Just before rushing out the door to attend a national conference a couple of years ago, I printed out a personalized schedule without reading it carefully. In the weeks leading up to the conference, whenever I came across an interesting author, I'd search for his or her name on the conference program. If they were presenting and it sounded intriguing, I would mark it. But the hurriedly printed version only gave times, dates and locations. Dutifully, I followed the itinerary and showed up at various ballrooms and salons not knowing what was in store. It worked out better than anyone could have imagined. My pre-conference self did a fantastic job with selecting sessions that would have escaped my notice during the unsystematic searches on-site (e.g., "okay, what's available this afternoon?"). What I needed to know was provided for, just when I needed it, through a note I'd generated for myself.
Sometimes the notes to myself have been generated by another person ... but I had left them in an odd place to discover at some unanticipated moment. The poet Naomi Shihab Nye has been doing this for me lately. When I thought I had only first discovered her, I realized I'd actually heard someone else read one of her poems long ago. Yesterday, I found myself reading another of her poems in a compilation I'm certain I had been through before. One of her poems is one I've printed a couple of times and jammed into my bookbag with the expectation I'll pull it out of a mass of papers, re-read it, and remember what matters. In particular, The Art of Disappearing ends with a reminder that strikes me as bold and clear -- and memorable:
Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second
Then decide what to do with your time.
Occasionally, I leave notes to myself that I can't quite decipher. For example, I was double-checking the travel
time required for Sue and me to reach our favorite restaurant*. I typed the town's name into the mapping search engine and then used the "search nearby" feature. This place is called Still River Cafe and it is a culinary gem in the middle of nowhere. But as I typed, the search engine suggested I was looking for rivera nocturnal landscape — which brought nothing to mind. It was as if a ghost was writing for me, just like in a Harry Potter scene where a deceased boy writes replies into the book where Harry quills in his questions. Later, I pieced together that this was a Diego Rivera painting (adjacent) that reminded me of a photo Zeroeth took during a teacher trip. Even though this was not an example of a note to myself (at least not that I can yet pinpoint) it is evidence I leave scraps here and there.
time required for Sue and me to reach our favorite restaurant*. I typed the town's name into the mapping search engine and then used the "search nearby" feature. This place is called Still River Cafe and it is a culinary gem in the middle of nowhere. But as I typed, the search engine suggested I was looking for rivera nocturnal landscape — which brought nothing to mind. It was as if a ghost was writing for me, just like in a Harry Potter scene where a deceased boy writes replies into the book where Harry quills in his questions. Later, I pieced together that this was a Diego Rivera painting (adjacent) that reminded me of a photo Zeroeth took during a teacher trip. Even though this was not an example of a note to myself (at least not that I can yet pinpoint) it is evidence I leave scraps here and there.The final note to myself to report upon arose during breakfast when I was lucky enough to reconnect with the guy who hosted me during a trip to Cape Town a few years ago. He travels here to interview applicants for the spring honors program as well as student nurses for their fall expeditions to his country. He inquired (as I feared and hoped he would) about prospects for education students. I shared with him my pessimism. Somehow, because he was quietly chewing or I needed to continue, i explained my ambition had been to help students see diversity and poverty in a dramatically different setting such that they could return home to see those conditions here with fresh eyes. The words came so easily that upon hearing them, I recognized them as something I had expressed before when a South Africa trip was still a possibility. Now those ideas have come to the surface again and I'm looking for an angle to pursue such an opportunity. A verbal note to myself that I was carrying in my skull but had been forgotten until I shared it with myself.
- - - - - - - - - * The sky was very overcast but there was a break in the clouds to the west at 6:30. It was not a lightness that illuminated nor a glow that gave warmth. Instead, it created the ache that comes from knowing that it will become much darker and colder — and these times will be of sufficient duration it might be that warmth and light won't return until after life has departed from the body. It seemed the perfect conditions to see deer along the country road. I announced this sensation and less than fifteen minutes later we passed, untouched, through a herd of whitetail as they ambled across the blacktop. Another message from and to myself.
