Gratitude

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From H Is for Hawk (2014)

  The next day out on the hill Mabel learns, I suppose, what she is for. She chases a pheasant. It crashes into the brambles beneath a tall hedge. She lands on top of the hedge, peering down, her plumage bright against the dark earth of the further slope. I start running. I think I remember where the pheasant has gone. I convince myself it was never there at all. I know it is there. Clay sticks to my heels and slows me down. I’m in a world of slowly freezing mud, and even the air seems to be getting harder to run through. Mabel is waiting for me to flush the pheasant, if only I knew where it was. Now I am at the hedge, trying to find it, constructing what will happen next scenarios in my head, and at this point they’re narrowing fast, towards point zero, when the pheasant will fly. I cannot see Stuart and Mandy any more, though I know they must be there. I’m crashing through brambles and sticks, dimly aware of the catch and rip of thorns in my flesh. Now I cannot see the hawk because I am searching for the pheasant, so I have to work out what she is doing by putting myself in her mind – and so I become both the hawk in the branches above and the human below. The strangeness of this splitting makes me feel I am walking under myself, and sometimes away from myself. Then for a moment everything becomes dotted lines, and the hawk, the pheasant and I merely elements in a trigonometry exercise, each of us labelled with soft italic letters. And now I am so invested in the hawk and the pheasant’s relative positions that my consciousness cuts loose entirely, splits into one or the other, first the hawk looking down, second the pheasant in the brambles looking up, and I move over the ground as if I couldn’t possibly affect anything in the world. There is no way I can flush this pheasant. I’m not here. Time stretches and slows. There’s a sense of panic at this point, a little buffet of fear that’s about annihilation and my place in the world. But then the pheasant is flushed, a pale and burring chunk of muscle and feathers, and the hawk crashes from the hedge towards it. And all the lines that connect heart and head and future possibilities, those lines that also connect me with the hawk and the pheasant and with life and death, suddenly become safe, become tied together in a small muddle of feathers and gripping talons that stand in mud in the middle of a small field in the middle of a small county in a small country on the edge of winter.

• From Get Out of Your Head: Stopping the Cycle of Anxious Thoughts (2020)

  He prepared good works in advance for you so that a whole lot of other people could be set free.5 When we take every thought captive and reclaim our thinking patterns from the lies of the enemy, we are set free to set others free. May we steward our freedom well. God, I pray that You would set this reader free. God, in Your power would You help us fight the enemy hell-bent on destroying us and help us remember that the power to choose a different way is ours in You? And then help us give that away to a world aching for a new way to think and live. In Jesus’s name, amen. To the guy who always gets me out of my head. Zac Allen, you rescue me from myself constantly and always point me to Jesus. I love you and I like you. Acknowledgments I’ve written a few books, and this by a million miles was the most difficult. Maybe it’s because of the war I had to personally fight not just to write this book but to live this book. Or maybe it’s because this matters so much and hell was against it. But no matter the reason, I couldn’t have made it through this process without the small army God has placed in my life not only to help me do what He’s called me to do but, more important, to help me live how He’s called me to live. First up is God. You fought for me when nothing but You could have saved me. Thank You for setting me free not just from my sin but from the toxic ways I’d become stuck and barely noticed. I’ll never get over the great saving blood of Jesus Christ and that You would save a wretch like me. Zac, you are the best teammate I could ever dream of, and none of this would exist without you: from sending me on writing retreats while you covered car pool and homework and meals, to comforting me in all my doubts and fears, to believing in this mission God has placed on our lives. As you always say, you’ll get all the credit in heaven. We all know it’s true. To my kids, Conner, Kate, Caroline, and Cooper, who seem to never resent this costly calling. In fact, not only do you not resent it; you celebrate and champion everything I do. I’ve watched God grow you from people who need me to people who challenge me daily. You’re some of my favorite people on earth, so bonus that I get to be your mom. Chloe Hamaker, you believe in me more than I believe in myself. This isn’t a job to you; it’s a calling.

• From H Is for Hawk (2014)

