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Yesterday, as part of this week-long teaching at the Rosemont College Writers & Readers Retreat, Carla Spataro asked me questions about themes (and food) and then invited me to read. I chose to share what I think of as postcards from my books—the opening words from stories—Small Damages, Going Over, One Thing Stolen, This Is the Story of You, Flow—that take place around the world.

The video captures some of that. I am grateful for the conversation.

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The glorious hours I spent in the company with Jim Cotter and his entire team have produced these minutes on film that I will always treasure.

Here are so many of the things I care about—Philadelphia, the Schuylkill, Penn, memoir, story, language—all in one place, all at one time.

I'm not beautiful, as I always say. But maybe it is enough if beautiful things live in my world.

You can watch the segment, which also features literary translation and tenor Stephen Costello, here.

Or watch this evening at 10:30, WHYY TV, or on Sunday at 1 PM.

Articulate—all of you—thank you.

Gary Kramer of Temple University Press: you have opened so many doors. Thank you.

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Look. We come around to this. Again and again, we do. We are living with a book newly launched (though perhaps we wrote pieces of it years ago). We are grateful for the invitations extended, grateful for a chance to sing the book's song, eager not to fail those who have been kind enough to open their doors to us—and also aware that every time we mention our own book we are not talking about the countless million million things that matter much more deeply than ever our own books could.

(Refuges. Candidates. Hunger. Homelessness. Heartbreak. Danger. Unexpected and unimaginable losses. Aging. Love suspended.)

It has always been important to me to use this blog to celebrate the world and the work of others. To raise questions. To be honest. To admit: I'm failing right now. I'm not writing right now. I'm stuck right now. I screwed that up. I should have— Also to admit: I have been graced. I have been blessed. I know luck when I see luck.

That's what I'm here to talk about and I am (believe me) aware when I lose the hoped-for balance.

This, however, is also true. Book stores make room. Festivals provide opportunities to think out loud with people I respect. The ladies of Laurel Hill are throwing a fundraiser and I've promised to help them tell that story.

Forgive the apparent self indulgence.

I promise that it is almost over. That I am stockpiling books to read with an eye toward the future of this blog when, in just a few weeks, I won't be talking about me.

But for now, this weekend: I am blessed beyond measure to be included in the BookFest@Bank Street, on Saturday. I'll be talking about narrative risk in young adult literature with three people I hugely respect, and I'm going to learn so much (not just from that panel but from every single other person who is attending—what a list).

Sunday, October 25, I'll be talking with the wonderful voice of KYW, Brad Segall, about Philadelphia and some of the Philadelphians I love (go Sister Kim and her girls!) on WOGL 98.1 FM and WZMP 96.5 FM at 6:30 AM and on WXTU at 92.5 FM at 7:30 AM. Later that afternoon, at 4 PM, I'll be at Main Point Books, a glorious Indie on Lancaster Avenue in Bryn Mawr, signing One Thing Stolen and Love. And next Sunday I will be at the Women for Greater Philadelphia annual fundraiser, there at Laurel Hill Mansion, a public event. We'll be celebrating the Schuylkill River by reading from Flow and two novels—Dangerous Neighbors and Dr. Radway's Sarsaparilla Resolvent—where the river features boldly.

Where I live, on this morning, the sky is breaking blue.

It is another day.

That is the greatest miracle of all.

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I'll be talking about that river of ours—the great She, the Schuylkill—and selling copies of Flow. The facts are here, should you be in the neighborhood. I would love to see you.

 

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In the film A Christmas Story, Ralphie desperately wants “an official Red Ryder, carbine action, 200 shot range model air rifle.” His mom resists because she reckons it will damage his well-being. (“You’ll shoot your eye out!”) In the end, though, Ralphie gets the air rifle and deems it “the greatest Christmas gift I ever received, or would ever receive.”

This Christmas, why not give your friends and family the gift of well-being? Even removing an air rifle and the possibility of eye injury from the mix, that’s easier said than done.

Well-being is tough to pin down. It takes many forms. A college student, a middle-aged parent, and a spritely octogenarian might all lead very different lives and still have well-being. What’s more, you can’t wrap up well-being and tuck it under the tree. All you can do is give gifts that promote it. But what kind of gift promotes well-being?

