Senses of Self
Impromptu vignettes + year-end writing prompts
"You have the best attitude! Thank you so much."
My mammographer had been nothing but competent, kind, and patient since the moment she brought me back to the radiology suite from the lobby, and now here she was paying me a lovely compliment.
"Of course!" I replied. "Are people normally cranky with you in here?"
"Oh, yes," she said, letting a little chuckle escape from behind her mask. "I know it's not the most fun thing in the world to do."
"I mean, fair, but it's also really not a big deal," I replied. "And anyway, you're great at this."
She beamed at me.
I was being 100% genuine. She was practiced, efficient, incredibly communicative. She took intentional time to get the positioning right the first time [we both likened it to the strangest, most specific sort of yoga], thereby needing to take far fewer images altogether than had been taken this time last year.
"Thank you for being so patient and cheerful."
"Of course," I said again.
The entire appointment from start to finish took less than 30 minutes.
I left the hospital feeling seen and genuinely cared for—a feeling I've often felt here in our fair valley, proof that rural healthcare can and does work when it's well-funded, sufficiently staffed, and community-supported.
My mammographer told me I was the best appointment she'd had in a long time. She seemed so grateful.
I found myself all-smiles walking away from the hospital, my morning having been significantly brightened by accidentally brightening hers.
Hours after the appointment I found myself wondering: What had I actually done but be myself?
I walked in knowing this wasn’t going to be the most riveting and fun thing I’d be doing during my holiday break (truth be told I almost cancelled the appointment mutiple times); I also walked in determined to make the best of it.
A tribute to my mother and grandmothers, no doubt, who long ago instilled in me a penchant for finding and sharing amusement in the unlikeliest of places, for approaching most aspects of life with optimism, curiosity, and empathy before anything else.
"Life is messy; clean it up," was one of my maternal grandmother's favorite adages, and plenty of family members admittedly never quite understood it. Help where and when you can was always the message I took from it. Do your best; be yourself; show up for the people and things that matter most. And while you’re at it? Don’t take yourself so seriously. “Doing hard things is easier if you can laugh your way through it,” was something I heard my grandmother say more than once.
Life will always be chaotic. The capitalist systems our country was founded on dictate we move at a near-constant and often frenetic pace. Something is always going to be a mess. Where can I make it slightly better? + Where I can I inject a bit of levity? were two questions I saw my grandmother perpetually trying to answer in her own day-to-day interactions.
Something else I learned from the first women in my life: Making this world a better, brighter place shouldn’t require belittling our own integrity, intelligence, or strength.
The maternal guardians of my life are some of the fiercest humans I will ever know on this earth. As a collective—two living and one with us in spirit and memory—they've always been exceptionally loyal, notably no-nonsense, and three of the most generous people in any room. They don't suffer fools, have been known to hold a grudge or two, and definitely know how to raise their voices when the occasion calls for it.
“You know what it means, right?” my maternal grandmother once asked me in the middle of a story about standing up for herself at work. During her expansive career, she was a rare woman in a leadership position in an office full of men. “When someone calls you a bitch?”
I shook my head. I hated that word. “What?” I asked.
“Being In Total Control of Herself,” said my grandmother, not even trying to hide the huge grin creeping across her face. “I take it is a compliment every time. It means I’m doing something right.”
I laughed. Since that day I’ve never looked at (or heard) that word without also thinking of the resiliency and innate strength of my grandmother.
My mom and her mom were never the quietest voices in a room, which in a family as big and boisterous as mine is nothing short of high praise. Throughout both of their lives, they were never afraid to be the life of any party, whether they wanted to be there or not. The proud owners of two of the best laughs I’ve ever heard, they were the first people to say or do something utterly ridiculous, especially if it meant it would instantly put someone else at ease.
I learned how to activate the “extroverted introvert” part of my personality by watching the two of them work a room.
My dad's mom was often the quietest voice in the room, which also meant she was the one who saw clearest, who listened best. She used to sit contentedly in the center of a room spinning with big stories via a bevy of women talking emphatically with their hands [her five daughters/my beloved aunts]. She’d catch my eye from across the room and smile her welcoming smile while patting the seat next to her and motioning me over. “My Kerri Anne,” she’d say, patting my thigh before clasping my hands in hers. “My dear Kerri Anne.” The stories she told in those rooms you had to lean in to hear.
Everything I learned about how to be an active, patient listener I learned from her.
Something I think about whenever I need to remember who I am and where I came from—whenever I need to remember my own power: The most important women in my life didn't make themselves small and never expect(ed) me to.
Messages and timely reminders I’m proud to carry with me, especially as we head into another new year.
Early on in my childhood I earned a reputation among my teachers that I wouldn't quickly or easily back down from an argument, especially if that argument was in service of questioning the status quo. The backstory there is that I've always abhorred busy work, and took substantial offense to being kept busy vs. actually learning. I didn't need more monotonous worksheets to do at school; I needed bigger, better books to read. There were years I wanted more expansive curriculum. There were years I wanted to know why we were learning what made it on our curriculum lists for the year. [Relatedly: “Because I said so” / “Because that’s the way it’s always been done” / “Because that’s what the State says you need to know for standardized tests” are three phrases/premises that never sat well with me.]