  Acknowledgements My thanks go first to those people who made this book possible, and two in particular: to my wonderful agent Jessica Woollard, for her friendship, expertise and long-standing support, and to my inspiring and extraordinary editor Dan Franklin at Jonathan Cape. I’d also like to thank everyone at the Marsh Agency, and Clare Bullock, Ruth Waldram, Joe Pickering and everyone else at Jonathan Cape who worked on this book behind the scenes. For their patience, warmth and expertise during my research visit to the Harry Ransom Research Center at the University of Texas, Austin, I’d like to thank Jean M. Cannon, Pat Fox, Margi Tenney, and Richard Workman. And in Buckinghamshire, particular thanks to William Goldsmith, who showed me around Stowe School. The greatest of love and thanks to my mother, brother, Cheryl, Aimee, Bea, and the rest of my family, of course, for letting me tell this story without even a flicker of worry about what I might say. And love and gratitude also to Christina McLeish, the best of friends and superb underfalconer, who was a fount of support after my father’s death and during the writing of this book, and Olivia Laing, whose own books are a constant inspiration and whose wise counsel and good humour kept me writing; and to Stuart Fall and Amanda Lingham, who helped me through very dark times, and my surrogate American family: Erin Gott, Paige Parkhill, Jim and Harriet Gott, Wyatt and Curran Gott, who always make me feel at home. So many people helped me with friendship, love, inspiration, encouragement, or in other ways while I wrote this book. Thanks are due to them all: Pat Baylis, Steve Bodio, Lee Brindley, Tim Button, Tracy Carmichael, Jake Daum, Tim Dee, Steve Delaney, John Gallagher, Andrew Hunter, Tony James, Polly Appleby and Archie James, Conor Jameson, Boris Jardine, Nick Jardine, Bill Jones, Lauren Kassell, Tim Lewens and Emma Gilby, Josh Lida, Greg Liebenhals, John Loft, Robert Macfarlane and Julia Lovell, Robert and Margaret Mair, Scott McNeff, Gordon Mellor, Toby Metcalf, Patricia Monk, Adam Norrie, Rebecca O’Connor, Ian Patterson, Robert Penney, John Pittman, Marzena Pogorzaly, Joanna Rabiger, Mike Rampey, Joe Ryan for his chaffinches, Katharine Stubbs, and Lydia Wilson. Special thanks to Andrew Metcalf and to Fiona Mozley. And to Chris Wormell for his exquisite cover image. And last of all, and most of all, I would like to thank my father, who taught me how to love the moving world, and to my beautiful hawk who taught me how to fly in it after he was gone. Mabel flew for many more seasons before a sudden, untreatable infection with Aspergillosis – an awful airborne fungus – carried her from her aviary to the dark woods where dwell the lost and dead. She is much missed.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  You’ll have to leave at eight, of course, when I do.’ I nodded quickly. I wouldn’t think about the morning, just yet.There was an awkward silence. She looked so tired and ordinary I had a foolish urge to kiss her cheek good-night, as Ralph had. Of course, I did not; I only took a step towards her as she nodded to me and prepared to make her way upstairs, and said, ‘I am more grateful to you, Mrs Banner, than I can say. You have been very kind to me - you, who hardly know me; and more especially your husband, who doesn’t know me at all.’As I spoke she turned to me, and blinked. Then she placed her hand on a chair-back, and smiled a curious smile. ‘Did you think he was my husband?’ she said. I hesitated, suddenly flustered.‘Well, I -’‘He ain’t my husband! He’s my brother.’ Her brother! She continued to smile at my confusion, and then to laugh: for a moment she was the pert girl I had spoken with in Green Street, all those months before...But then the baby, in the room above us, gave a cry, and we both raised our eyes to the sound, and I felt myself blush. And when she saw that, her smile faded. ‘Cyril ain’t mine,’ she said quickly, ‘though I call him mine. His mother used to lodge with us, and we took him on when she - left us. He is very dear to us, now...’The awkward way she said it showed there was some story there - perhaps the mother was in prison; perhaps the baby was really a cousin‘s, or a sister’s, or a sweetheart’s of Ralph’s. Such things happened often enough in Whitstable families: I didn’t think much of it. I only nodded; and then I yawned. And seeing me, she yawned too.‘Good-night, Miss Astley,’ she said from behind her hand. She did not look like the Green Street girl now. She looked only weary again, and plainer than ever.I waited a moment while she stepped upstairs - I heard her shuffling above me, and guessed of course that she must share her chamber with the baby - then I took up a lamp, and made my way out to the privy. The yard was very small, and overlooked on every side by walls and darkened windows; I lingered for a second on the chilly flags, gazing at the stars, sniffing at the unfamiliar, faintly riverish, faintly cabbagey, scents of East London.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  65 This essay first appeared as adrienne maree brown, “The Pleasure Dome: Use Your Words,” March 21, 2018, Bitch Media (blog) https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/the-pleasure-dome/use-your-words.66 Check out the work of Generative Somatics: Somatic Transformation and Social Justice (www.generativesomatics.org) or Generation Five (www.generationfive.org) for more on survival.section four: The Politics of Radical Drug UseI got high last night and took my man to his wife’s front door. —Dinah Washington, Me and My Gin, 1958 I am so grateful for the many drugs I have had the chance to try out in my lifetime and for coming across harm reduction early in my life. In this section I will touch on my personal experiences with weed and ecstasy, and include an interview with the director of the Harm Reduction Coalition. I could have also included a long piece on the wonders of mushrooms, which I recommend as a detox for the spirit, much the way they can detox the earth. But with mushrooms, with all drugs, the most important thing is taking the substance seriously and reducing potential harms so that you can access the magic, so really tune in to the interview with Monique Tula, and apply it to your next mushroom adventure. In general, I want to encourage people to be safe and adventurous and open about drug use. Repression and the myth of control around drug use leads to overuse, overdose, and incarceration. May we all be honest about the substances we need and use and educated about how to interact with substances in healthy, connected ways. Weed On, Weed OffI’m high, and I just decided: Why not write from this place?67 One instant reason not to do it is because I can’t tell if there should be a question mark on that first line or something different, because I’m quoting my mind. But it’s not deterring me. I’m persisting. I don’t want to write too much because I’m trying to feel the absence of responsibility for a minute … so I’m just going to leave some questions or prompts for my not-high self to reflect on: Is weed de debbil? Harm reduction. Why is it the ultimate sign of relaxation to fall asleep on the couch? Legalize it? *** Can’t remember what to write in here. Time to solo dance party. *** It’s the morning after, and I’ve awakened to prompts. First, obviously, weed is not the devil. I grew up during the war on drugs, in a country that has used drugs and criminalization to advance hierarchy rooted in racism. My first memory of this was the alarmist educational setting of D.A.R.E., where I learned that weed makes people lazy and untrustworthy and would kill my brain cells while also serving as a gateway drug to addiction to heroin or crack. Now marijuana is used as legal medicine in several states and being legalized from coast to coast. Where was the lie?