One that establishes or strengthens the positive grooves that make up a good life. You have well-being when you’re stuck in a “positive groove” of:

• emotions (e.g., pleasure, contentment),
• attitudes (e.g., optimism, openness to new experiences),
• traits (e.g., extraversion, perseverance), and
• success (e.g., strong relationships, professional accomplishment, fulfilling projects, good health).

Your life is going well for you when you’re entangled in a success-breeds-success cycle comprised of states you find (mostly) valuable and pleasant.

Some gifts do this by producing what psychologists call flow. They immerse you in an activity you find rewarding. Flow gifts are easy to spot. They’re the ones, like Ralphie’s air rifle, that occupy you all day.

A flow gift promotes well-being by snaring you into a pleasure-mastery-success loop. A flow gift turns you inward, toward a specific activity and away from the rest of the world. It involves an activity that’s fun, that you get better at with practice, and that rewards you with success, even if that “success” is winning a video game car race.

Flow is important to a good life. It feels good, and it fosters excellence. It’s the difference between the piano-playing wiz and the kid (like me) who fizzled out. But there’s more to well-being than flow and excellence.

A bonding gift turns you outward, toward other people. A bonding gift shows how someone thinks and feels about you. In O. Henry’s short story The Gift of the Magi, a young couple, Jim and Della, sacrifice their “greatest treasures” to buy each other Christmas gifts. Della sells her luxurious long hair to buy a chain for Jim’s gold watch. And Jim sells his gold watch to buy the beautiful set of combs Della yearned for.

Bonding gifts change people’s relationships. The chain and the combs strengthen and deepen Jim and Della’s love, affection and commitment. This is why “of all who give gifts these two were the wisest.”

The bonds of love and friendship are not just emotional. They’re causal. We’re tangled up with the people we care about in self-sustaining cycles of positive feelings, attitudes, traits and accomplishments. Good relationships are shared, interpersonal positive grooves. This is why they make us better and happier people. Bonding gifts strengthen the positive groove you share with a person you care about.

You’re probably wondering whether you can find something that’s an effective bonding and flow gift. I must admit, I’ve never managed it. A tandem bike? Alas, no. Perhaps you can do better.

So this holiday season, why not give “groovy” gifts – gifts that “keep on giving” by ensnaring your loved ones in cascading cycles of pleasure and value.

Image credit: Stockphotography wrapping paper via Hubspot.

The post Giving the gift of well-being appeared first on OUPblog.

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This is the summer, it seems, of friendship. Of deeply meaningful lunches with friends whose stories have evolved, so magnificently, through the years. Of an afternoon spent in the glorious Brooklyn home of a very dearest friend. Of long conversations with neighbors—conversations that began a long time ago and that pick up right where they ended, as if many seasons and much weather had not intervened. How have you been? How do your seeds grow? How is your daughter, your husband, your mom? Of reunions with high school friends. Of saving grace phone calls and long walks. Of conversations with poets. Of former students who write or who appear in bookstores; they are growing up, they are growing up so beautifully. Of new friends, too, who kiss me on the cheek as if I have known them forever, or present me with a beaded lei and an ALOHA. Of emails that make me laugh out loud or astonish me or leave me with that happy something that erupts, naturally, when another's dream has been fulfilled.

They have waited, it has happened, it is good—and I am soaring with them. I am glad to be their friend.

The summer of friendship.

I've been thinking about that. Grateful for that. And, today (and for a long time, for our friendship is a long one, too) I am also grateful to a certain Nathaniel Popkin, who writes more beautifully about this city and about books than anyone I know. The man knows things, and he is a poet. Last evening, driving home from a perfect New York City day, I found these Hidden City words that had been Tweeted out to the world, and to me. I don't know what to do about words like these but to say, again, thank you. Thank you, Nathaniel, for your generosity.

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You know that I can't stop talking about her, dreaming about her, visiting her. And so here she is, my river, winner of the 2014 Pennsylvania River of the Year award, written of today, for North Philly Notes.

