A case for two types of vacations

I recently returned from a vacation to Maine with most of my family. Getting 11 people, ages 4 to 60 with varying levels of adventurousness and budget constraints, to agree on the same itinerary is nigh unto impossible, so we didn't attempt it.

Instead, everyone kind of did what they wanted to do, switching groups (or breaking off alone) as necessary. Two main vacation strategies emerged from this shuffle, resulting in two very different trips that took place at the same time, same place.

Vacation type 1: Rest and relaxation

We've all fantasized about perfect getaways when life wears us out. And I think for a lot of us, that getaway involves a whole lot of peace and quiet. Preferably somewhere pretty with reasonable temperatures.

For me, that "someplace pretty" looks a lot like this: tucked away from the world and surrounded by trees.

For those of us with R&R at the top of our vacation wishlists, Maine delivered. 

Imagine waking up to this view just outside your bedroom window every day. It's a lot better than looking at the back of your neighbor's house, that's for sure.

All I need for some good R&R is a cozy reading spot. This house had several. (A word to the wise: if you ever decide to Airbnb your house, a library is always a good idea.)

For those wondering, I read four books on this trip. Started and finished two and read about half of two others, totaling to about 1,100 pages. Complete and total book nerd wish fulfillment right there.

The hammock was also a popular reading spot, but it was hard to get a turn on it unless your name was Shannan.

Of course, relaxation doesn't have to take place indoors. One of the great things about Maine is that you don't have to choose between a mountain or beach for your relaxation. You get the best of both worlds in the same spot.

Your R&R will come to a painful end if you try to get in the freezing water though. But if the sound of the rushing waves is your jam, you can get that here.

I never really got used to being able to see the ocean from the mountains. It was a difficult concept for my desert brain to compute.

My number one priority in Maine, however, was to eat well. Because even the well rested needs to refuel. The food lived up to the hype and forever ruined me for normal food. Everything I've eaten since then has been disappointing.

It's okay to slow down for vacation and just rest. Sometimes that's what we need most from our hard-earned vacation days: a chance to heal.

Vacation type 2: Adventuring

If taking it easy sounds like a waste of your time off, might I offer another suggestion: adventures from sun-up till sun-down. After all, if you're going to visit a new place, you might as well explore every inch that you can and do stuff you wouldn't be able to do at home.

While I'm more the type to find great joy from staying home, I'm up for the occasional adventure. So I joined the Searles (aka, the adventure crew) for one of their hikes. Which basically amounted to rock climbing. Something I, a scaredy cat about heights, have never enjoyed.

I told myself that if my 8-year-old nephew could do it, then I could. Even though, let's be honest, my nephews are way braver than I am. But that mantra helped me hold on to some of my dignity while I was clinging to the hand rails.

I'm still a little mystified that I not only got through the hike, I enjoyed. Like, it was a highlight of the trip for me. Maybe it was because it wasn't a very tall mountain. Maybe it was because I always had something to hang on to. Maybe I was just too focused on climbing over boulders to ever look down and think about falling. 

The only regret from this trip is that we were there a few weeks too early for New England's famous fall leaves. But we saw more colors from this elevation than we did anywhere else.

Of course, any time we got to a spot that allowed us to spread out and take a break, I stayed as far away from the edge as possible. You don't have to stand at the edge of a cliff to enjoy a view, after all.

The Searles might disagree with that statement, but I stand by what I said. Where it's safe. Away from the edge.

I went on a couple hikes during girls camp that made me hate hiking, but after 20 years or so I've forgiven my young women leaders for their unintended lies about "easy" hikes and have been more open to the idea lately. After this hike, I was ready to go home and make it my new hobby.

Adventuring is about more than facing your fears, though. Sometimes all you need to do is explore. The Searles' exploration escapades led them to Thunder Hole, which is a hole in a rock that empties and fills up with water for all of eternity and makes a crash like thunder whenever a big wave comes in. It's mesmerizing to watch.

Hard to photograph properly, though.

This little spot had lots more boulders for my rock-climbing nephews to master, but by then my adventuring mood was waning with the sun, so I sat back to enjoy the view, ready to go back to my R&R sanctuary.

An attempt to compromise

There was one activity the relaxers, adventurers, and hermits all wanted to do: whale watching. But alas, it wasn't meant to be. Our first tour was canceled because the ocean was still too tumultuous from Hurricane Lee, and our second was canceled because the boat broke down. (While we were on it, might I add. But they turned around and took us back to the harbor before things could get interesting.)

Waiting for the boat to take off was thrilling.

