Weekly Wrap #4: The Dog Days of Summer
More existentialism, documentaries to cry to, and my love for lying poolside
In case you missed it, check out my most recent post:
This week’s wrapped includes:
Diving deeper into books about marriage
My answer to, “What album would I listen to for the rest of my life?”
A poignant documentary to cry your eyes out to
What I’m Reading
I just finished reading Liars by Sarah Manguso, and wow—this one caught me off guard. It’s not every day that a book feels like it's simultaneously unraveling you and stitching you back together. Manguso, with her usual precision and restraint, dives deep into the heart of deception—personal, societal, and everything in between.
This book, much like life, doesn’t hand you easy answers. It’s more like Manguso whispers in your ear, “Have you really been telling the truth, even to yourself?” And let’s be real, that’s a tough pill to swallow, especially given that the question I’ve been asking myself so often lately is — how much of my life is my own idea?
There’s something unsettlingly liberating about Liars. It makes you question everything, from the small white lies you tell to make life smoother to the massive truths you bury to keep yourself sane. It makes the reader question whether the goal is honesty, or if its about the stories we tell that shape us.
Manguso’s style is spare, almost surgical, but it left me feeling cracked wide open. It’s the kind of book that can be read in “one breathless, refuse-to-be-interrupted sitting” —although I can’t promise this would be great for your mental health. It's a whirlwind of a 14 year marriage, and as a reader you’re forced to confront your own darkest thoughts. There’s a moment in the book when she writes, “Lies are a form of hope.” I haven’t been able to shake this. Perhaps the deepest lie we tell ourselves about our lives and our relationships is that the stories (read — lies) are the source of hope; when really the most courageous thing any of us can do is tell the truth.
If you’re looking for a book that makes you confront your own narratives—and possibly dismantle a few—Liars is a must-read. Be prepared for a lot of self-reflection, and maybe even a bit of existential panic. One of the blurbs on the back really says it all, “Liars is a crime novel, except the crime is heterosexual marriage. A brilliantly paced, gripping novel of love and betrayal.”
What I’m Listening To
This week, I’m back on my Miles Davis kick, specifically his iconic album Kind of Blue. To be honest, this is one of those albums I return to time and time again, and it’s been that way for the past four years. Whether I’m writing, reading, or cooking dinner in the evening, Kind of Blue feels like my long-time companion. There is something atmospheric, warm and somehow melancholic about the tracks on this album.
Each track feels like it was crafted to sooth and inspire at the same time. The slow, wandering notes almost feel like a conversation you can sink into, allowing your mind to settle or roam as needed. There’s a timelessness to it—like no matter how much life changes, this album remains a constant. One of my favorite conversation starters is, “If you had to listen to one album for the rest of your life, what would it be?” And Kind of Blue is pretty high up there for me. If you haven’t revisited Kind of Blue in a while (or if it’s new to you), press play and sink right in.
What I’m Watching
I recently watched Daughters on Netflix, and it’s a powerful, emotional ride. This documentary focuses on a unique program where incarcerated fathers participate in an 8-10 week course designed to help them become more present and committed parents. A few years ago, I actually had the chance to attend a panel with Angela Patton, CEO of Girls for a Change. She is a co-director of Daughters, and is a committed ambassador for what she called “at promise” (as opposed to “at-risk”) girls. Through her organization, she has built this program to help men work on building their relationships with their daughters from behind bars — acknowledging the critical role that family and fathers play in their daughters lives.
Daughters is an alternately shattering and hopeful look at family and the prison system. Patton and Rae spent years following their subjects, and the resulting portraits of lives in limbo are intimate and stirring.”
The film captures the transformative journey of these fathers as they learn to reconnect with their daughters, culminating in a heartwarming (and heart wrenching) father-daughter dance held at the prison. It’s a poignant exploration of redemption and the deep desire to be a positive influence in their children’s lives, despite the constraints of their situation.
Daughters is a moving look at the impact of fatherhood from an unconventional perspective, highlighting both the struggles and triumphs of these families. The documentary spans over the course of four years — we see some daughters reunited with their fathers and others completely destroyed by the trauma of growing into young women in their absence. In the US, 66% of people released from prison were rearrested within three years. According to Girls for a Change, 95% of the men exposed to this 10 week program, never return to prison.
What I’m Thinking About
I’ve been thinking a lot about death and grief. I know, heavy, but bare with me here for a moment. In November, my dearest aunt died. She had been sick for ten years, and had gone into hospice care many times. I went to say goodbye to her once, and that was over six years ago. Needless to say, she was a fighter and lived longer than even medical professionals thought she would.
In November, she took a turn for the worse. When she died a few days after Thanksgiving, I was driving home from the Carolinas with my brother. I got a text from my mom saying that she has passed. I took a deep, wavering breath and placed my hand on my heart. Hot tears streamed down my face. My brother reached over and firmly grasped my shoulder, “I know you two had a really special relationship.” At that exactly moment, the sky painted itself so stunningly across the sky it took my breath away. Vibrant pink and orange clouds floated overhead. I have seen hundreds of beautiful sunrises and sunsets in my life, but this was something else entirely.
I thought to myself, this is her way of saying goodbye.
What I realized shortly after her death is that my family had never really practiced any specific grieving tradition. Without the binds of religious practice, the family seemed sort of wayward and uncommitted in their grief — like no one quite knew how to be at the helm and guide the family through lose. When pets died, or grandparents, I don’t ever remember there being any specific conversations about it. There seemed to be this distance or apathy. I suppose, in order to grieve, one must be comfortable, or at least in relationship, with their own mortality — with god.
So, I worked with my therapist to come up with my own ritual and grieving process. My aunt and I had spent years of my life writing long letters to one another. When my therapist asked what ritual made sense to me, the answer was a no brainer — a letter to say goodbye and to honor her life and her impact on mine.
Because here’s the thing — all rituals are made up. At some point in time, some person decided that we are supposed to do XYZ thing during XZY life event, and we’ve all accepted that as fact. So, I thought, why not come up with my own individualized grieving ritual?
While this was individually cathartic, I realized this week that there is also a very important part of grieving that was missing from my experience — community. Ritual binds us to our community. It reminds us that we are part of something larger than ourselves. The rituals we create as humans “create a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, or that we don’t have to haul those feelings around with us forever.”
So, this week I’m thinking (and talking with family) about how we can best gather and honor my beloved aunt. I’d be so curious what you do to do process grief — please share in the comments below.
How I’m Resting
I’m spending as much time as humanly possible by the pool. I am hanging on to the final days of summer — which I’m not really ready to let go off. As a typically pale girly, I have finally figured out how to get a great tan this summer, without the accompanying sunburn. I have gotten quite used to feeling like a little lizard lying out in the southern Arkansas sunshine. So, I’ve been resting poolside, with my books, and my journal, and a iced cold Diet Coke. While the weather has started to shift towards autumn, summer is still holding on for a few more weeks. And, honestly, I’m a bit nervous for it to fully fade away. My lovely social club pool has become such a safe haven for me this summer as I’ve been navigating big, gnarly emotions.
But, I’m not going to think too much about that now. In fact, its a beautiful day, so I’m going to call it quits on writing this very newsletter and head to the pool right now.
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