Painting of Sarah Graves by AJ Lee (image courtesy of AJ Lee)
I’m not generally a fan of aphorisms. I don’t have any pithy quips about seizing the day painted on wood and hung in the kitchen. We once stayed in a beach house that had an entire wall taken up by ‘Good Vibes Only’ written in lightbulbs — it had an oppressive quality that made me want to deliberately look miserable in its presence. Perhaps my cynical attitude has something to do with being raised atheist. The Bible always struck me in Religious Studies class as being something of an ur-text for catchy, bathroom wall-ready guidance.
And yet, the older I get, the more I come back to certain memorable phrases. This may just be my brain atrophying — I really can’t remember where I put my phone 90% of the time, as my kids can attest — or maybe I need to concede that there is some benefit to having principles to live by. Am I starting to actually believe in something (albeit that something being my own collection of succinctly articulated values, 21st Century narcissist that I am), or have I just absorbed so much podcast culture that I feel it necessary to have quote-worthy life advice on the tip of my tongue at all times?
You didn’t ask, but these are the lessons I keep coming back to, in no particular order.
Author Marie-Helene Bertino at the launch event for her new novel Beautyland
Do what you love
So simple. So hard to pull off. I think it was my husband who put this into words for me, in one of our many chats about careers and aspirations (squeezed in between reading Mr Men books and zoning out to Netflix sports documentaries), and he is also a great example of the idea in practice. He loves to write, and he writes for a living — and works very hard to make that dream possible.
As any of you who have read my posts before know (for I am nothing if not committed to my hang ups), I often wonder how my life would have changed had I picked art school over law school, for I get infinitely more pleasure from painting than I ever did writing contracts. If any kid could comprehend how much of their life they will one day spend working, they would all quickly figure out ways to become Chief Holiday Card Maker, or VP of Nintendo Game Testing. I want that for my kids.
I was reminded of the beauty of seeing someone follow their childhood loves into adulthood upon attending local author Marie-Helene Bertino’s recent book launch for her third novel Beautyland. The crowd had gathered at Graveside Variety, hosted by The Golden Notebook bookshop, in Woodstock, NY. Beautyland is a story of girl who believes she is an alien, living with her single mother in North Philly. In deference to the inspiration from her own upbringing, Marie had invited her own mother, Helene, up on stage with her for the event. With a big grin, Helene pulled from her bag the first book Marie ever wrote at age 13 years old: ‘The Dream Crystal’ — an epic fantasy story complete with illustrations. From that tweenage dream to the woman sat beaming before me, I could see it really is possible to do what you love if you put your mind to it.
There are no dumb questions
This is not a ground-breaking saying by any means, but I have realized more and more that it needs to be repeated, to myself as much as anyone else. In one short mantra, it reminds me that (a) I should not be ashamed to not know everything (tough for any Type A Aries), (b) if someone else asks me a question it is not (necessarily) them being dumb but a reason to examine my own explanation of the issue, and (c) to always embrace curiosity.
There is a genius Bluey episode where Bluey keeps asking her mum ‘why’, over and over, until Chili lands on the greater existential reason behind her request. As always, Bluey manages to capture in 3 minutes what I have spent 41 years striving to understand.
Oddly enough, I think it was actually a tall, thin Canadian man called Presley Warner who impressed this wisdom upon me for the first time. Presley was a partner at the London law firm where I flailed around with very little knowledge or sleep in my early twenties. He had a voice like Beavis, a brain the size of a planet and a draw full of New Yorker magazines, which immediately marked him out to me as culturally significant, since I have been an NYC-adorer all my life. Often I would stand in his dark corner office awaiting instructions, terrified to speak lest I give away how clueless I was at this legal business — and Presley was kind enough to remind me that questions were encouraged. When I told Presley that I was leaving law to join a branding agency, in pursuit of a more creative role, he looked disgusted. Our career goals may not have been aligned, but his advice held true.
Anthony Brian Smith, center: talented writer and exceptional friend
Trust your gut
Another pretty obvious one, but it has taken on particular significance for me of late.
On December 30th 2023, a very special human passed away at just 34 years of age: Anthony Brian Smith. We worked together for the last 5 years and I was lucky enough to consider him a friend. He was beloved by many, such was the ripple effect of his empathy, talent and wry twinkle. I have already written more than I wish I had to about Anthony since his death, and I won’t rehash that all here.
But one of the most joyous things about Anthony was his unapologetic takes on culture, business, politics, life. He loved to write. Journalism, poems, screenplays, but especially to tweet, because he had such a command of how to squeeze humor from very few words. Case in point: “West Side Story is Spielberg’s best movie about sharks.” Anthony had an opinion about it all, which in itself is not unusual in the internet age. The difference was that Anthony’s instincts were rooted in deep knowledge and his wit was delivered with warmth — always self deprecating and never carelessly denigrating.
I knew that Anthony was one of a kind, and that spending time with him was good for my soul and my brain. And now he is gone. You meet many people in life but time isn’t infinite, so trust your gut and turn towards where the love is.
To that end, I have embarked on a new painting project this year, capturing working mothers in their 40s that I know and love — and who very rarely get given the time and consideration they deserve to be appreciated as the fully rounded, beautiful, talented people that they are. It’s a happy challenge.
Do as you will be done by
I trot this one out quite regularly to my children. It’s also what runs through my mind when I am berating myself for not behaving my best. It is actually a bastardized reference to a quite creepy but indelibly memorable character called Mrs DoAsYouWouldBeDoneBy from The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley, a book I poured over when I was little, mainly because of the trippy illustrations. The story itself hasn’t aged well in some ways, but clearly the lesson on personal morality stuck.
Honestly, saying ‘do as you will be done by’ when my kids are squabbling over a plastic toy has zero impact on their behavior at the time (it’s a pretty complex way to say “STOP!”) but I like to think that it will stick somewhere in their psyche. But perhaps that’s optimistic. From their perspective, they are doing as they would be done by: if they don’t steal the toy, their sibling will steal it and lord it over them. And isn’t that just a microcosm of global politics right there?
Also…
Read poetry
Yeah, I just made that one up. It’s less of an aphorism, more of a vague dictate. I loved poetry as a teenager. Emily Dickinson’s lustful melancholy. Swoon! T.S. Eliot’s mad beauty. Spine-tingling! Christina Rossetti’s dark imagery. Yikes! Maya Angelou’s diamond thighs. Electric! That funeral poem in Four Weddings And A Funeral. Sob!
In my forties, I am returning to poetry after a 20 year hiatus and I am grateful for it. A little while ago I was lucky enough to see my friend, Kingston-based poet Sarah Jean Grimm, read poems from her new collection Hog Lagoon. The poems are sharply observed snippets of modern life, managing to be both lyrical and straight talking. Sarah is a brilliant writer and performer; we all laughed and sighed in time with her words.
Sarah Jean Grimm reading her poetry at Darlings in Tillson, NY
Before Christmas, I was in Oxford, UK — my home city — browsing for presents in Blackwells. It was dark outside, the fairy lights from a holiday market were twinkling beyond the 200 year old steel framed windows. My parents were discussing what we should have for dinner, stood heads together over the table of Penguin Classics. Something bright orange caught my eye, on the cover of a small book by the counter. “Oh I love Wendy Cope!” It slipped out before I could think. The shop girl, no more than 17 years old, smiled and agreed — she did too. I bought the book and gave it to the writer of my life in his stocking.
The Orange
By Wendy Cope
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone.
If you are interested in discovering more contemporary poetry, check out After Hours Editions — an independent poetry press based in Kingston, NY and run by Sarah Jean Grimm and her husband Eric Amling. Read more about them here.