• From Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence (2014)

  147 The troops immediately released the captives and relinquished all their booty; specially appointed officials “saw to the relief of the prisoners. From the booty, they clothed all those of them who were naked; they gave them clothing and sandals, and provided them with food, drink and shelter. They mounted all those who were infirm on donkeys, and took them back to their kinsmen in Jericho.” 148 These priests were probably monotheists; in Babylonia, paganism had lost its allure for the exiles. The prophet who had hailed Cyrus as the messiah also uttered the first fully monotheistic statement in the Bible: “Am I not Yahweh?” he makes the God of Israel demand repeatedly. “There is no other god beside me.” 149 Yet the monotheism of these priests had not made them intolerant, bloodthirsty, or cruel; rather, the reverse is true. Other postexilic prophets were more aggressive. Inspired by Darius’s ideology, they looked forward to a “day of wonder” when Yahweh would rule the entire world and there would be no mercy for nations who resisted: “Their flesh will moulder while they are still standing on their feet; their eyes will rot in their sockets; their tongues will rot in their mouths.” 150 They imagined Israel’s former enemies processing meekly each year to Jerusalem, the new Susa, bearing rich gifts and tribute. 151 Others had fantasies of the Israelites who had been deported by Assyria being carried tenderly home, 152 while their former oppressors prostrated themselves before them and kissed their feet. 153 One prophet had a vision of Yahweh’s glory shining over Jerusalem, the center of a redeemed world and a haven of peace—yet a peace achieved only by ruthless repression. These prophets may have been inspired by the new monotheism. It seems that a strong monarchy often generates the cult of a supreme deity, creator of the political and natural order. A century or more of experiencing the strong rule of such monarchs as Nebuchadnezzar and Darius may have led to the desire to make Yahweh as powerful as they. It is a fine example of the “embeddedness” of religion and politics, which works two ways: not only does religion affect policy, but politics can shape theology. Yet these prophets were also surely motivated by that all-too-human desire to see their enemies suffer as they had—an impulse that the Golden Rule had been designed to modify. They would not be the last to adapt the aggressive ideology of the ruling power to their own traditions and, in so doing, distort them. In this case Yahweh, originally the fierce opponent of the violence and cruelty of empire, had been transformed into an arch imperialist. 8 Crusade and Jihad P ope Gregory VII (r. 1073–85) was deeply disturbed to hear that hordes of Turkish tribesmen had invaded Byzantine territory, and in 1074 he dispatched a series of letters summoning the faithful to join him in “liberating” their brothers in Anatolia.

• From Generation Anxiety: A Millennial and Gen Z Guide to Staying Afloat in an Uncertain World (2023)

  Editor: Soyolmaa Lkhagvadorj Designer: Danielle Youngsmith Managing Editor: Glenn Ramirez Production Manager: Larry Pekarek Library of Congress Control Number: 2023933936 ISBN: 978-1-4197-6801-9 eISBN: 979-8-88707-022-3 Text copyright © 2023 Lauren Cook Cover © 2023 Abrams Published in 2023 by Abrams Image, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Abrams Image books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below. Abrams Image® is a registered trademark of Harry N. Abrams, Inc. ABRAMS The Art of Books 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007 abramsbooks.com To Greg: This too shall pass . . . and that’s why I don’t want to miss a moment of this life with you. To my new son, Derek: I’m so glad that I didn’t let my anxiety stop me from living out the most incredible adventure by welcoming you into the world. And to my Siamese cat, Mochi: Because more books should be dedicated to our pets, as they’re the ultimate antidote for our anxiety. Mochi is no exception. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION IF YOU FEEL LIKE YOU’RE DROWNING, IT’S NOT JUST YOU CHAPTER ONE FACING YOUR OCEAN CHAPTER TWO WHEN THE WATERS OF ANXIETY ARE ALL AROUND YOU CHAPTER THREE WELCOME THE WAVES CHAPTER FOUR EMBRACING THE RIDE EVEN WHEN YOUR OCEAN IS COLD AND SCARY CHAPTER FIVE WHAT’S BELOW THE SURFACE CHAPTER SIX FOR WHEN YOU’RE IN SHARK-INFESTED WATERS CHAPTER SEVEN KNOW WHO YOUR LIFEGUARDS ARE AND WHERE THEY ARE CHAPTER EIGHT SUPPORTING YOUR FELLOW SURFERS FROM AFAR CHAPTER NINE THE SELF-CARE STRATEGIES THAT HELP YOU STAY AFLOAT CHAPTER TEN WHEN YOUR SURFBOARD BREAKS CHAPTER ELEVEN GETTING BACK OUT THERE AFTER A WIPEOUT CONCLUSION YOU’RE DOING IT ALREADY ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR ENDNOTES INTRODUCTION IF YOU FEEL LIKE YOU’RE DROWNING, IT’S NOT JUST YOU “Jack. Jack! There’s a boat.” We all know that famous scene at the end of Titanic when Kate Winslet is staring at a freezing Leonardo DiCaprio after the unsinkable boat has indeed sunk. As Rose (played by Winslet) lies belly-down across the length of the door in her life jacket, we see Jack clinging to the side with just his head afloat. By the time the lifeboat comes by, Rose realizes that it’s too late and she has to let Jack go into the frigid abyss. What really has become meme-worthy today, though, is the realization that the doorframe Kate Winslet was lying on was definitely big enough for the two of them. While Rose stayed warmish on that big block of cedar, her newfound love had to cling to the side, Mufasa-style, before the wildebeests came.