The verdict

You've probably already picked a side regarding which type of vacation is best. But, as someone who did it both ways on this trip, I'm here to tell you that they're both great. And if you're looking for a place that appeals to lots of different personalities, I would give Bar Harbor, Maine 5 stars.

A temple for Saratoga Springs

Eight years ago, I watched from a distance as my secondary hometown, Payson, Utah, got a new temple. I attended the ground-breaking, open house, and dedication, so I suppose I was a more active participant than "watching from a distance" lets on, but I knew this wouldn't be a temple I visited regularly. When you live in Utah, an hour is more than most of us are willing to drive to get to a Latter-day Saint temple.

A few years later, another temple was announced for Utah County: Saratoga Springs. I lived in Midvale at the time and was happy to hear that new temples were getting a little closer to Salt Lake County (my temple, Jordan River, was always insanely busy), but didn't know at the time that this would one day be my hometown temple.

Construction started making real progress in 2020, after I'd lived in Eagle Mountain for two years and had made the field that separated the temple from my neighborhood one of my walking routes. 

I've been dreading the extra traffic on Redwood this temple will bring, but it's easy to see why they picked this spot for the temple. The view of the lake and mountains is spectacular.

While we were stuck in COVID limbo, construction on the Saratoga Springs Temple was one of the only things in my life that was progressing at all. Once those walls started to go up, I took a temple selfie every time I was out in that field to mark its progress. Having grown up in a semi-remote town that required a car to get anywhere, living within walking distance of something so majestic made me feel, well, cool. That's when it really started to feel like my temple. 

October 2020. Yes, I was ridiculously late to the wireless headphones party.

After some supply-chain delays, the open house finally started earlier this year, and lasted for 12 weeks, the longest open house in the history of the church. This gave me plenty of opportunities to volunteer. I provided background music in the chapel next door three or four times and served once as a counting usher. Of course I was happy to help with the music, but I was also excited to put one of my other natural gifts to good use as a counting usher: sitting silently in the corner. 

About halfway through the open house, my giant singles ward was split into three. I ended up in one of the new wards, helmed by none other than the guy who was in charge of the ushering committee at the open house, a role that was basically a full-time job and involved working with thousands of volunteers—not to mention visitors—every day. He and his wife got the call right there in the temple.

My entire bishopric, in fact—and their wives—was heavily involved with the open house ushering committee. Amidst the chaos of building a brand new ward from scratch, the bishopric arranged to give our ward a private tour of the temple, which would include walking through rooms that weren't part of the regular tour.

Despite the early start time—7:30 a.m. on a Saturday, before the regular tours started at 9—many of us jumped at the chance. I was especially looking forward to seeing the bride's room and the children's waiting area. (Mom, you would have LOVED the adorable, exquisite table and chairs in the children's waiting room.)

But I soon realized that the bishopric had more in mind than a special VIP tour. This truly was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Many wards do ward temple days, but most have never had the opportunity to book the entire temple for just their ward. To not only look around, but to be instructed and inspired by their leaders, like the early saints had done during Joseph Smith's time. 

We did. 

Seeing the stained glass windows and beautiful artwork (so much artwork!) and intricate architectural details is a sacred experience on its own. But it was the times we gathered together in the larger rooms that I'll remember most years from now. As we sat in a couple of the chapels, a sealing room, and an endowment room, each member of the bishopric and their wives took some time to bear their testimonies and share some of the miracles they had witnessed during the open house. Our brand-new Elder's Quorum and Relief Society presidents shared some thoughts as well. And when we were in the Celestial Room, we sat in silence for about 10 minutes, pondering and soaking in the sweet spirit that surrounded all of us.

It was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. One of those times where you don't just feel the Holy Ghost on the inside—you feel it outside of you too, in the very air around you. It was a feeling so all-encompassing it took days to wear off completely—I had an unusually good week after that, which are hard to come by in the summer.

If you need help finding me, I'm the one who's having the most trouble keeping my eyes open with the sun blasting us in the face. 

Latter-day Saint temples are more than beautiful edifices. They're not meant to be a status symbol, or a reminder of the church's wealth. They are literal houses of God, where we can feel peace and do work that has eternal significance. Even seeing the Saratoga Springs Temple when I'm driving around or out on my walks gives me hope. Temples dotting the earth are a blessing for everyone, and I'm excited to continue to be a part of the newest one in Saratoga Springs.

Temple lights + supermoon = pure awesomeness

How Harrison Ford became my grandpa

I'm not sure when I first noticed the resemblance. Possibly as early as 2013 when the Ender's Game movie came out, but it was probably around 2015, when all the Star Wars: Episode VII—The Force Awakens hoopla was happening. Harrison Ford was all over the place, in all his silver-haired glory.

