Even though we knew we couldn’t get into the onsite events at AWP, Victoria Flynn and I went to Chicago last weekend anyway. We had a hotel. We had ambition. And, my goodness, we had a great time.
Lesson One: Whenever you can, take the train.
There’s something romantic about boarding the train, about climbing the narrow, metal stairs, suitcase in tow. About following the pull to your left and turning into a cabin full of rows and promise. You take your seat, gaze out the window, and float along with a landscape enveloped by the season. On this day, by a heavy snowstorm; the city streams by in a soft, white glow.
Quiet. Like a dream.
The conductor asks for your ticket. He punches twice, smiles once, nods and moves on. You take a picture to mark the moment.
Lesson Two: Whenever you can, take a friend.
Certain bits and pieces of life are best experienced in the presence of someone who puts you at ease, as you move through new spaces. Someone who’s traveling that same journey with you, who shares in your excitement about the future, about the things you want to do and the stories you want to write. Someone who looks you straight in the eye after you’ve said there’s no way you could apply for that two-week writing residency. Ever. Life would never allow for such extravagance, you say. To which she says, Maybe not right now. Reminding you that now isn’t the same as never.
Lesson Three: Whenever you can, take risks.
Say Yes to a late-night dessert. Order the gelato drizzled in salt and olive oil and find yourself saying, “Oh, my. Who knew.” Stay up until two-thirty in the morning, even though you know what “tired and over forty” feels like.
Soak up the fancy of a hotel you might never have visited before, except by the random choice of an online reservation site. A hotel dressed in straight lines and sharp angles and silver and lights and – somewhere in your room – hidden disco balls. A hotel with mirrored tiles that fracture your image and make you believe for a second that you really are living out a dream.
Make a list of all the things you will do this year, ignoring the committee in your mind that presses you with “impossible” and “come on!” and “who do you think you are?”
Write about “gasp-able moments”, sage advice learned from a writer friend’s young son.