• From Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance (1995)

  “Yes, Barry, your father suffered,” she repeated. “I am telling you, his problem was that his heart was too big. When he lived, he would just give to everybody who asked him. And they all asked. You know, he was one of the first in the whole district to study abroad. The people back home, they didn’t even know anyone else who had ridden in an airplane before. So they expected everything from him. ‘Ah, Barack, you are a big shot now. You should give me something. You should help me.’ Always these pressures from family. And he couldn’t say no, he was so generous. You know, even me he had to take care of when I became pregnant, he was very disappointed in me. He had wanted me to go to college. But I would not listen to him, and went off with my husband. And despite this thing, when my husband became abusive and I had to leave, no money, no job, who do you think took me in? Yes—it was him. That’s why, no matter what others sometimes say, I will always be grateful to him.” We were approaching the garage shop; up ahead, we could see Auma talking to her mechanic and hear the engine of the old VW whine. Beside us, a naked boy, maybe three years old, wandered out from behind a row of oil drums, his feet caked with what looked like tar. Again Zeituni stopped, this time as if suddenly ill, and spat into the dust. “When your father’s luck changed,” she said, “these same people he had helped, they forgot him. They laughed at him. Even family refused to have him stay in their houses. Yes, Barry! Refused! They would tell Barack it was too dangerous. I knew this hurt him, but he wouldn’t pass blame. Your father never held a grudge. In fact, when he was rehabilitated and doing well again, I would find out that he was giving help to these same people who had betrayed him. Ah, I could not understand this thing. I would tell him, ‘Barack, you should only look after yourself and your children! These others, they have treated you badly. They are just too lazy to work for themselves.’ And you know what he would say to me? He would say, ‘How do you know that man does not need this small thing more than me?’” My aunt turned away and, forcing a smile, waved to Auma. And as we began to walk forward, she added, “I tell you this so you will know the pressure your father was under in this place. So you don’t judge him too harshly. And you must learn from his life. If you have something, then everyone will want a piece of it. So you have to draw the line somewhere. If everyone is family, no one is family. Your father, he never understood this, I think.”

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  I don’t remember the answer I gave to that Stanford student that day, but I do know that I’ve been attempting to answer his question ever since. I’m grateful for the uncertainty. The intervention I hope to make through my own scholarship is to articulate a politics of pleasure that positions pleasure not only as desirable goal and a social and political imperative, but also as an under-theorized resistance strategy for black women in the United States and the Caribbean. In doing so, I hope to make a contribution to black feminist thought that encourages recognition of black women’s pleasure (sexual and otherwise) as not only an integral part of fully realized humanity, but one that understands that a politics of pleasure is capable of intersecting, challenging, and redefining dominant narratives about race, beauty, health and sex in ways that are generative and necessary.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  Dani. The parenting stuff is mostly on my mind, but there have been so many times before that as well. Bad breakups that were actually moments of profound transformation waiting to happen. You helped me see the opportunity. Helped me trust that it was all for the good. You’ve helped me get out of jobs that I’d outgrown. Jodie helping me move my entire apartment in a day and a half? With my daughter in tow? Adrienne whisking me off to Mexico to heal and find some pleasure after a heartbreak. I can’t imagine going through my aunt’s illness and subsequent death without you two. There are a lot of ways the woedom has been a lifeline. amb. Jodie moving me out of my apartment in Oakland when I was in total denial. She showed up and somehow organized the entire building and, within an hour, everything was packed, heading somewhere. I struggle with boundaries. My love is oceanic, I want to be everywhere. The woes are a place I can trust to ask, is this a mistake? Well … can I still make this mistake? No? Bet. It really is sisterhood. Dani has seen me through my depressions, through the times when I nearly got trapped in a bad life. Jodie has seen me through so much shame. Both of y’all save me over and over. I am tearing up writing this. But the woes keep me focused on my most excellent life. Jodie. When people ask me what my spiritual practice is, I include woes. This level of interdependence and co-evolution through woedom is a practice that changes you and creates greater possibility. Dani. The woedom gives me what I think a lot of people believe is possible only through romantic relationship: unconditional love and the feeling of being known. amb. Well, I am so grateful y’all were willing to share so vulnerably in this way, I know that’s more my thing. Thank you for the risk, I love y’all so, so, so much.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  Seven years later, I have a much deeper understanding of the ways that my desires for partnership and intimacy have also been shaped by my childhood trauma. My desire for gender transition did serve as an important guide for my politics. That desire was powerful and unwavering in the face of oppression and violence on the institutional and individual levels. Additionally, that desire led me to learn about queer, antiracist, and anticolonial politics in an effort to better understand my own heritage as a mixed-race first-generation Colombian-American woman born in the United States. I see now how my long-term partners in relationships did provide me with a great deal of emotional support, and I am profoundly grateful for their care and patience. Often, being in a relationship with a trans woman can mean putting yourself into a small degree of the danger she is facing. On too many occasions to count, I had partners stand up for me verbally or even physically, putting themselves in harm’s way for my safety. Additionally, I had partners who provided emotional and financial stability through some of my most difficult times. I will never forget these kind acts of generosity. Today I am profoundly grateful for the healing I have found in the past few years. Once I was stable in my career, I was able to shift my focus to emotional healing. Thanks to a nonhierarchical, spiritual community of women that I encountered, I began to be able to see the connections between my childhood trauma, the violence I had experienced, and my own choices. I have, in recent years, finally been able to build a deep self-love and self-respect that I did not learn from queer communities or radical political communities, where I often felt further devalued, excluded, and objectified. I have found a refuge in people committed to healing, service, and sobriety, and this has given me the tools to question my desire and my part in putting myself in situations that caused me to feel devalued. By finding a supportive community, I have come to understand how my desires in intimate relationships have been shaped by trauma and have often re-created those traumas. I agreed to contribute to this anthology with the hope of sharing my experience and strength in finding new, healthy forms of desire and intimacy. Now I see that I have to actually love myself. Through devotion to self-care, meditation, and the practice of self-love and directing lovingkindness, or metta, toward myself, I am starting to feel a self-love that provides me a basis to feel love for others and receive love that is more than just validation. In her essay “Situated Knowledges,” Donna Haraway put it simply when she said “we are not immediately present to ourselves.”80 This is especially true for survivors of trauma and for people who have generations of trauma history, such as the traumas of alcoholism, abuse, war, and colonization.