My grandmothers were especially supportive of me asking big questions and doing things differently, even when I was clearly irritating, even when it would have been easy enough to encourage me to be quieter, to go with the flow.
The first women in my life taught me that true power isn’t anything to do with violence; it’s about having a voice interwoven with a strong sense of self and a commitment to community. They taught me how important it is to stand up for myself, yes, and how important it is to stand up for others, too.
The way those childhood lessons most commonly manifest these days is that I know who I am, and what I care about. I know how to read rooms and people, where to find reliable information, what critical literacy is, the ways my (white) privilege manifests, what self-awareness looks like (and what it doesn’t), how to think for myself, how to be alone. These are all aspects of my personality I’m infinitely grateful for (and attributes I seek out in those I spend significant time with)—even when it's long been obvious my life would be simpler and likely more comfortable if I didn't think so much.
Decades later, so much has changed within my family and friend groups (and outside of them, too), even as the more tangible aspects of what makes me me surely haven’t. I still definitely hate busy work. I’m still and forever easily amused. I make it a priority to learn at least one new thing every day. I still seek out people who ask more questions than ones who profess to have all the answers.
Long before I knew what genuine support looked like via a committed partnership of of going on thirteen years with my husband, and long before I made the sort of soul friends that make me feel incredibly seen on a daily basis, the most important women in my life were always the first people to offer help or an encouraging word—the first to model what it looks like to be a part of a widening circle. They were also always the first and loudest to tell me how proud they are of the beloved, wholly imperfect human I am. They’re a big part of why I love (my humans, my places, my animal kin, this big, beautiful earth, a well-timed pun) as deeply and fiercely as I do.
The most important people in my life—starting with foundational family members so many years ago and rippling out in steady waves from that core center—lead with empathy and compassion, show up to every table with optimism and hope, never let people they love wonder how they feel about them, and tell the truth, even when it's uncomfortable. Even when it's hard. They also make me laugh, a lot.
More apt reminders I'm going to carry with me into 2024, just as I've let them be guiding principles for so many years in my life's wake.
DECEMBER WRITING PROMPTS
Write about the last time someone was notably kind to you, and/or you were notably kind to someone in your daily life. Try to be as specific as possible.
Make a list of three things you appreciate about yourself.
Make a list of three things you appreciate about someone in your life.
Is there someone in your life that needs to hear a kind word from you in the week(s) ahead? Write down what you want to say to them.
What if you called them today, right now? Perhaps you can make some time in the days ahead to send them a message (maybe even a hand-written note)?
Make a list of brave, beautiful, and even “mundane” interactions that have shaped who you are and your respective world view(s).
No start and end dates here. Feel free to make it a living list.
As we do in our monthly DIVE sessions, I would recommend sitting with each of these prompts for at least ten minutes at a time. Set a timer and try to keep writing for ten minutes without stopping or self-editing or even trying to steer yourself a certain direction. I’m a firm and longtime believer that when it comes to prompts like these, wherever you end up on the page is precisely where you’re meant to be.
I’d always love to hear where these prompts take you, too, if you ever want to share.
Photo of one my favorite summer swim / winter soaking spots by my husband, Matt [hi, babe!].
A little bit of backstory about Kerrtopia & the woman behind the words:
A lifelong writer, enthusiastic English Lit major (see also: I read a lot), and fan of learning something new every day, I wanted a dedicated space to share more writing-specific thoughts and prompts more regularly. By day I work for an Indie nonfiction publisher, and by night (among other things) I lead a quarterly writing workshop called DIVE via Creative Fuel Collective—you can learn all about it and sign up to be kept in the loop for future offerings right here.
Registration for DIVE’s Jan-March 2024 cohort is open, and there are still a handful of spots left [writing workshops make evergreen gifts for yourself and/or beloved writerly humans in your life]. Have questions about the sessions? Odds are good I have answers. Please reach out!
Do you know someone who would benefit from receiving regular writing prompts to their inbox, who might delight in reading some intentional rambles about words and water and the power in finding our respective and collective (voices +) senses of place?
I’d love it if you’d share this post and Kerrtopia with them.
Kerrtopia is a free offering, though I've turned on paid subscriptions for this newsletter if you have the means to support it now or anytime in the future. It's not necessary to pay to read, but it is of course very much appreciated. I’ll likely be adding some special content for paid subscribers down the line. Thanks for reading, and for your ongoing support. I’m grateful you’ve found me here, grateful we’re here together. You can also find me on Instagram.
This was an absolutely lovely thing to read. I feel so lifted just from participating in taking it in. You are such a gift. 💕💕💕
What a joy it was this morning to open my email and find this in it . Thank you for sharing yourself with us exactly as you are .