Author: Wendy Kennar

The Need for Romance Novels

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

A friend of mine and I were talking about the appeal of reading romance novels. More than the appeal — the need we have to read romance novels. 

There is the teacher in me that sincerely believes almost all reading is beneficial (with the exception of awful, hate-fueled reading material). Pure and simple, just like you know drinking water is good for you, reading is good for you too. Reading keeps your mind working. Reading strengthens your vocabulary. Most importantly, I believe reading helps us learn about others. Reading gives us the opportunity to step into less-familiar worlds, and as a result, we have more understanding, more empathy for others. 

Reading romance does all that and more. 

Here are a few reasons why I read romance novels:

  1. Romance novels are predictable in the best way. I don’t have to worry when reading a romance. I’m not nervous or scared while reading. I know things will work out okay, more-than-okay, for the main characters. I can read in a relaxed way, certain there will be a satisfying, leave-me-smiling type of ending.
  2. Romance novels are not work. Reading some books feels like work. They have statistics and dates. Big words and lengthy chapters. Much symbolism and complicated plot lines. Romance novels are a lot easier in that regard, though I do still sometimes find myself looking up a new-to-me word. In a romance, there is no complicated information to process and keep track of as the story goes on.
  3. Romance novels are an escape. I can take a temporary break from real life — the lightbulb that just went out in the bathroom, the plants that need watering, the prescription I need to refill — and slip into another world where I don’t have to do anything. I can just read. And I can do it anywhere. A few pages while standing in line at CVS. Several pages in the car while waiting for my son to be dismissed from school. A few chapters at my neighborhood cafe. 
  4. Romance novels are reminders.  The specifics vary from novel to novel. The age, race, and gender of the characters may differ from our own. But it doesn’t matter. Because the emotions are the same. Reading a romance is a powerful reminder that human beings are more alike than we are different. 
  5. Romance novels provide the opportunity to reframe our perspective. The truth is the world is scary, unpredictable, and messy. And usually when we think about that, we focus on the negative. But, if you slow down, you realize that opening yourself up to another person, falling in love, and maintaining a romantic relationship can also be described as scary, unpredictable, and messy — in the best possible way.

I recently finished reading The Proposal by Jasmine Guillroy and have to share this passage with you:

“WAS THIS WHAT LOVE WAS?

Being happy when you thought about someone; wanting to never stop thinking about them, even when you were fighting; having every damn thing in the grocery store remind you of them, from diapers to sour cream; wanting to be a better writer and friend and person because of how they were and how they made you feel; wanting to be with them, all the time, even though you kept fighting it.”

Readers, I’m curious. Do you read romance novels? 

If you do, feel free to share why you read them. And if you have any favorites you’d like to recommend, please do so.

If you don’t, feel free to share why you don’t read romances and tell me about what you enjoy reading instead.

Affiliate links:  Please note, I have included a link to buy the book that I’m quoting from.  If you do use my link, I will make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you.  I have chosen to affiliate with Bookshop.org, which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores. It is my hope that you will choose to support them in their mission to “help local, independent bookstores thrive in the age of ecommerce.”

My What If Year

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

Do you ever think about other careers you might have had? Other choices you might have made? Other paths you might have taken?

And what if you had the chance to put much of your current-daily-real-life on pause and try out one of those unchosen careers? Would you take the chance to explore?

Alisha Fernandez Miranda did! And she wrote a memoir about it called My What If Year. 

From the back cover of the book:  “Delightfully irreverent, My What If Year recounts the adventures of a successful, Latina CEO and mother of twins who — on the cusp of turning forty — takes a break from her job for one year to explore the dream careers she never pursued. Alisha’s hilarious internship adventure takes her to Broadway, the London art scene, a posh Scottish hotel, and the workout world.”

Such a fun read! Here are a few of my favorite passages:

During her first internship, Ms. Miranda writes:  “How long had it been since I had been happy? For so long I thought the pursuit of happiness had been what was guiding me, but now I wasn’t so sure.” 

“I had no regrets, but it dawned on me that maybe my internship adventure, was, in a way, about revisiting that time of my life, a time when all the pages ahead were blank and unwritten.”

“Leaning into my strengths let me ignore my weaknesses. Yes, it allowed me to achieve and find success in the things I was good at. But I was starting to question whether I needed to be spending more time nurturing those tiny seeds of things I was terrible at — serving dinner, for example — to see if maybe they might blossom into something more, given some effort and some mistakes. Maybe it didn’t matter if it was ‘the best’ if I was doing something I loved. I didn’t even know what being the best meant anymore in this new world.”

“Truthfully, I was looking forward to seeing everyone. I was no longer as afraid of being subsumed in these other identities and knew that the core of who I was, or whoever I was figuring out I wanted to be, at least, was strong enough to stand on its own. In fact, the heft of my obligations no longer seemed overpowering; I had started to feel comforted by them, like a weighted blanket that kept me grounded.”