• From The Great Believers (2018)

  Serge was cooking for the journalist who was coming to dinner, a woman from Libération. Fiona volunteered to chop something, and Serge set her up at the cutting board with a knife and six small onions. He said, “Women always like no-good men. Why is this?” “Maybe there aren’t any good men,” Fiona said. And then she said, “I don’t mean that.” Serge asked if she was surprised Kurt had been arrested. She supposed she was. She said, “I’m happy, actually. Is that odd? It’s—maybe it’s gratifying. That he got in trouble.” Not that she cared if Kurt was unhappy, but she wanted Claire to see it, how she’d hitched herself to the wrong adult. Richard excused himself to nap, and Serge put on some Neil Diamond and poured Fiona a glass of red wine she hadn’t asked for. Fiona prided herself on never tearing up over onions. A Marcus family ability, according to her father, and indeed Claire had proved impervious as well. Maybe the only thing the entire family had in common. Nora always claimed there were two distinct genetic strains in the family—the artistic one and the analytic one—and that you got one set of genes or the other. It was true that Fiona’s father, who had probably wanted to hand down his orthodontic practice one day, had absolutely no idea what to do with Nico, even before his sexuality came into play. Lloyd Marcus tried to turn his son into a chess player, tried to teach him to keep score at baseball games. All Nico wanted was to trace the comics out of the Sunday paper, draw spaceships and animals. It was their mother who’d tried, in her ineffectual way, to remind Lloyd that his Aunt Nora was an artist after all, and hadn’t there been a poet on the Cuban side of the family tree? But it fell to Nora to send Nico a camera for Christmas, a set of fine-tipped artist pens, a book of André Kertész photos. Nora would look at his work and critique it. Fiona herself had no artistic skill—her strength was in the thousand logistical necessities of running the resale shop—but when Claire came along, when she started sketching realistic horses at age five, when she sat at nine to draw the downtown skyline from memory, Fiona understood she was that kind of Marcus. The problem was that Nora and Nico were gone, the alleged poet long forgotten. There was no one to send her to for a weekend drawing lesson. Fiona did her best, buying her charcoal pencils and gummy erasers, taking her to museums. But she couldn’t give her what Nico had gotten from Nora. If Richard had stayed in Chicago, maybe he’d have filled that role. Serge said, “Richard is glad you’re here. He thinks you’re good luck for the show.” Fiona scraped the chopped onions into the bowl by the stove.

• From The Great Believers (2018)

  Claire flipped the plate over as if she were checking the price. A thoughtful, resigned silence. “You might not resolve this all in the gift shop,” Julian said. Claire said, “I can’t control where you live. If you move here, you move here.” It was as good as Fiona could hope to get from her, for now. “Can I interject something,” Julian said, “as we head for the escalators? Because it’s probably time to head for the escalators.” Claire blinked and put the plate down, and they walked out across the broad lobby. He said, “Everyone knows how short life is. Fiona and I know it especially. But no one ever talks about how long it is. And it’s—does that make sense? Every life is too short, even the long ones, but some people’s lives are too long as well. I mean—maybe that won’t make sense till you’re older.” He stepped onto the escalator first, and he rode backward to face them. He said, “If we could just be on earth at the same place and same time as everyone we loved, if we could be born together and die together, it would be so simple. And it’s not. But listen: You two are on the planet at the same time. You’re in the same place now. That’s a miracle. I just want to say that.” Claire was behind her, so Fiona couldn’t see her face, but she could feel her energy—she’d had so much practice, and it was all coming back—and at the very least, she could feel that Claire wasn’t annoyed, wasn’t rolling her eyes and wondering who this asshole was with his motivational speech. As for herself, she was grateful. She hadn’t remembered Julian being this smart, but she hadn’t been smart back then either. Thirty years could do a lot. They were nearing the top. “Turn around,” she said, “before you trip.” F 1992 or the first time in three weeks, he could breathe. Not well, but well enough that he could get out whole strings of words, whole thoughts and sentences. When he’d been so certain, only yesterday, that this was it, that each breath had only one or two more behind it. Part of him thought he should hoard each breath, save it for tomorrow, but mostly he wanted to talk while he still could, say things he wouldn’t be able to say later. Fiona was in the chair beside the bed. Eight months pregnant, barely, and still so small—if she’d worn a baggy enough shirt, you wouldn’t have known. When she got to nine months, she’d promised him, she wouldn’t risk the drive from Madison.