And (ladies and gentlemen), I have some news: FLOW will be relaunched this fall as a paperback, thanks to Temple University Press.

I could not be happier.

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This weekend, St. David's Episcopal Church in Radnor, PA, is celebrating the life of St. David, Patron Saint of Wales, who established the church (a glorious stone building about a mile from my home) three hundreds years ago. Photography, singing vicars, and literature are all part of the fare, and I'm honored to be included.

My own talk is a two-part talk. First up—a Handling the Truth memoir workshop, in which participants will have a chance to learn about truth and consequences, sentences and ideas. Following a short break, I'll be discussing 19th century Philadelphia, particularly my three Philadelphia books—Flow, Dangerous Neighbors, and Dr. Radway's Sarsaparilla Resolvent. There will be workshops here as well—fun exercises designed to get us thinking about our city more than a century ago.

These events are free and open to the public. The photography exhibit runs all day today and tomorrow, and includes an 11:00 AM photography symposium moderated by Tom Petro tomorrow.

My event is being held on Sunday in the Choir Room, Chapel, Lower Level. We'll start at 1:30 and go through 4:00 PM. Stay for both sessions, or come just for one. Teens and adults are both welcome (and, indeed, encouraged).

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Earlier today I was writing to two special friends—Ruta Sepetys and A.S. King—and in both notes, for very different reasons, I was writing about how important it is to me to be seen as a Philadelphia writer. I love this city. I write about it whenever I can—in Philadelphia Inquirer stories, in novels (I'm at work on a Philadelphia/Florence-centric novel as we speak), in books like Flow. I've seen this city struggle, I've seen it emerge, I've walked it in sleet and in sun. I believe in it.

Imagine how amazed and delighted I was, therefore, to receive a note from Leah Douglas, who is the director of exhibitions at the Philadelphia International Airport. Her note read, in part, like this:

For 2013, I am organizing an exhibition that provides a visual overview of Philadelphia's rich literary past and present. Given the theme, I invited librarians from the Free Library of Philadelphia to create a list of 50 Philadelphia-area authors/poets/playwrights (either born in the Philadelphia region or who lived a portion of their lives in the Philadelphia area). And, hopefully you will be pleased to know that your name was included on the list.

Leah tells me that the exhibition will be launched on July 2 and live for a year in Terminal A. The unveiling ceremony will be attended by Mayor Nutter, Airport CEO Mark Gale, and President and Director of the Free Library Siobhan Reardon, among others.

And yes, I'm going to be there.

The photo above was taken last Thursday evening, as I left the Penn campus. I had been working with a student for part of the afternoon and then attending an event with my father, a Penn alum. I was headed to the train, on the phone with my son, who is a city lover, too. "I hope you can see this night; the light is amazing," I was saying. I held the phone and I held my camera and I took this crooked shot.

But look at the light. That's how I feel.

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We readergirlz girlz tore up the keyboards last night talking everything from writerly schedules (thank you, Little Willow, for offering to make me breakfast); TV shows ("So You Think You Can Dance" rocks supreme); the joint appearance by Erin McIntosh and Melissa Walker in the newest six-word memoir book (oh, baby); certain showcase dance number videos that will never be aired (thank you, Mercy, for keeping our secret our secret); the emergence of Priya as a readergirlz street girl; favorite bands (yes, mine is still and will always be Bruce Springsteen); landscape as character (thank you, Nicole, for the question); favorite editors, past and present; how I stink at the samba (just ask Jean Paulovich); whether I will every write fantasy (thank you, Maya and Hipwriter Mama for your faith in my abilities); whether I've watched "Glee" (I'm so sorry, Lorie Anne); and why Flow: The Life and Times of Philadelphia's Schuylkill River was perhaps the most challenging and most rewarding book that I've yet published, though 2010 and beyond is filled with books and potential books that were probably even harder. All along Dia Calhoun and Holly Cupala were tossing out not just literary questions but riotously funny—and unexpected—images.

Which is all to say that if you haven't participated in a readergirlz chat, you really ought to. They happen twice or month or so. They will keep you at the edge of your fingertips.

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