My new creative writing project

Over the weekend, my friend Jason flew out from Oakland and spent the weekend biking, drinking, analyzing, and devouring Chicago alongside me. I’ve been friends with Jason since we were sixteen, in polos and khakis and confused upperclassmen at Moreau Catholic. Both longtime Giants fans, our camaraderie deepened after we watched the 2010 World Series at odd hours of the morning while in Argentina and Spain respectively. After San Francisco won, it ultimately sparked me to write several essays reflecting on our friendship. After he journeyed back to the Bay on Sunday, I once again felt moved to write about us.

I’m not on Instagram, even though the past couple months I’ve been badly lusting over some of the lives depicted there. Part of this stems from a wish to celebrate the individuals who inject exceeding amounts of joy, mischief, and conversation into my Chicago existence. Part of this is rooted in a hunger to be desired. I fiercely love my life, but oh that propensity that my weekdays to be validated!

I’m not going to join Instagram, probably due to a reason also linked to pride in that I’d have to take more iPad pictures. I may be my father’s daughter in many ways, but cannot hold up an electronic the size of a novel without shame in most public spaces. Also, I’m not a photographer. Right now, I don’t have an eye which quickly identifies how the rule of thirds plays out in a shot and I’m not strong with composition. And someone teach me about filters.

But I write.

All of this is a roundabout way to announce—and consequently hold myself accountable to—a new project: The Joy of Being Your Friend. In posts of no more than 200 words, I’m excited to share the mini-stories of the rich interactions I’ve had with people. I’ll be writing three a week—a goal, which when I last set for myself—ultimately helped win me a reporting job.

Two last things. First, please read my recent piece on my love of American Girl. Second, I still have to determine my publishing schedule of this series when I head to South America. Be swell.

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