• From Cultish (2021)

  To my wonderful editors, Karen Rinaldi and Rebecca Raskin, for your continual belief and investment in me. And to the rest of my fabulous, enthusiastic Harper Wave team: Yelena Nesbit, Sophia Lauriello and Penny Makras. To my literary agent, Rachel Vogel, who actually belongs to the next evolutionary level above human. I feel so lucky to have you as a representative and friend. Big thanks as well to Olivia Blaustein, for your constant championing. And to my book launch guru Dan Blank, for “just adding the water.” To my inspiring, supportive family, to whom I owe everything: my parents, Craig and Denise, and my brother, Brandon. Thank you for passing on the curiosity and skepticism. Special thanks to you, Mom, for helping with the title. To you, Brandon, for reading and nitpicking. And to you, Dad, for the many riveting cult stories. As always, I wait on the edge of my seat for your memoir. To my sweet, encouraging friends, mentors, and creative collaborators, especially Racheli Alkobey, Isa Medina, Amanda Kohr, Koa Beck, Camille Perri, Keely Weiss, Azadeh Ghafari, Joey Soloway, and Rachel Wiegand. Rae Mae, can you believe that creepy conversation we had at Pioneer Cemetery in early 2018 actually became a book? Wild. To my wonderfully engaged community of Instagram “followers”: You make the internet feel like a decent place to be. To Katie Neuhof for the killer author photo, and to Lacausa Clothing and Sargeant PR for the incredible dress. To my right-hand woman, Kaitlyn McLintock—this book could not have happened without your dedication, reliability, and sunshiny mettle. To my faithful canine and feline assistants: Fiddle, Claire, and especially my buddy David. I couldn’t have gotten through this year without you, my coccolone. And finally, to Casey Kolb. My soul mate, best friend, duet partner, sounding board, quarantine-mate, and one-man fan club. If there were a cult of CK, I’d join in a heartbeat. NotesPart 1: Repeat After Me . . . i. head of all Western Sikhs : Steven Hassan, “The Disturbing Mainstream Connections of Yogi Bhajan,” Huffington Post , May 25, 2011, http://huffpost.com/entry/the-disturbing-mainstream_b_667026. their shopping bags : Chloe Metzger, “People Are Freaking Out Over This Shady Hidden Message on Lululemon Bags,” Marie Claire , October 11, 2017, https://www.marieclaire.com/beauty/a28684/lululemon-tote-bag-sunscreen/. ii. rubbernecking : SBG-TV, “Can’t Look Away from a Car Crash? Here’s Why (and How to Stop),” WTOV9, May 1, 2019, https://wtov9.com/features/drive-safe/cant-look-away-from-a-car-crash-heres-why-and-how-to-stop. iii. Civic engagement is at a record-breaking low” : Alain Sylvain, “Why Buying Into Pop Culture and Joining a Cult Is Basically the Same Thing,” Quartz, March 10, 2020, https://qz.com/1811751/the-psychology-behind-why-were-so-obsessed-with-pop-culture/. loneliness an “epidemic” : Neil Howe, “Millennials and the Loneliness Epidemic,” Forbes , May 3, 2019, https://www.forbes.com/sites/neilhowe/2019/05/03/millennials-and-the-loneliness-epidemic/?sh=74c901d57676. since the time of ancient humans : M. Shermer and S. J. Gould, Why People Believe Weird Things (New York: A. W. H. Freeman/Owl Book, 2007). feel-good chemicals : Jason R. Keeler et al., “The Neurochemistry and Social Flow of Singing: Bonding and Oxytocin,” Frontiers in Human Neuroscience 9 (September 23, 2015): 518, DOI: 10.3389/fnhum.2015.00518.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  The principles of harm reduction shaped my own substance use in ways I believe have kept me functional, moderate, and intentional in spite of my inherited legacy of, and tendency toward, addiction. They’ve also shaped the way I think of inviting other people into change and transformation. Here are some of the key principles of harm reduction from the Harm Reduction Coalition, which shaped my thinking: Accepts for better and or worse, that licit and illicit drug use is part of our world and chooses to work to minimize its harmful effects rather than simply ignore or condemn them.… Calls for the non-judgmental, non-coercive provision of services and resources to people who use drugs and the communities in which they live in order to assist them in reducing attendant harm.… Affirms drugs users themselves as the primary agents of reducing the harms of their drug use, and seeks to empower users to share information and support each other in strategies which meet their actual conditions of use. Recognizes that the realities of poverty, class, racism, social isolation, past trauma, sex-based discrimination and other social inequalities affect both people’s vulnerability to and capacity for effectively dealing with drug-related harm.71 I want to acknowledge early and often that pleasure is that “I’m alive” feeling that can intersect with addiction, control, coping, escape, trauma, and so many other experiences of harm. In my twenties, I lived in the grip of a stealthy depression that hid itself well. I did too much of everything and hid my true intake of drugs, alcohol, sugar, and tobacco. Even when I couldn’t find the right Alice in Wonderland cocktail, even when I was paranoid or lonely in my high, I was grateful for the options.72 I was and am so deeply moved by the Harm Reduction Coalition’s approach of nonjudgement, of dignifying humans responding to the harmful choices of our species, and the understanding that each person has to determine their own power and choose their own harm-reduction practices. Harm reduction is personal and can include active use or twelve-step abstinence. One time when I was high, as a young pothead, a new friend noticed the terror in my face and helped me break with the paranoia I used to experience by reciting this quote popularly attributed to Mark Twain: “I’ve lived through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” They told me to put my thoughts on what I wanted to happen. Since then, most of my high experiences have been amazing. If I notice paranoia or anxiety creeping in, I remind myself that my mind is not the world and the future hasn’t happened yet. I notice if I need to step away from others and recalibrate. I smoke much-higher-quality weed. And if all of that doesn’t work, I turn and ask the paranoia what it needs me to attend to.

