Ooh-oo child/ Things are gonna get easier/ Ooh-oo child/ Things'll get brighter

Flying trapeze class tonight ended what had been a streak of amazing classes. Things had been so good for so long that I had kind of forgotten what these lows can feel like. Looking back over emails that I sent to my mom after my recent hot streak does remind me of how great things had been: turnarounds that kept form, swings that built height, calm (for me) takeoffs, cutaways with misses and timers.

Then, tonight. Backslidding on my turnaround is terrible for my headcase issues. Rational me (hah!) acknowledges that this could be/likely was a fluke class, for lots of reasons (houlder; tired; heat). Things might be totally better next class.

But man, sometimes it sucks to love something you are so terrible at. And sometimes, it just hurts.

I've written before of the magic of my flying world, where everything is hard and every victory is truly earned with hours of work and sweat and tears. But tonight, as I watched someone else learn his swing (second class on it) with a forceout more powerful already than mine may ever be and height I still don't get, sometimes all I want is to ever belong in that other world. For OOL to ever seem like a possibility. For just once to get something more quickly than most people.

Sigh. I ask too much of trapeze. the rational (hah!) part of me knows that. I asked it to save me when I was going through a really difficult time. I asked it to teach me to trust again. I ask it to be a place where I learn to conquer fear. I ask it to always make me happy. I ask it to be an escape from reality. I ask it to pick me up when I've had a rough day/week in my other worlds. I ask it to make me feel strong and beautiful and courageous. I ask it to be magical. It's not fair; I know it's not fair.

I miss the highs and lows/ All the climbing, all the falling/ All the while the wild wind blows/ Stinging you with snow/ And soaking you with rain/ I miss the mountains/ I miss the pain

Sometimes when I'm reading a particularly challenging or incomprehensible text, I will read up on it either prior to starting it (when I know in advance) or soon after commencing with it when it rapidly becomes apparent that I need to. Wikipedia is a super helpful tool; if I have a good sense of the overarching plot, structure, themes, and style of a work, it's much easier to read hard texts decently quickly.

Other times, I go into books completely blind. Like I did with my current read, Blonde. I was reading along, main character's name is Norma Jean, she's blonde, etc. And then way too far in, I suddenly realized what it's about and I felt very stupid. Ah, well.

Give me pain if that's what's real/ It's the price we pay to feel

Hopefully this post will be somewhat comprehensible. The New Yorker (bane of this project) recently ran a piece called The Pleasure of Reading to Impress Yourself. I actually think this piece's reach exceeds its grasp, but nonetheless I enjoyed it. It resonated with me, since really, maybe that's the point of the list project at the end of the day?

I admit that I'm often pretty self-deprecating when I talk about this endeavor. Some of that is sincere in that I don't think this project is unusually impressive or better than other reading projects or priorities. At the same time, I do think that I have benefited enormously as a reader by doing this project.

I knew that the project would expose me to books that I would not have otherwise read, and that's certainly been a main benefit. I've fallen in love with authors' works that I certainly would have been very unlikely to come across some other way. But there's more than that.

By trying to read so much and so broadly and works so ambitious and at times challenging, I've expanded my horizons as a reader. I better appreciate references and in-jokes. I can see how certain writers influenced others; I can trace the evolution of the novel through my own firsthand reading experiences. I've come to understand certain authors by looking to the dominant questions/methods/movements of other art forms (e.g. Joyce and Woolf and the visual arts at the time, etc.). I'm a faster reader, and ironically a more patient, trusting reader.

Right now I'm reading Celestial Harmonies, which is a great example of why I love the list project. At first I didn't enjoy it at all, but as I kept going and it began to unfold in this amazingly intricate, exquisite way, I've come to love it. Even if I had tried it without the project, I probably wouldn't have kept going long enough to reach this point.

So, yes, I'm self-deprecating/mocking about this project, but at the end of the day, undertakings like this do come with rewards singular to ambitious projects.

I've been very hopeful so far/ Now for the first time I think we're going wrong

The secret, my friends, to embarking on a difficult, decade-long challenge to read ~348,629 pages is to have support from family and friends.

For example, the other night, I decided to start reading out loud to Sarah and Josh from Celestial Harmonies. I can't explain why. Anyway, as I read they provided helpful commentary basically constantly. Until the point at about five pages in where I read "What makes a family a family?" and Josh said "'Ohana' means family. Family means nobody gets left behind," and I said "Screw it" and went to take a shower.

H: I'll be here for you/ N: You say that right here/ But then give it a year/ Or 10 years or a life

So, how far behind am I for the year? Actually, I don't think that I am at all. I'm at 64, and I need to be at 75 by the end of September. We're about at the midpoint of the quarter, so we are in fact a tiny bit ahead.

I guess that's not all that surprising, really. My pace is consistent on a macro level, but I tend to go in spurts on a more micro level. I'm not sure why that would be the case.

Catch me I'm falling/ Please hear me calling/ Catch me before it's too late

So, I'm actually enjoying my current read! It's so odd; I started to think that maybe I was in a rut that I'd never get out of, but no. Now, it may mostly be the contrast to it and some other recent reads, but I'll take it. This book has a plot! It makes sense! You must understand that I've been reading Sebald and this other book that has been described as incomprehensible.

Now, I didn't actually find it to be totally incomprehensible or anything. In fact, in a way I enjoyed my second Sebald and I enjoyed City Sister Silver, too. But it's sort of like eating a grilled portobello mushroom. It's kind of good, but more interesting than enjoyable, and after awhile very hard for me to eat. Or read. Not a great metaphor.

I also, of course, have a soft spot for Czech literature. If I were independently wealthy with a ton of time on my hand, yes, first I'd max out circus/aerial classes, but after that I'd want to take a Czech literature course. Well, I'd also want to do some dance, music, painting, and language lessons, but at some point, Czech literature. I love Prague. Here is a picture from my work trip to Prague last summer:

And for fun, a picture of ducks at Bletchley Park from my get out of the U.S. trip this year.

Okay, this post got weird.

You'll hear and you'll recall/ the sadness, the doubt, all the loss, the grief/ will belong to some play from the past

Another August, another milestone. Since we have a decimal numeral system and I try to read 100 books a year, I hit the milestones around the same time every year. Somehow, 600 just doesn't feel like that exciting of a milestone, though. Maybe it's because 500 was such a big one; maybe it's because 100 actually isn't really that great of a milestone indicator and the next milestone is actually 750.

Or maybe it's just that I've hit another bout of list project ennui. If I had to describe it in one word at the moment, I'd choose interminable. I will be 31 and a half when this ends if I keep at my current pace. It just feels like it will go on forever.

Anyway, yay! 600 books! Sigh.

What was the 600th book, you ask? Rings of Saturn by Sebald. It is about this guy on a walking tour of Suffolk. I kid you not. I was disappointed, I must admit. Though, I could imagine a scenario where I would enjoy this book. Specifically, if were on vacation for several weeks in isolation, in a house with lots of full-length windows (almost like a green house) out in a tropical forest, I think I'd enjoy reading it.

Am I behind for the year? Yeah, I think that I am.