In fact, it was the silver hair that finally clued me in to something I hadn't seen before: this man looked an awful lot like my grandpa.

It's true. All of it.

I mentioned the uncanny resemblance to my dad, and he agreed, saying, "He looks a lot like Grandpa Rushton." From his tone, I gathered that he had made this connection decades ago, but I was still reeling somewhat from the realization that one of Hollywood's most recognizable actors looked like someone in my own family. (An uncle and at least one cousin also got the Harrison Ford gene, so his legacy lives on in the Rushton line.) 

The resemblance only grows as Harrison Ford (80) approaches the age my grandpa was when he died (84). This week, I started watching Shrinking on Apple TV, which has been a bizarre experience. My sharpest memories of Grandpa Rushton are from the end of his life, so watching current-day Harrison Ford onscreen is like watching my grandpa live an alternate life, one where he still has Parkinson's but is spared Alzheimer's, and is a therapist into his old age.

What Harrison Ford looks like now.

What Grandpa Rushton looked like then.

Now, you might be thinking that there's some resemblance there. The white hair, obviously. The sort of crooked smile. The similar jaw structure. But it's not like they're identical. 

But that's the funny thing about memory. Our memories change over time, and if you go long enough without seeing someone, you might start thinking you have a special connection to some guy you've never met, simply because he reminds you of someone you've lost.

Malcolm Gladwell did a Revisionist History episode about memory once. He used 9/11, an event everyone over the age of 25 remembers, to illustrate how our memories aren't as reliable as we think they are. 

Researchers conducted surveys of what people remembered about the 9/11 attacks. They compiled their first set of answers a week after the attacks, then again a year after, three years after, and 10 years after. And while people were confident that their memories of that day were accurate, the data told a different story. Often, the accounts from the first week were different from accounts documented years later.

I've seen this phenomena play out in my life. My brother said for years that he got in his infamous bike accident on 9/11. He crashed his bike, the road scuffed up his face, our neighbor rescued him, and then he drank bean and bacon soup through a straw until the swelling in his bottom lip went down.

His telling never seemed quite right to me though, so I dug out my journal from that day and had one of my very first "Well, actually" moments. Because I documented this traumatic event the day it happened, I captured important details my brother hadn't retained—like the date. It was the following Tuesday, September 18, not September 11. He probably just saw the Twin Towers news coverage on TV at our neighbor's house and merged the two events together.

Grandpa Rushton died when I was 18, and I don't remember a whole lot from before he had Alzheimer's. Still, he's a solid presence in a lot of memories of Christmas parties, 4th of July gatherings, and softball games (he had an umbrella hat!).

But sometimes I think I might be merging my memories of Grandpa Rushton with his real-life doppelgänger. Was Grandpa actually a crusty old guy, or do I only think that because some guy who looks like him often plays the crusty old guy on TV? Did Grandpa Rushton actually have a crooked smile, or is Harrison Ford's smile just filling in the holes in my memory? Was Grandpa Rushton really the kind of person who makes snarky comments, or do I just think that because I've seen Harrison Ford make snarky comments in interviews?

It can be hard to separate the two, but I think I've come to a compromise. I have four grandpas now, not three. Grandpa Rushton, Grandpa Jackson, Grandpa Bill . . . and Harrison Ford.

A gift that never expires

A few years ago, my sister invited me over to her house for dinner. When I arrived, my nephew answered the door. He looked up at me with his big blue eyes and said, "You were gone too long."

It had been eight days. A blink-and-you'll-miss-it amount of time for me, but a long wait for a three-year-old.

I've thought about this moment a lot since then. And not just because it's one of the sweetest things a niece or nephew has ever said to me. It reminds me of the kind of love our Father in Heaven has for us. 

My relationship with God is, in many ways, a relationship like any other. I update him on my life. Ask for favors. Tell him I need my space. Get frustrated about our communication issues. 

It's also unlike any other relationship I've had. God asks far more of me than anyone else does. He's always trying to teach me a lesson and is often slow to answer prayers, which leads to a lot of resentment and anger on my end. Sometimes it feels like the only healthy thing to do is break up with him and strike out on my own. Find new friends who don't make me work so hard.

I always end up coming back, though. I agree with what Pres. Russell M. Nelson said at the October 2022 General Conference: "The truth is that it is much more exhausting to seek happiness where you can never find it! However, when you yoke yourself to Jesus Christ and do the spiritual work required to overcome the world, He, and He alone, does have the power to lift you above the pull of this world."