• From Bestiary (2020)

  Thank you to my agent Julia Kardon for being my first supporter. You told me during our first phone call that we’d be team Year of the Tiger, and I’m so grateful to have you rooting for me. Thank you to my editors, Victory Matsui and Nicole Counts. Victory: Thank you for leading me to the tail and the holes, and for being the best reader I could possibly imagine. You asked me what my characters desired, and in writing those desires, I learned what I wanted, too. Nicole: Thank you for midwifing this story into the world, and for being the most incredible advocate. Your enthusiasm, generosity, and support mean everything to me. Whenever I doubt myself, I think about your comments in the margins of my manuscript. Thank you to everyone on the One World team for their support and brilliance: Chris Jackson, Cecil Flores, and so many others. Thank you to Dennis Ambrose for his copyediting expertise. And my deepest gratitude to Andrea Lau for designing the inside of the book, and to Michael Morris for giving me the cover of my dreams. Thank you to Rachel Rokicki, Claire Strickland, Jess Bonet, and the entire publicity and marketing team—your enthusiasm and creativity are an inspiration to me. Thank you to Mikaela Pedlow for your passion and support—I’m so grateful to the Harvill Secker team for their warm reception. Thank you to Deborah Sun De La Cruz and the Hamish Hamilton team—your enthusiasm for this book has buoyed me. My deep gratitude to Mei Lum and the entire W.O.W. family for welcoming me and for showing me the power of storytelling and intergenerational community. Thank you to Rattawut Lapcharoensap for your advice, support, and for all of our conversations, literary and otherwise—you saw things in my work that I didn’t even know were there. Thank you to Jennifer Tseng for reading a very messy early draft and seeing so much in it. Many, many thanks to Rachel Eliza Griffiths for reading my very first essay and telling me to write a whole book. I did, and it’s all because you believed I could. Thank you to Marilyn Chin, whose book made this one possible. And to Maxine Hong Kingston, Jessica Hagedorn, Toni Morrison, Dorothy Allison, Larissa Lai, Helen Oyeyemi, and so many more. Thank you to my Agong. You deserve everything. Thank you for your smile and the way you held your hands behind your back. I miss the paper pinwheels and the garden with the tree and the chili bushes. Wherever you are, I hope your pigeons are with you and that they’ve finally made it home. ABOUT THE AUTHOR K - M ING C HANG was born in the Year of the Tiger. She is a Kundiman Fellow.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  The idea of a religious year, in distinction from the natural and from the civil year, appears also in Judaism, and to some extent in the heathen world. It has its origin in the natural necessity of keeping alive and bringing to bear upon the people by public festivals the memory of great and good men and of prominent events. The Jewish ecclesiastical year was, like the whole Mosaic cultus, symbolical and typical. The Sabbath commemorated the creation and the typical redemption, and pointed forward to the resurrection and the true redemption, and thus to the Christian Sunday. The passover pointed to Easter, and the feast of harvest to the Christian Pentecost. The Jewish observance of these festivals originally bore an earnest, dignified, and significant character, but in the hands of Pharisaism it degenerated very largely into slavish Sabbatism and heartless ceremony, and provoked the denunciation of Christ and the apostles. The heathen festivals of the gods ran to the opposite extreme of excessive sensual indulgence and public vice.707 The peculiarity of the Christian year is, that it centres in the person and work of Jesus Christ, and is intended to minister to His glory. In its original idea it is a yearly representation of the leading events of the gospel history; a celebration of the birth, passion, and resurrection of Christ, and of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, to revive gratitude and devotion. This is the festival part, the semestre Domini. The other half, not festal, the semestre ecclesiae, is devoted to the exhibition of the life of the Christian church, its founding, its growth, and its consummation, both is a whole, and in its individual members, from the regeneration to the resurrection of the dead. The church year is, so to speak, a chronological confession of faith; a moving panorama of the great events of salvation; a dramatic exhibition of the gospel for the Christian people. It secures to every important article of faith its place in the cultus of the church, and conduces to wholeness and soundness of Christian doctrine, as against all unbalanced and erratic ideas.708 It serves to interweave religion with the, life of the people by continually recalling to the popular mind the most important events upon which our salvation rests, and by connecting them with the vicissitudes of the natural and the civil year. Yet, on the other hand, the gradual overloading of the church year, and the multiplication of saints’ days, greatly encouraged superstition and idleness, crowded the Sabbath and the leading festivals into the background, and subordinated the merits of Christ to the patronage of saints. The purification and simplification aimed at by the Reformation became an absolute necessity.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  Dani. I’m an only child, so my daughter doesn’t have biological aunties or uncles on my side. She has a fabulous aunt on her dad’s side. She also has you two, and that is incredibly important to me and to her. In January, when we all made the trek to Jodie’s home, adrienne came to me in Cincinnati to make it easier to take a long plane ride west with my daughter. That’s love. Jodie had toddler-proofed her home to make it easy for the little one to roam around and feel immediately comfortable, which she did. Because you both have been coming around since she was first born, she knows and loves you. So I was able to leave her with you two while I did work interviews. I can’t stress how huge this was, what a gift it was to me. amb. Your child is the gift. She is so smart and unique and self-determined and interesting. And watching the two of you together, the connection between you is palpable; this is how every child should be loved. Dani. And I love that you two just invite yourselves to come to Cincinnati to be with us. I may forget to issue a formal invitation, but without fail you’ll say, “Hey, how do these dates look for you?” And then you come and slide right into our rhythms and help me and love up on her. It has made parenting so much more joyful and doable. You’re a central part of the community that is encircling us with love and care, and I deeply appreciate that. AMB. I feel like each of us have said at different points that woeship has saved our lives—I know it’s saved mine. Could you share a story of how this connection has saved your life? Jodie. We create harm reduction spells around each other. Being able to intervene with trust and care for that person’s well-being. We have each other’s backs so hard. I text my woes to celebrate all the things, but I can also trust my woes’ judgment when I know I am struggling for perspective. I can share it, doesn’t matter what, and we can reflect on it. I told my woes about some of the bravest, and possibly pettiest, things I have ever done. I can forget that, but they will always remind me who I am. I am my best bio/chosen family member, ED, auntie, and lover because I work hard with my woes to be one.

