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When my twin daughters were infants, I would buckle them into their stroller and take long, meandering walks. As summer turned to fall and then winter, we visited bustling coffee shops, leafy avenues, and frozen waterfalls. When you are about to have a child (or children in my case), people who are trying to be helpful will say that it is going to change your life. That statement was always frustrating because of its perfect combination of obviousness and obliqueness. Of course, life was going to change dramatically, but how? I knew there was going to be more love, more fear of the future, and less sleep, but I hadn’t expected how much being a parent would bring up starker realizations and acknowledgment of how I myself was parented. As I walked, I thought about how I didn’t want my girls to feel abandoned or unwanted, how I wanted to actively nourish their humanness. On these walks, I was creating our own local patch, the physical and emotional space of their childhoods, imbued with old memories and newly-created ones. In both parenting and walking, I was practicing not knowing as a way of knowing, as a journey toward knowing.

These walks and many others happened in my often-frigid hometown in upstate New York. I have possibly-skewed ideas about what constitutes “appropriate walking weather” and am not deterred by icy sidewalks that need to be gingerly navigated bitterly cold wind, or the presence of damp rain-snow that seeps deep into your bones. I am like one of those large dogs who need to be heartily exercised or it will start gnawing the walls. Walking is the way I get most of my physical exercise, but perhaps more importantly, it is the way I work through things. While walking, I can access some of my deepest thinking and feeling; somehow the movement of my legs helps open the portal to understanding. As Rebecca Solnit describes in her brilliant history of walking, Wanderlust, “walking itself is the intentional act closest to the willed rhythms of the body, to breathing and the beating of the heart. It strikes a delicate balance between working and idling, being and doing. It is bodily labor that produces nothing but thoughts, experiences, arrivals.” More… “Walking Myself Home”

Jennifer Tennant is an associate professor of Economics at Ithaca College. A health economist by training, her research focuses on disability and mental health policy. She has written a number of articles on health economics and disability policy and has recently started writing creative nonfiction. Her first piece of creative nonfiction, a personal essay, will be published in Pleiades in January 2019. An image text essay, created with the photographer Nura Qureshi, was published in July 2018 in A VELVET GIANT.

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Rafael Casal is a poet, rapper, producer, writer, and actor. Over the last ten years, he and his longtime friend and collaborator, Daveed Diggs, wrote, produced, and starred in their first film, Blindspotting. The story revolves around best friends Collin (Diggs) and Miles (Casal) during the last three days of Collin’s probation. As the days progress, their friendship is strained by Oakland’s gentrification and the community’s perception of Collin after his conviction for a violent crime. Throughout the film, heightened verse is infused to showcase Oakland, the city’s natural facility for language, and Casal and Digg’s background in poetry and music. I had the opportunity to speak with Casal about comedy as a vehicle to tell stories about trauma, toxic masculinity, unconscious bias, and the stories missing from Hollywood’s mainstream. The interview has been edited for length and clarity.

More… “In Plain Sight”

Byshera Williams is a Senior English Major at Drexel University and the current Associate Editor for The Smart Set.

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I think we are entering a new Freudian era. This struck me as I was recently reading some stories in the New York Times science section: Depressive disorders may have a beneficial mechanism behind them; dreams may be meaningful after all; and hysteria — now called conversion disorders, and by which they mean the physical expression of emotional trauma — may actually exist. This may not totally redeem Freud from his sex-obsessed cokehead crackpot reputation, but this is his territory.

The Shaking Woman or A History of My Nerves by Siri Hustvedt. 224 pages. Henry Holt and Co. $23.00

For decades, Freud has been slowly discredited until his name is more a punchline than a scientific reference. But the more science wades into the murky territory of the mind, the more we see… More…

Poor Saint Augustine. For years now people have drawn the source of the memoir back to his Confessions. As if because of that book, Augustine’s hands now bear the ink stains of James Frey, tales of addiction, incest and mental illness, the word “momoir,” and a dozen Holocaust survivor fakers. Just like Jane Austen, who occasionally bears the blame for the candy-coated chick lit aisle of your local bookstore, Augustine deserves a better legacy.

Memoir: A History by Ben Yagoda. 304 pages. Riverhead. $25.95.

Even Ben Yagoda accuses Augustine of the crime of inventing the memoir in his new book Memoir: A History. It’s a long road from Confessions — written around 400 A.D. — to the memoir’s current dominance in the publishing scene, although the template hasn’t changed much in all of those centuries: I have done some… More…