The coolest part of having a relationship with God is that he doesn't care how many times we've cast him off. He's not keeping track of how many chances we have left. He doesn't get annoyed that the lessons he's trying to teach us don't seem to stick for long.

And he notices how long we've been gone, even if we don't. And for him, it's always too long, even though he understands why we're keeping our distance.

So like my nephew did that day, he waits at the door for our knock. And when that knock finally comes, he opens the door right away. Not with a rebuke and an "I told you so," but with a hug and an invitation to sit by him at the dinner table.

We're not perfect, but God's love for us is. There aren't a lot of things we can count on in this world, but God's love is a gift that never expires.

828 days

The last time I updated this blog, we were all talking about the results of the 2020 election and the Covid vaccine, which wasn't yet available for the general public. I was eagerly awaiting the season 2 premiere of Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist and preparing myself to return to an unfulfilling job after a rejuvenating Christmas break. It was the day before my last grandparent died and a week before I found my first gray hair.

I didn't expect to come back.

In fact, last summer I officially declared my blog dead. Cause of death: not enough creativity and passion to keep it going. I was no longer a person who wrote for fun. So I compiled the last few years of posts into a book to store next to my other blog books, a relic of my past that I could remember fondly but couldn't revive.

I like to blame Covid for killing my creative mojo, but it really started about a year earlier due to a job that was sucking the life out of me. Then Covid came along and finished the job. Career angst followed by a pandemic did a real number on my mental health, and after a while I accepted that I was permanently altered. I had evolved to be the type of person who enjoys others' creations but doesn't create any of my own. 

Halfway through 2021, things started to get better. The world was opening up again, adding some much-needed variety to my life that had become a comfortable form of solitary confinement. I got a new job that was enjoyable and fulfilling, with management that valued me for my strengths rather than dismissed me because of my weaknesses. I went back to a singles ward.

I made the changes I needed to get my life back on track, and my life significantly improved. I was more well-rested than I'd ever been as an adult due to my work-from-home lifestyle. I went on a few dates. My hair may have started turning gray, but it was also curlier than ever due to not needing to straighten it into submission as often. I could watch sports with real people in the background rather than cardboard cut-outs and glitchy Zoom attendees. 

While all of this improved my mental state, it wasn't enough to re-light that creative spark. I could do enough to stay employed, but nothing more. Which wasn't the worst side effect of two years of pandemic living, all things considered. I was painfully aware of how much worse things could be, so I accepted that I had different priorities now and moved on.  

Things continued to improve in 2022. After my carefully-thought-out New Year's resolutions in 2020 were blown to bits, I was hesitant to make optimistic plans again, but I did make one resolution for 2022: spend less time alone. 

So I joined my ward choir. I dubbed Wednesday my mandatory, midweek get-out-of-the-house day, which usually involved either going in to the office or going out to lunch. I became a regular at institute. I tried to take advantage of the fact that my whole family lives within an hour's drive of me and, like, hang out with them more. 

I did big things, too. I signed up for BYU's organ workshop so I could check "learn to play the organ" off my bucket list, and basically had the best week of my life pretending to be a BYU student again. (This is what book nerds do for fun when they aren't reading.) I joined the Stadium of Fire Chorus partly so I'd get a free ticket to see Tim McGraw, partly so I could use "I was once a backup singer for Marie Osmond" the next time I got roped into a Two Truths and a Lie game, and partly to stay busy so I could stay on top of my seasonal depression tendencies. (I am one of those special people who gets it during the summer, rather than the winter.) I went on vacation with my family and checked off another item on my bucket list: "go river rafting." (This was sadly a disappointing experience. I think everyone in my party would agree that it was a huge pain in the butt.) I went on a few more dates, tried a few new dating apps, and then swore off dating apps forever for the 80th time. 

I was happier than I'd been in years, and that little creative spark even flickered from time to time. My boss's comments on my writing at work changed from "You're a great technical writer, but can you make this more exciting/creative?" to "Looks good!" on pretty much everything. I started entertaining the possibility of starting a brand new blog, one with an actual focus and a URL that makes sense to people outside my family.

Of course, this put me up against an old foe of mine: laziness. Starting a new website is a lot of work; I didn't have the energy for that and the writing. So, again, I accepted that I wasn't really a creative person anymore anyway, and focused on the good thing my life had become despite what I lost during Covid.

Which brings me to 2023. So far, my only real complaint about this year has been the always-winter-and-never-Christmas time warp we're stuck in. Like, this week ski resorts in Utah had to close because there was too much snow. In APRIL. Usually snow makes me positively giddy, but breaking all the records this winter kind of broke me too.