• From The Art of Memoir

  Acknowledgments Wild gratitude to agent extraordinaire, Amanda Urban; HarperCollins publisher, Jonathan Burnham; and my incomparable editrix, Jennifer Barth, who steered me out of so many fogs. Final readers Mark Costello, Larissa MacFarquhar, and Geoffrey Wolff also kept me rowing when I was weary. All honor to your names. Appendix | Required Reading—Mostly Memoirs and Some Hybrids The asterisked memoirs are books I’ve taught. Does this mean they’re better written? Absolutely. *Adams, Henry. The Education of Henry Adams and Mont-Saint-Michel and Chartres. *Allende, Isabel. The Sum of Our Days. *Als, Hilton. The Women. Amis, Martin. Experience. *Angelou, Maya. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Antrim, Donald. The Afterlife. *Arenas, Reinaldo. Before Night Falls. Ayer, Pico. Falling Off the Map. *Saint Augustine. Confessions. Baldwin, James. Notes of a Native Son. *Batuman, Elif. The Possessed: Adventures with Russian Books and the People Who Read Them. *Beah, Ishmael. A Long Way Gone. Beck, Edward. God Underneath: Spiritual Memoirs of a Catholic Priest. *Bernhard, Thomas. Gathering Evidence. *Black Elk. Black Elk Speaks. Blow, Charles M. Fire Shut Up in My Bones. Bourdain, Anthony. Kitchen Confidential. Boyett, Micha. Found: A Story of Questions, Grace, and Everyday Prayer. Brave Bird, Mary. Lakota Woman. Brickhouse, Jamie. Dangerous When Wet. *Brown, Claude. Manchild in the Promised Land. *Buford, Bill. Among the Thugs and Heat. Burgess, Anthony. Little Wilson and Big God: Being the First Part of the Confessions of Anthony Burgess. Busch, Benjamin. Dust to Dust. Cairns, Scott. Short Trip to the Edge. Carr, David. The Night of the Gun. Carroll, James. Practicing Catholic. *Chaudhuri, Nirad C. The Autobiography of an Unknown Indian. *Chatwin, Bruce. In Patagonia. Chast, Roz. Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant? *Cheever, Susan. Home Before Dark.

• From Pleasure Activism (2017)

  There was a major ecstasy drug bust in the city, after which other things were packaged and sold as ecstasy, but it was speedy miserable stuff, so that was the end of that era. But by then I had found an amazing therapist who was ready to catch me when I jumped, and I began to talk. Later, I found somatics, authentic relationships, bodywork—I began to shake off the demons that trauma had left on me, in me. And the more I felt, the more I could see the numbness I had been living in, the majority of myself dormant, with just patches of bright. And I am so grateful for those patches, when I look back and see how they lit the way to this moment, this functional self, this growing sense of agency, this high that can be boosted with pills or drugs but exists outside of any alteration in my state: this pleasure. section five: Pleasure as Political Practice We are what we practice. We become what we do over and over again. In this chapter, we will look at practices beyond the realm of sex and drugs that are crucial for living into a pleasure politic. First we look at a series of practices for healing toward pleasure, how we practice intentional resilience and recover access to pleasure once harm has happened, or during illness. Then we will look at wholeness in movement spaces—how we bring to our justice work all of our fullness, our pleasures, our bodies, humor, fashion, music, everything we are. Finally we will look at how we craft liberated relationships. We can learn to fight for freedom and transformation with and for our romantic partners, our friends, our families. And we can bring that intention, and those practices, to everyone we meet, to every relationship, political, organizational, and intergenerational. 75 I often think about how fun it would be to be high with Rihanna. She gives me the impression that her head is on straight, that she prioritizes pleasure and fun and knowing her body, loving up her body. I also like how she stays in dignity, in her independence, in her hard work. Basically, I love Rihanna. #fentyforever #neverafailurealwaysalessonSub-section: The Politics of Healing Toward PleasureFor oppressed people to intentionally cultivate pleasure is an act of resistance. —Ingrid LaFleur Feeling from WithinA Life of Somatics For the past nine years, I have been learning to feel, to connect with others while feeling, and to begin to understand what is possible when a collective of humans is not afraid to feel life together.