Signs and symbols / writing in the present

Sunday musings, prompts for week 2 of Illustrate Your Week, and a read-along.

There is comfort in the chanting, in the simple hope and faith that we can create something soft and beautiful, mystical, magical, or whimsical to carry through the days as a touchstone of focus, of meaning, and of living. There is comfort in this possibility.

Hello and happy Sunday.

The week has slipped by. The juggling and piecing together of time feels scattered. Mid week I started to worry about what I would write for today on the heels of putting together the first week of the Sidewalk Oracles read-along notes. I don’t want to let anyone down.

Today is a light day. The bit of story, the lights coming on in the night, is tucked away in the read-along notes. Even if you aren’t planning to read the book, I hope you might hop over to the Week 1 page.

The book, the stories of signs and symbols in my week, and a conversation by the lake have been on my mind.

🎡 In thinking about synchronicity, especially at this time of year when “word of the year” talk is swirling here and there, I thought about several years ago when I first read The Wander Society by Kerri Smith. (🎧 Episode 232: Wander)

I remember the thick feeling of mystery and intrigue, a deep fog I walked around in as I struggled to sort out what was real and what was fiction. The book, and what turned out to be a year of wander, was such a powerful experience, one that pushed me out of my comfort zone, forced me to rethink and open my eyes in ways I didn’t expect.

This is always what we hope for from a year, from a new experience, from a journey, from a word or mantra or affirmation held closely, uttered and repeated, right? There is comfort in the chanting, in the simple hope and faith that we can create something soft and beautiful, mystical, magical, or whimsical to carry as a touchstone of focus, of meaning, and of living. There is comfort in this possibility.

Finding and tracking these touchstones and guideposts may be the journey that helps us move through days, weeks, and years. That this journey is sometimes hidden, something we ponder quietly or alone, or a path we walk parallel to the main road of our lives adds to the aura but also to the feeling of disjunct. That there may be a merging of paths ahead, a way to bring living and hoping onto the same road, mossy-lined or yellow-bricked or spongy playground blue, whichever you find most comforting, is a wish.

You’ve probably seen those puzzle posts, where a bunch of match sticks are presented, and you are asked to move just one or two to create a different shape or a certain number. Out of a set tableau, you realize that you can look differently, and with just a few micro movements bring about change.  I think sometimes that is exactly the position we find ourselves in. We stand at a threshold or on the precipice, and we have the opportunity to step into change. But it takes a willingness to go beyond.

As I prepared my words for today, later than usual, things are in flux. I had hoped to do certain things as visits wind down, but we are caught again in constant waiting, in hand wringing, and in worry. In a few days, the house will have emptied. The visitors will have returned to their lives. I know how lonely it is going to feel, how time will expand, how the quiet will descend.

Week 1 Illustrate Your Week

I usually post my illustrated journal pages on Sunday at Instagram. My weeks run Sunday-Saturday, and there are elements I tend to record on Saturday, including my weekly self-portrait. My pages are still in progress each week as I finalize this post.

Here is a glimpse of one of the spreads from Week 1 of #illustrateyourweek for 2024.

I drew the portrait of the woman and the dog (based on a Sktchy Museum app muse) while drawing with people on New Year’s Eve (via Zoom).

Mindful Lines

When I thought about this week and about my hope to continue to put digital panels into the mix, I opened up a panel I had started previously when writing about seeing a ginkgo at my feet. That day, now almost two months gone, I thought things were getting better, that we had come through the weeks and would have a span of recovery, of normalcy. It didn’t work out that way.

It is better not to second guess the unfolding.

As a writer, there is irony in the fact that over and over again, day by day or once a week, I pull out a singular moment, a few fragments of glass or chipped pottery, and I give them meaning. I dig into the tiniest of things and make them seem big. I celebrate the little shards on their own as well as part of an overall tapestry. But often, the next day or week or even hour, things change, and the meaning elucidated in words, in the rhythms of a poem, shifts, a kaleidoscope that takes on new meaning with each twist.

It may be better not to second guess the unfolding, but to live and write in the present is to embrace the moments, interpret them as they come, and hope.

When I opened the ginkgo panel, it felt peaceful. In the time that night, very late, that I might should have spent writing, I sat and mindfully and methodically filled spaces with circles. All that mattered was the soothing feeling of adding circles, one by one, around the ginkgo. Then I drew a night heron next to it. The night heron appears in my illustrated journal this week, too. (Panels shown at the top of this post.)

Read-Along

If you are interested in reading Sidewalk Oracles:

• Timeline

• Week 1

Illustrate Your Week

If you haven’t considered keeping an illustrated journal, or you are still trying to get started, I encourage you to grab a sketchbook or journal and just make a note today.

🎯🖋️ The Week 2 prompts for Illustrate Your Week are available.

Made It?

I realize I write too much. My posts are too long. I seem to talk sideways. I think my intent is often missed. The arrow doesn’t always fly true.

The relationship with a reader is something I think about.

Ultimately, I know that we are accelerating to an end point in my house. At that point, everything will begin to crumble. I know that my need to write my way through it will be the only hope I have.

Thank you for reading.

Your comments are a special part of each weekly post. I have made a habit of inviting comments in playful ways. Maybe that has gotten old. Maybe it distracts from the post itself. But I do invite you to comment in whatever way works for you. Here are some nudges this week:

• Three words that begin with H.

• Your favorite hour (by number) of the day.

• One book you plan to read this month (not including the read-along).

I want to say thank you to those who have recently shifted to paid subscriptions. I am so appreciative of your support.

PS - I am reading War and Peace as part of the 2024 Footnotes and Tangents read-along. I am immensely enjoying it. I have a Notion tracker set up, and I’m currently reading an e-book copy that I have pulled into Goodnotes, which makes it easy to annotate and highlight as I read. I’m enjoying the whole process so much that I am considering Simon’s other read-along, too, the Cromwell Trilogy (which starts with Wolf Hall) by Hilary Mantel. I read the first chapter today and found it really engaging. (I’m not a fan of historical fiction, so both of these are unusual picks for me.)

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