But while I've been bundled up for cold evening walks or enduring more treadmill workouts of doom in my depressing basement, I've noticed something a little different about myself the past few months. I spend more time thinking about all the things than I do listening to my favorite podcasts, the ones I'm only allowed to listen to when I work out. Even more annoyingly, I've been losing sleep at night because my brain won't stop constructing sentences and paragraphs out of all those thoughts.

I haven't felt this way in years. It was all this overthinking, in fact, that inspired me to start this blog in the first place, 13 years ago. I told people it was meant to be a creative outlet, but I really just needed something to help me sleep at night.  

Last night as I was ruminating on my creative journey the past few years (and definitely NOT sleeping), I felt like I was reverting back to my fresh-from-college self. But it didn't feel like backsliding. It was more like my brain was demanding that I make room for something I used to love, now that it doesn't have to work so hard to keep me mentally neutral.

A lot can happen in 828 days. You can lose a part of yourself, grow in other ways to fill the void, and then bring something you thought was gone for good back to life.

So here I am, back in the blogging space. It may not be the most sophisticated platform, it may not be the most relevant or respectable hobby, but I'm reclaiming this space anyway. Not just because my journal is no longer cutting it as a way to get thoughts out of my head, but because writing has, against all odds, become fun again. As in, you-don't-have-to-pay-me-to-do-this fun. 

It's a nice feeling. One that I hope lasts.

2020 books: Easy reading for a hard year

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the year of 2020 sucked. 

That's why my 2020 reading year was all about escapism. I did not challenge myself. I didn't learn anything new. I didn't "make the most of my free time" by tackling all 950 books on my TBR (to be read) list. (I did, however, finally get to a lot of the TV shows I've been meaning to watch for years, so at least I can say I accomplished something worthwhile.) 

This year I simply needed to be entertained. Distracted. Which for me meant a lot of chick lit, a lot of fantasy, and a lot of re-reads. 2020 was a blacked-out Bingo card of Bad Things, but at least the books were good.

Let's get to it.

Goal: 52

Books read: 87

Pages read: 38,765 (446 pages per book, 81 pages per day)

This stat really surprised me. Last year was my banner book year at 101 books read, but this year I surpassed last year's page count by a couple thousand. All year I thought the pandemic hadn't affected my reading volume that much, when in reality I read more pages than I've ever read in a single year. See the next stat.

Longest book: The Fiery Cross by Diana Gabaldon (1,443 pages)

But Brandon Sanderson's Rhythm of War deserves a shoutout too. It's "only" 1,232 pages, but I'm pretty sure the word count is higher. 

18 of the books I read this year were over 500 pages. Length does not intimidate me. 

Shortest book: Redhead by the Side of the Road by Anne Tyler (192 pages)

Weirdly, this book shares a similarity with the two books above: slow plot progression. It was a quick read, just not heavy on plot. 

First reads: 68

Rereads: 19

Books not finished: 14

Another pandemic effect on my reading was that for months I had a reeeeeally hard time focusing, especially during the summer. So if a book didn't grab me right away or required too much concentration, I tossed it.*

Really surprised I only abandoned 14 books. It felt like much more than that.

*I only count the books I finished as "read" for the year. So these 14 books aren't included in any of my stats except this one.

Ratings

I wasn't as willing to settle for mediocre or difficult books this year, so naturally my ratings are higher than usual.

Fiction vs. nonfiction

Not a lot of nonfiction this year. Reality isn't an escapist destination of mine.

Speaking of destinations, this year I tracked the settings of the books I read (when the setting was relevant). This isn't a bad overview of places I turn to when I want to get away from reality.

This graphic is hard to read so here are the highlights: US (54%), UK (17%), Hogwarts (8%), other/unnamed fantasy world (8%), the Middle East (3%), Sweden/Russia/Panem/Mexico/Middle Earth/Switzerland/France/Roshar (1%).

Male vs. female

I think 2020 was the most female-heavy year I've had since I started doing these yearly recaps. Probably because of all the chick lit I read. (I don't love the term "chick lit," but for simplicity's sake I'm going to use it anyway. Just know that I don't consider chick lit a mere guilty pleasure but rather a genre that has produced some really great writing and stories.)   

Where all these books came from

Another area where the pandemic effect comes through. With libraries being closed for a couple months and then having to wait much longer for holds to become available, I turned to my wallet quite a bit more for my book needs. 

Plus I was trying to keep independent bookstores in business by myself. I'm proud to say that none of the books I read this year were purchased from Amazon.

