America the Beautiful? by Blythe Roberson

You know I had to take a photo of the book with the backpack I lived out of for six months straight.

Ah yes, two travel books back to back. Though this one is very different from Emily Henry...

In this book, Blythe Roberson quits her job to travel the country... just like I did in 2011. Well, I didn't quit - my company sold its business overseas and fired everyone. But the general concept is the same! Instead of fighting with dozens of other graphic designers to get a new job in the city, I just... didn't. I gave up my lease and put my stuff in storage and planned trips for months at a time, living out of a backpack.

Roberson goes to some of the same parks I hit, aka the biggest National Parks. But there are many I didn't visit, and many I'd never even heard of, so it was really interesting to read about her experience, which was somewhat similar to mine in many strange ways, but also very unique. I too met up with friends along the way, sometimes traveling together, sometimes just crashing at their places. I too drove alone for long stretches and started to feel like life wasn't real. I too wondered why the hell I was visiting these tourist traps along with everyone else in the country.

It's a unique experience to go to a beautiful, natural place and drive around for an hour looking for a parking spot. I thought I was the only grinch who experienced that lack of luck and felt bitter about it, but no, Roberson did too. I don't think that makes it a good thing necessarily, but it makes ME feel better, and that's what matters.

In all seriousness, this is a funny book about travel and friends and getting to know yourself, perhaps too much. There's a fun hook of Roberson earning Junior Ranger badges (which I did NOT do, and now need to do it all again). She also delves into the history of many parks, which I also didn't do - I just went to experience the location and take photos (many of which are now lost thanks for the great hard drive death of 2021).

It was hard for me to read this diplomatically because I kept stopping and thinking of my own experiences, so I might venture into the Goodreads reviews and see what people said if they didn't have a road trip foundation. I'm also very tempted to unearth my travel journals and see what embarrassing book I could write about my experience...

Sorry I'm Late, I Didn't Want to Come by Jessica Pan

The summary of this book screamed that it was perfect for me.

What would happen if a shy introvert lived like a gregarious extrovert for one year? If she knowingly and willingly put herself in perilous social situations that she’d normally avoid at all costs? Jessica Pan is going to find out.
When she found herself jobless and friendless, sitting in the familiar Jess-shaped crease on her sofa, she couldn't help but wonder what life might have looked like if she had been a little more open to new experiences and new people, a little less attached to going home instead of going to the pub.
So, she made a vow: to push herself to live the life of an extrovert for a year. She wrote a list: improv, a solo holiday and... talking to strangers on the tube. She regretted it instantly.
Sorry I'm Late, I Didn't Want to Come follows Jess's hilarious and painful year of misadventures in extroverting, reporting back from the frontlines for all the introverts out there.
But is life actually better or easier for the extroverts? Or is it the nightmare Jess always thought it would be?

Spoiler alert: IT WAS. I want to be Jessica’s best friend but as a fellow shintrovert, I know we will never hang out. Twitter friendship it is.

Jess takes a year to set goals to push herself out of her comfort zone and try to become an extrovert. She tells a story in front of an audience for The Moth, she takes stand up and improv classes and performs at clubs, she goes to networking events and actually networks, she speaks to strangers. It all gave me small anxiety attacks (which made me feel alive!) and also had me laughing out loud in so many sections.

I loved relating so hard to this person and her year. It also reminded me of the year I pushed myself out of my comfort zone to go to grad school in DC, where I also spoke to strangers and took comedy classes. But here I am, shintrovert for life, reading as much as possible and living vicariously through those books.

Ten Years After

Ten years ago I was winding down my life as a graphic designer, packing up my belongings, and moving just outside Washington, DC to study fiction writing as an MFA candidate. I can think back to that time and feel everything so clearly, honestly from January 2009 until August, to include the anticipation of the MFA acceptances or rejections. I applied to ten or eleven schools, and was accepted to two - one with no financial package, one with a full ride and TA position. I picked the school that offered me the most, of course, and was grateful for it.

I had wanted to be a writer since I was a kid, scribbling in marble notebooks and keeping them in a "real" leather briefcase. (Yes, I was that kid.) I never stopped writing stories, even though I never really finished one until my first creative writing workshop in undergrad. I ended up there after thinking I should major in journalism, because it was writing. I didn't know creative writing was a thing you could study, take classes in, get graded on. Once I discovered that, I was gone. I was so sure I was going to grow up and become an author. It seemed real to me, just by having a concentration in the college catalog.

I stuck with my MFA program for one year out of three. I didn't like how certain workshop professors pushed us to write in a specific style first, and once we mastered that, we would be allowed to experiment. I couldn't handle having to read three short story collections a week for one class. I loved my classmates. I loved the other tutors I worked with in the Writing Center, and I loved the Writing Center itself. I loved working with other students. I loved editing papers and helping them find their focus while writing.

I don't regret my year in the MFA program. I don't regret quitting after a year.

I have friends with MFAs who are writing and publishing and working as professors and love it. I have friends without MFAs who are writing as publishing and working as [fill in the blank] and love it. And I always felt like I was somewhere in between. That by being enrolled in a program and quitting meant I had failed. But I didn't fail - I made a choice. And I need to be kind and honest with myself and realize that I am one of those without an MFA who is writing and publishing and working... period. I am doing so many things I never thought I would be doing ten years ago.

When I started that chapter of my life, ten years ago, I couldn't really picture the future. I could see myself writing at all hours of the night, because I could hardly sleep if the sun wasn't out. I couldn't picture myself as a professor. I couldn't picture myself as a partner or a mother or anything beyond that hazy image of a person huddled over the table writing... something.

And here I am. I am a mother with a wonderful child. I read in all my spare time, and I share books with him every day. I completed a Masters degree in Library Science. I'm an elementary librarian sharing books with students and their parents. I wrote and published a book. I have been writing nearly daily for over six months. I have been completing stories even without a deadline in my face. I am gearing up to teach an elementary creative writing club in the fall. It might not be what I dreamily thought would come, but, ten years after, I think I'm in a good place - maybe just a logical evolution from what I thought I wanted back then.