For many years, I've had a client in the international education industry. These years with Trump in the White House and now with the global pandemic have put the industry in the spin cycle, and who knows where it'll be when the spinning stops. This article in the NYTimes argues for the humanities, which have been in decline as students need to have jobs when they graduate with their very expensive college degrees and their back-breaking student loans. And for that, they migrate towards majors that will get them jobs: practical degrees, not ones like literature, philosophy, history, or anthropology. 

Neither of my parents graduated from college before they had me; and yet — or maybe because of — my education was extremely important to them. And my father in particular believed in a liberal arts education. I am so grateful that he was willing to pay for a stupidly expensive education where I was able to indulge in my love of reading and English literature. It has been a solid foundation for my career, which has always at its root been about communication in some form or another. 

Our society is in the midst of a bucking bronco of a change — so much of it needed — and my hope is that we can hold on to the things that bring meaning to my life when we stumble out of the rodeo: arts of all formats, plus books, books, and even more books. Also, a deeper understanding of who we are, why we're here, and what we owe to each other. None of which we'll get with a degree in finance or business. 

When you're in the tornado of change, the humanities don't feel essential. But afterwards, when the storm is over, art and history and philosophy and critical thinking are exactly the things that help us learn from what we've experienced and allow us to move forward.

I've been attempting to create a daily art practice for the past few months, with a little success and lots of fits and starts. A couple of weeks ago, I got myself in a real anxiety tangle, but so, so happily a friend of mine introduced me to Danielle Krysa (aka The Jealous Curator). After downloading all of her books from the library onto my Kindle — not ideal for art books, but good enough during a pandemic when the libraries have been closed for months — I inhaled Creative Block. Each chapter is an interview with a different artist, and at the end, each gives an exercise to break through a block. I can't cite the artist who came up with the technique that really helped me since my copy is back with the library now, but it's just this: go through your old pieces that don't work, cut them up, and make something new from them. So simple, but it freed me! And now I've started a whole series that I'm in love with. 

BONUS: Danielle's The Jealous Curator podcast is a series of conversations with artists. She's in season 4 now, so there are lots of episodes to catch up on!

I am late to reading Normal People, which is not a shock because I don't generally keep up with modern literature, if that's even the right category for this book. It almost felt like it could be a young adult novel, which is actually more my speed in fiction these days. Having given up on sleeping and perusing the borrowed books on my Kindle in the middle of the night, I was surprised by how quickly I was pulled into the story and how little idea I had of what was going to happen to the main characters, who are both young and Irish, like the author. I finished the book in the morning and was astonished by how I had been so swept away by it. As aptly summed up in one of the two quotes I highlighted while reading, "life offers up these moments of joy despite everything." 

As I've been writing my own children's book, I've been reading about and researching the market, and one of my absolute favorite discoveries is Hello Lighthouse by Sophie Blackall. Blackall is a two-time Caldecott Medal winner, for Hello Lighthouse, which she wrote and illustrated, and for Finding Winnie, which she illustrated. I'm in love with the illustrations in HL — the different ways she shows weather in the water, the nostalgic subject matter, and the color palette. Plus, it's a lovely and gentle story about humans and the changes brought by time. 

My dog Chloe and I volunteer at one of SF's branch libraries a couple of Saturday mornings a month during story time. Marcie the librarian always selects a few books for the hour, and generally they're about animals. (Fact: kids who want to read to and with a dog tend to love books about dogs & other animals! 🐶) A book we read and that I liked so much I bought a copy for myself is The Wolf, the Duck & the Mouse by Mac Barnett with illustrations by Jon Klassen. The story is perfectly and imaginatively absurd, and the illustrations are both fun to look at and a great complement to the text. On one of my favorite spreads, the mouse stands with a pot on his head, clutching a hockey stick, and proclaims, "Tonight we ride to defend our home." It makes me laugh every time!

Also fun and funny: Mac Barnett TED talk

Try independent bookstores first, but it is on Amazon.

Out of all of the self-help, self-growth, self-improvement, self-whatever books I've read this year, none have impacted me as much as this one. The author defines the difference between a change (it is "situational; it is the external event that is taking place") and a transition (the "inner psychological process that people go through as they internalize and come to terms with the new situation that the change brings about"). Therefore, what we think of as an ending is really the next beginning. Radical! Reading this book helped reframe my perspective on the recent changes and more long-standing transitions I've been experiencing — I feel a lot less lost and more settled in my continuing uncertainty.