A quick plug on book subscriptions: they are my favorite gifts to give myself. If you're looking for ways to bump up your reading, the Book of the Month Club usually has some great selections (two of my top fiction picks came from this subscription). Peace and Pages is a fun one if you want the book to be a surprise—you also get some other goodies with it!

Favorite book, fiction

You're getting three books this year. Each checked all the boxes for a perfect-for-me book:

• Great writing
• Complex and interesting characters
• Relatable in an unexpected way, made me see the world in a new way, or made me feel things deep inside my soul
• Satisfying ending (which doesn't necessarily mean a happy one)

The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow

Literature is full of doors acting as portals to other worlds. That concept is beautifully explored in this novel.

Anxious People by Fredrik Backman

This book is marketed as a bank robbery that goes comically wrong, but it's really about adults who are failing at adulting in some way. This year, more than any other, I often felt like I wasn't measuring up. Backman captures the fears and anxieties—big or small—that may lie dormant at times but never leave you. Every few pages I found myself thinking, "This book gets me," or "Oh, good. I'm not the only one."

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab

Addie Larue makes an ill-advised deal with the devil that grants her immortality, but with a price: no one will remember her. Schwab doesn't hold back on exploring the heartbreak of this kind of life, but Addie finds a freedom in it, too. Of all the superpowers I've considered for my hypothetical superhero life, invisibility has the strongest pull for me. When you're invisible, you don't have to act the way society expects you to act. You can go where you're not supposed to go. Find safety from social anxieties and real-life demons. Try things you would never have the guts to do with someone's eyes on you. This book really made me think about what makes life worth living and the sacrifices you have to make to keep what's most important. 

Favorite book, nonfiction: Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise by Ruth Reichl

If you don't count my road trip to the Grand Canyon, I ate inside a restaurant just 2-3 times this year. Reading this book during dine-in and travel restrictions only made me yearn to travel more, but it also helped fill the void. Reichl's food descriptions are so good you can taste the food along with her, and the disguises/personas she created whenever she went out to eat were fun as well. A very well written, entertaining, comforting read. 

Favorite reread: The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh

This book has all the qualities my top fiction picks have. I picked it up again because I remembered being fascinated that each flower has a meaning, but I got much more than that the second time. This is a story about a young girl who triumphs, despite everything in her past working against her. It's a difficult book at times, but a hopeful one.

Book recommendations for every pandemic mood

The books I read this year directly correlated with whatever pandemic mood I was experiencing at the time. Here are some of the highlights.

Let's all make bread: Little Beach Street Bakery by Jenny Colgan

Not to brag or anything, but I've been making bread for years. So when it became everyone's favorite hobby this spring it was super irritating because I couldn't buy yeast for two months. But, I get it. Everything about bread-making is comforting: the labor, the taste, the smell, the trial-and-error learning process. The Little Beach Street Bakery series is about a woman who loses everything—her job, her house and car, her boyfriend—and moves to a tiny Cornish town by the sea to open her own bakery. Through her I got to live my fantasy of leaving the corporate world forever for a simpler, more charming one, and it helped me get through the worst month of my life. 

Novice gardening: The Garden of Small Beginnings by Abbi Waxman

While I was making bread before it was cool, I did jump on the gardening bandwagon this year. My backyard is about the size of a sandbox, so I haven't done anything with it except let the weeds take over.

Summer 2019

So I joined the throng of people flooding Home Depot's website to do something about my weed patch. Armed with long sleeves, gloves, and allergy medication, I waged battle on those weeds and won. It was a lot more work than I anticipated and it took my back weeks to recover (which was less time than it took my back to mostly recover from sitting on a bad chair during that first month of working from home, go figure). But in the end I had an obviously-not-professionally-done woodchip "backyard" to enjoy while I read outside on those glorious summer nights. 

Summer 2020

Around this time I also read a book about a character who joins a gardening club as a way to help her work through the grief of losing her husband a few years earlier. Manual labor is a gift in situations like these, whether you're mourning the loss of a loved one or the loss of normal life. It puts you to work, keeps your hands busy and your mind engaged on a simple task. It certainly helped me get through part of a really rough summer.

(If you are bookishly nerdy at all, I highly recommend Abbi Waxman's next book, The Bookish Life of Nina Hill. It's funny and relatable in the most delightful ways. And it confirms my theory that introverts are the funniest people.)

