’t bring it up because I was embarrassed. Unsurprisingly, she was shocked I volunteered to sing. I wasn’t a talent show type of child. Yes, I had a karaoke machine at home. Yes, I sang every chance I got. Yes, I religiously watched American Idol. But I was shy through and through. We all have those defining attributes that come up when someone needs to describe you in a single word and mine was “quiet.” So for me to get up in front of my entire school to sing a song badly, there would have to be some monumental, life-changing reason.
Like any love-sick girl, I did it for a crush.
I somehow got it into my mind that my crush would notice me if I literally put myself into the spotlight. Great idea right? I blame this decision on all of the Disney shows I grew up with. I’m not sure how I reasoned that singing “I’m not a princess, this ain’t a fairy tale / I’m not the one you’ll sweep off her feet / Lead her up the stairwell,” was supposed to get my crush to fall for me. I was practically yelling, I’M NOT THE GIRL. That’s simply not how manifestation works these days.
The funny thing is, I don’t remember anything about my crush at the time. I do remember the technical difficulties when I got on stage. I stood there in silence in front of my entire school while one of the instructors tried to fix the speakers playing the instrumental music. Who knew five minutes could feel like a never-ending eternity. I do remember the pounding of my heart when the music finally began, the blinding spotlight, and the darkness of the audience. I remember not hitting a lot of the notes. I remember forgetting the lyrics. And still, they clapped (I mean, could you imagine if they didn’t?)
After the performance, my cheeks were burning and I wanted to cry. I sat back down with my friends and I remember meeting new people who liked the song. It made me feel a little better, less teary-eyed. Despite the embarrassment, I felt changed, a little more like the person I wanted to be. I felt like someone could potentially like this version of me. Maybe even love. I may have gotten up there so my crush could see me, but I think I ultimately saw a little more of myself, someone who was waiting inside me under the shyness and social anxiety.
Perhaps this can be a prompt for reflection as we go into the week. Was there a time when you were growing up that you embarrassed yourself in the name of love? A time when you took a risk? What’s your favorite love song?
— Alyssa
Thank you for reading!
I send a Mood Ring letter out every Tuesday. Please forward it along to anyone you think would enjoy it. And if you’d like to check in with me, I can be reached: alysrochwrites@gmail.com.
Mood Reads
“In ‘The Alphabet, for Naima,’ Reeves invokes this form to explore love and loss and to bridge time and space and generations. After reading the poem, reflect on a pivotal moment—maybe loss, maybe new life—and use the abecedarian form to share that memory with a loved one.” If you’re having big, intertwined feelings, you may enjoy this poem and its accompanying prompt from The Isolation Journals with Suleika Jaouad in “Prompt 207. ‘A’ is for…”
And another one for complicated feelings, depression, and searching for joy: Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson
I’m Baking . . . fall desserts and this pumpkin muffin recipe did not turn out the way I thought it would. I want to try again with this similar recipe from Sally’s Baking Addiction. I have not encountered a bad recipe from Sally’s archive and I love that she adds weight measurements. I’ll report back next week!
I’m Writing . . . by putting my phone away after reading “On locking your phone in the car” from In Writing with Hattie Crisell. It’s a solution that seems so simple, but it’s so difficult for me to do. I can be writing for a few minutes and then I reach for my phone for no good reason. It’s a pull, a tingle. I’ve noticed keeping my phone out of the same room helps a lot. And then when I feel the pull, I start reaching for something that isn’t there. It’s a start!
I've been trying to get into fiction books and one of the most popular authors that I see people recommend is Emily Henry. I would really like to read her books although my book haul spree from last month kind of broke my wallet. The Jennette Mccurdy's book is from what I hear, is an incredible read as well, Hopefully I can get those books