“ ‘Joy’ — such a simple, small word that holds so much complexity. It’s more than happiness. It’s ebullience. It’s celebration. A party all day, every day, where everyone is invited. People think joy is elusive, and they’re right; its impermanence is what makes it all the more important to cultivate, nurture, and appreciate it whenever it comes your way.” 

“But as I aged, I came to know that nothing is guaranteed. If you wanted to enjoy as much of life as possible, you had to put some intentionality behind seeking joy. You had to pay attention. If you didn’t it was likely to slip through your fingers.” 

“I didn’t want to have to keep taking side paths and then retracing my steps back to the main road. I wanted the detours to be the main road. Over the past few months, I had finally gotten, for brief moments in time, the chance to be the versions of myself I had seen in the shadows of my memories. I loved the chance to step into their shoes, but I didn’t want to be any of them, really. I wanted to be original me, but with the freedom to take the pieces from each and carry them with me as I continued on ahead.”

“One of the things I appreciated most about being an intern was the ability to not feel overwhelmed by my mental load. Making space meant that, all of a sudden, my brain had more room to think about other things and to consider other possibilities. Ideas for new projects sprang up like daffodils in the springtime. There was a lot in there that had been obscured by the constant to-do lists. My internships had given me a chance to see those things clearly.”

“I didn’t know much about what the next chapter of my life would hold, but I knew I needed to embody the spirit of being an intern in whatever I did: be adaptable; learn to fail; be okay with not being the best; let go of the plan sometimes; and above all, listen, learn, and find joy in every day.” 

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

(I apologize if any part of this week’s blog format looks strange. There may be a number or letter randomly showing up. Please, let’s just pretend it’s not there.)

Every Day Resilience

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

“Living with an autoimmune disease has caused me to re-define words I thought I knew. Words I thought I understood. Words like strength, weakness, and pain don’t mean what they once did. Their definitions have grown and expanded, because living with a chronic illness causing chronic pain is hard. And I’m doing it every day.”

The paragraph above is an excerpt from my personal essay, “Every Day Resilience.” I am pleased to share that my essay has been published in Fahmidan Journal Issue 15: Thyroid and Autoimmune Warriors. You can click here to read it in its entirety.

Saving My Tears

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

The other morning, as I drove home, I heard the song “Save Your Tears” by The Weeknd on the radio. I had taken myself to my favorite neighborhood cafe for some outdoor reading and writing time. 

“Save Your Tears” is a song I’ve heard a fair amount of times. Usually it’s a song I listen to, a song I enjoy. But this time, it actually brought me to tears. 

I parked the car and sat inside for a bit. I didn’t want to run the risk of seeing any of my neighbors, I didn’t want to have to try and explain why I was crying, because I wasn’t quite sure. 

I don’t think it was any one thing.

Actually, there were a number of reasons I could have been crying. 

For over two weeks now, I’ve been dealing with a pinched nerve, which at its worst led to tingling down my arm, into my right hand and fingers. It has created pain and tightness in my neck/shoulder area. It has made everyday things like brushing my teeth and washing my face harder to do. But that wasn’t why I was crying.

Since my son’s high school hosted Open House, about a month ago, I have had extreme pain in both my knees. It’s difficult to bend and pick up something that I dropped. It’s too painful to squat and pull weeds out of my garden. So I plop down onto the sidewalk and weed my garden and then have to figure out a way to get back up. But that wasn’t why I was crying either.

I think it was the lyrics, the simple repetition of “Save your tears for another day.” 

Because I do that, all the time. I save my tears for another day or another part of the day. I stop myself from crying in the Ralphs parking lot, as I load our bags of groceries into the car. I don’t cry as I unlock our front door, but wait until I get inside where no one can see me or hear me. 

And that is the bottom line — where no one can see me or hear me. Because it’s been my experience that me crying — out of pain, or fear, or frustration, or weariness — makes those around me uncomfortable. Which means on top of me trying to take care of myself and let the tears out, I’m left trying to soothe and reassure my family while downplaying my tears and whatever it was that caused me to cry in the first place.

Except. 

Except the other day during my virtual therapy session. I cried. I cried multiple-Kleenex, nose-running, red-blotchy-eyes kind of crying. Because I generally keep everything in. I am so good at biting my tongue. At keeping my stoic game face on. At not letting on how hurt I really am. How much pain I really feel. And how much help I need.

I wouldn’t say I felt “better” after my crying session. But I definitely didn’t feel worse, either.

The Healing Journal

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

I recently finished working my way through Emily Suñez’s beautiful book The Healing Journal: Guided Prompts and Inspiration for Life with Illness.

If you read my blog on a regular basis, you might remember that twice before my blog posts were inspired by prompts in this lovely book. (You can read “I Am Alive With Creativity” by clicking here, and “My Illness Does Not Define Me” by clicking here.)