A yearning to travel: The Winter Sea by Susanna Kearsley

Garlic and Sapphires is the obvious pick for this category, but since I already talked about it here's another book that made me want to travel (to Scotland, specifically). It's a book about a writer. She stays in a cottage in Scotland and writes, and when she's not writing she's meeting handsome Scottish men. I cannot tell you how deeply I envied her non-traditional work life. Most of us have to sell our souls to the 9-to-5 corporate life to acquire and sustain independence—a steep price that's worth the cost, however much it sucks at times. Traveling temporarily frees you from whatever keeps you tied down, and this book make me yearn for that freedom.

I am under house arrest: Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

I've spent most of my year alone. I live alone, work from home, and don't have many social opportunities these days. I'd still say quarantining alone is 1,000 times better than quarantining with roommates—even quarantining with family would be difficult—but it's had its challenges. Too much time with my own thoughts, going a little crazy, time passing differently, that kind of thing. Piranesi is about a guy trapped in a strange house all by himself, and even though this wasn't written to be a quarantine novel, the novel captures the essence of what it's like to be trapped inside a familiar space while the world outside rages with uncertainty. Really strange but cool book.

Escape to a simpler time: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

I'm not an Austenite, but I do have an academic appreciation for her work. This year I pulled out my Austen anthology because I wanted to go to a simpler world with simpler problems. And I actually enjoyed it for its entertainment value, rather than just as a literary classic! Jane Austen is a clever, funny lady.

Understanding the darker side of humanity: Talking to Strangers: What We Should Know About the People We Don't Know by Malcolm Gladwell

Books on racism and social issues surged this year, but I wasn't one of the many people seeking those books out. The civil unrest I saw in the news every day maxed me out. This book was the exception. Gladwell makes some fascinating points about how bad we are at judging people based on first impressions, which leads to some disturbing situations. This is the book that opened my eyes to the prejudices I have that I didn't realize I had. Highly recommended.

I wish time would go by faster: The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown

I don't read a lot of thrillers and crime novels, but I went through a "just give me lots of action" phase this summer. The way time dragged in 2020 probably had something to do with it. I couldn't force this horrible year to skip to the end, but I could distract myself with books where lots of stuff happens. Most of the thrillers I attempted I abandoned, but I really enjoyed revisiting The Da Vinci Code. English major snobs like me don't have a lot of love for Dan Brown, but I'm not ashamed to admit I like this book. The symbology stuff is fascinating.

Just take me to a whole new world: The Daevabad trilogy by S.A. Chakraborty (City of Brass, Kingdom of Copper, and Empire of Gold)

Technically these books didn't take me off of planet Earth. They take place in the Middle East, but inside hidden cities only magical beings know about. So it counts. This is one of the best new fantasies I've found in a long time. It takes a little effort to learn the world (at least, it does when your pandemic brain doesn't want to focus), but it ends up being a unique, fun, and diverting reading experience.

All the 2020 books (my favorites are bolded):

