"I think the virtue I prize above all others is curiosity."

A quote by A.S. Byatt, two crows called Steve, a curiosity spiral, and the unbearableness Los Angeles fires.

This isn’t the newsletter you were supposed to read today; I had other plans for you. I started this year with a few half-formed drafts, thinking I would get ahead of schedule and publish more consistently. But I also started this year with a pit churning in my stomach. Nothing I attempted to write felt appropriate or relieved my looming sense of dread. I decided to reduce my screen time, mostly avoiding social media and the news. I took long walks, watched films, and read books. Instead of writing on my laptop, I wrote freehand, jotting down little notes and observations. There is so much to look at! The thick, gnarled elephant toes of the old faithful sycamore trees that line my street, the curves and colors of the sky at sunset, and the funny daily rituals of our two neighborhood crows, who are both called Steve because no one can tell them apart. I’m pretty sure they are an old married couple. Every morning, they sit on the telephone wire outside my office window. Steve arrives first, then the other Steve quickly joins, usually with some distance between them. Slowly, Steve (the one who came last) inches toward Steve until they are nestled up next to each other, and then, as if they are rekindling after a silly spat, Steve and Steve share a kiss. 

These small acts of close attention to the natural world made me feel lighter and more alive. But then the Los Angeles fires broke out, the pain in my stomach returned, and I couldn’t stop staring at my phone. This, I thought, is why I’m afraid. I watch the world burn, and I do nothing.

I don’t want to be helpless. Like Fred Rogers famously said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” So, I looked for helpers in Los Angeles and in my Bay Area community and made donations where possible. I shared those resources online so others could do the same. I checked in with friends. It doesn’t feel like enough, but it feels better than being paralyzed by overwhelm.

Kate Bush, Cloudbusting music video (1985)

I decided to scrap my earlier drafts and instead write about picture books that my kids and I read together during heavy times. Books that express that life is hard, but there’s a crazy amount of beauty in it, too. I’m unsure if reading them makes anything easier, but at least they feel true. Many of these books are by the same author, William Steig. I realized that almost all of Steig’s children’s books shared the message that life is hard and beautiful at the same time. Even in moments of peril, his characters are surrounded by nature: in the lush, mysterious forest, on sparkling ocean waves as big as mountains, or under a star-filled sky with the “half-moon half helping.” His books remind us that being alive means holding space for delight, even in times of despair.

A.S. Byatt at home in 1991 c/o Getty Images.

"I think the virtue I prize above all others is curiosity" —A.S. Byatt

While reading Steig’s books, my curiosity took over. His shining sentences sparked a series of exciting connections. I ran to my bookshelf and grabbed books by another author with a glittering wit: Italo Calvino. But that sent me spiraling. I read about the psychoanalyst (and Steig’s friend) Wilhelm Reich; I learned about Freudian humor and wordplay; I read parts of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, some of Aesop’s Fables, and an essay about Reynard the Fox by Joan Acocella; I watched Charlie Chaplin films, and Kate Bush’s Cloudbusting music video; I pored over pictures by Picasso, Rembrandt, and van Gogh; and I listened to podcasts about Ovid, myths, fables, and fairy tales with the great A.S. Byatt. I don’t need to engage with all of this to write about William Steig’s books, but they enrich the experience and, hopefully, enrich the writing, which may or may not include any of it, and honestly, there’s a good chance I could scrap the whole thing. I don’t care. I’m lost in a curiosity spiral¹, and it’s a glorious place to be.

All this is to say that nothing I planned to publish this month is finished. Usually, I would just let the weeks go by silently until they were, but it felt like I should check in to see how you’re doing. Let me know. I’d love to hear from you. 

Take care.

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Songs for long walks

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The library is an excellent place for curiosity spirals 🌀

1. When I do research, I feel like I’m caught in a curiosity spiral—like I’m creating spiral art in my head.