1. The Winter Sea, Susanna Kearsley
2. Terror in Paris, Dave Admire
3. The Ten Thousand Doors of January, Alix E. Harrow
4. Black Tide, Brett Diffley
5. Black Dawn, Brett Diffley
6. Abigail Adams, Woody Holton
7. Until the Iris Bloom, Tina Olton
8. A Noble Story, David Drayer
9. Something Fierce, David Drayer
10. The Shortest Way Home, Elaine Reidy
11. Little Beach Street Bakery, Jenny Colgan
12. Pearl Tail, M.A. Burk
13. Someday, Someday, Maybe, Lauren Graham
14. Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery, Jenny Colgan
15. Tuesday's Child, Carolyn Gibbs
16. Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery, Jenny Colgan
17. The Fiery Cross, Diana Gabaldon
18. Writers and Lovers, Lily King
19. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling
20. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, J.K. Rowling
21. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, J.K. Rowling
22. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J.K. Rowling
23. The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien
24. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, J.K. Rowling
25. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J.K. Rowling
26. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling
27. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
28. In Five Years, Rebecca Serle
29. Talking to Strangers: What We Should Know About the People We Don't Know, Malcolm Gladwell
30. Beach Read, Emily Henry
31. The Night the Lights Went Out, Karen White
32. I Miss You When I Blink: Dispatches from a Relatively Ordinary Life, Mary Laura Philpott
33. The Dream Daughter, Diane Chamberlain
34. The Body: A Guide for Occupants, Bill Bryson
35. The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown
36. A Million Junes, Emily Henry
37. I'd Give Anything, Marisa de los Santos
38. Redhead by the Side of the Road, Anne Tyler
39. A Breath of Snow and Ashes, Diana Gabaldon
40. The Last Flight, Julie Clark
41. The Perfect Couple, Elin Hilderbrand
42. The Infinite Atonement, Tad R. Callister
43. The Splendid and the Vile: A Saga of Churchill, Family, and Defiance During the Blitz, Erik Larson
44. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, Suzanne Collins
45. Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise, Ruth Reichl
46. Garden Spells, Sarah Addison Allen
47. The Last to See Me, M Dressler
48. The Bookish Life of Nina Hill, Abbi Waxman
49. The Garden of Small Beginnings, Abbi Waxman
50. The House in the Cerulean Sea, T.J. Klune
51. The City of Brass, S.A. Chakraborty
52. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
53. Midnight Sun, Stephenie Meyer
54. Summers at Castle Auburn, Sharon Shinn
55. Princess Academy, Shannon Hale
56. Palace of Stone, Shannon Hale
57. The Forgotten Sisters, Shannon Hale
58. Why We Sleep: Unblocking the Power of Sleep and Dreams, Matthew Walker
59. Storm Front, Jim Butcher
60. Fool Moon, Jim Butcher
61. Anxious People, Fredrik Backman
62. The Language of Flowers, Vanessa Diffenbaugh
63. A Gentleman in Moscow, Amor Towles
64. Heidi, Johanna Spyri
65. Kind of a Big Deal, Shannon Hale
66. Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia
67. One to Watch, Kate Stayman-London
68. Solutions and Other Problems, Allie Brosh
69. 28 Summers, Elin Hilderbrand
70. Valiant Ambition: George Washington, Benedict Arnold, and the Fate of the American Revolution, Nathaniel Philbrick
71. No Unhallowed Hand: 1846-1893, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
72. A Deadly Education, Naomi Novik
73. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, V.E. Schwab
74. The Kingdom of Copper by S.A. Chakraborty
75. The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester
76. The Empire of Gold by S.A. Chakraborty
77. Piranesi by Susanna Clarke
78. The Jane Austen Society by Natalie Jenner
79. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Charlotte Bronte
80. Rhythm of War by Brandon Sanderson
81. In a Holidaze by Christina Lauren
82. Winter Street by Elin Hilderbrand
83. Winter Stroll by Elin Hilderbrand
84. Uprooted by Naomi Novik
85. Winter Storms by Elin Hilderbrand
86. This Time Next Year by Sophie Cousens
87. Intertwine by Nichole Van

Previous years:

2019
2018
2017

2016
2015
2014
2013
2012

A silent summer

 Hello darkness, my old friend.

That's how I greeted most mornings during the Covid summer of 2020. It's the opening line of a song everybody but me knew, "The Sound of Silence," until a TV show educated me. It's been reverberating in my brain ever since I heard it on Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist in April. It haunts the silence of my quarantined life.

Working from home full time while living alone was never a lifestyle I wanted. It's the main reason I never seriously pursued a full-time freelance career because that much aloneness, even for someone who is 92% introverted, is not a healthy way to live. But as a society we've decided that the only definition of health that matters right now is being virus free. 

So my life entered a silence I've never experienced before. The pandemic took away most of my reasons to leave the house and all the variety that comes with each excursion. Live TV entertainment went away for a while, unless you were desperate enough to watch corn hole or golf. (I was not.)

Something had to fill that void, and the void was too big for me to fill with hobbies, exercise, and family visits. 

"Fools," said I, "You do now know
Silence, like a cancer grows"

I had a job, my health, my family, and my faith. A solid foundation for a good, happy life. But the quarantine lifestyle hampered my ability to focus, to be content, to find any silver lining. I wanted to create and learn during my quasi house arrest, but that meant facing the nihilistic boredom first. Something I did not have the energy for.

People writing songs that voices never share

Life was about surviving now, not living. 

But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

These are not silent times we live in; we've been shouting at each other for months about masks and Black Lives Matter and the 2020 election. 

People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening

The silence I'm talking about isn't a simple lack of noise. It's merely the result of exchanging a complete life for a lonely, unfulfilling one. Our weapon against COVID-19 demands that we do something humanity is not evolved to do: stay away from each other. For months. And months and months. 

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone

This kind of silence consumes you, defines your very existence. 

Until one day you start to believe what you've been telling yourself all along: this, too, will end. Nothing on this earth lasts forever. Not happiness, not suffering.

The song that narrated your life will become a memento of your past. Your favorite season will begin and you'll start talking about the hard times in the past tense. You'll finish the blog post you've been writing for weeks.

You'll find that you can, in fact, manage the silence, even if your situation is unchangeable. And, like this flower in my home-office window, reach through the shadows for the life-giving light.