I finished reading the book and answering the writing prompts, but I haven’t finished healing. And that’s part of what makes life with a chronic illness so complicated. You never really completely heal from a chronic illness. 

There is no finish line. No specific treatment plan in place, that once you work through all the steps you’re “better.” It doesn’t work that way for me. It doesn’t work that way for a lot of people. There is no ideal world of “fully healed” to strive for. 

What I have found in the more than-a-decade that I have lived with my autoimmune disease, is that healing is a continuous process. Just as my symptoms go through periods of flares and remission, my feelings about my invisible disability ebb and flow as well.

My illness, and my healing, will forever be a part of me.

Buy Yourself the F*cking Lilies

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

Sometimes you come across a book that you didn’t realize you needed to read until you’re in the middle of reading it, and you notice you’re running low on sticky notes because so many pages need to be marked.

That was my experience reading Buy Yourself the F*cking Lilies: And Other Rituals to Fix Your Life From Someone Who’s Been There by Tara Schuster.

Ms. Schuster’s book is another wonderful example of how writing the specific actually makes it universal. Ms. Schuster and I had extremely different childhoods. Our adult life experiences are quite different as well. I’m older than she is, married, and the mother of a fifteen-year-old son. Yet, I found so much to love in this book. So much that spoke to me. So much that said, “Wendy try this. Wendy, you need to do this. Wendy, pay attention to this part.” 

Here are just some of the passages that I found to be deserving of sticky notes:

“What you are about to read is a guide to healing your traumas, big and small, in the pursuit of creating a life you will adore and be proud of. You don’t need to have had a mess-wreck-disaster childhood like mine for these tools to work for you. These lessons in self-care will be useful even if you had super-stellar parents who nurtured the shit out of you. This book is for anyone who simply needs to take better care of themselves — anyone who wants to lead a life they choose, embrace, and fucking love.”

“But I decided it was time to stop comparing my pain to others’, time to quit telling myself that I shouldn’t feel this way, and time to start focusing on how I actually did feel, because that was real.” 

“Buy the fucking lilies. You are worth seven-dollar lilies. You are worth the thing that instantly makes your life better. I’ve heard people talk about their favorite exercise class this way. I’ve heard people talk about an order of guacamole with their tacos this way. I’ve heard people talk about the ten-dollar, ten-minute massage at the nail salon this way. That small, pleasurable thing that makes you feel like you are treating yourself — do not deprive yourself of this. Buy the fucking lilies, take the class, order the guac, get the massage.”

“Above all else: You are worth the lilies. The small, attainable luxury of lilies is not something to stress about, it is not something to deny yourself, it is something to make plans for and embrace. Small things that make you happy ARE a part of taking care of yourself. If you can’t put your money where your mouth is and say, ‘I am worth the lilies,’ or ‘I am worth six-dollar beef jerky’ or ‘I am worth the almond butter that makes me actually look forward to the morning,’ then why are you working so hard at your job anyway? Seven-dollar lilies won’t ruin you and they won’t make you poor; they will make you stronger. You are stronger when you treat yourself well. What are your lilies? Please go buy them today. If you feel weird about it at all, just blame me and then enjoy the fuck out of your flowers.” 

“What feeds your well? What’s the thing you love to do that makes your heart glad? Is it flower arranging? Is it people-watching at a café? Is it reading a book in a park without knowing what time it is? Is it going back to that dance class you used to love but for some reason stopped taking? What makes you so happy that it gives you rest and ease and feels so damn good that it sets your soul on fire with inspiration? These things that inspire us are often the easiest to lose sight of. We give them up because there is just so much ‘to do’ in a day. We are ‘very busy,’ after all. But you do not gain strength from denying yourself pleasure and being so serious about your life. Instead, keep your well full, and be astonished at the power, the motivation, the brilliance that you will inevitably find in the rest of your life.”

“What I have learned is that you are stronger when you give yourself incredible kindness.” 

Many more pages are marked with a peach-colored sticky note. In fact, Buy Yourself the F*cking Lilies inspired one of my April blog posts. (In case you missed it, you can read it by clicking here.)

There is just so much goodness in this book. Reading this book feels very much like having a super close friend right next to you, helping you to see your own wonderful-ness. A super close friend who wants you to see the sparkly brilliance within yourself. To which I say, “Thank you, Ms. Schuster. I’m working on it.” 

One additional note, Ms. Schuster has written a second book titled, Glow in the F*cking Dark: Simple Practices to Heal Your Soul From Someone Who Learned the Hard Way. You can bet it’s on my wish list!

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

Teacher: One Who Loves

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

“The simple definition of teacher is one who teaches. But the reality of what it means to be a teacher is so much more. There was never one typical school day, because what I did or didn’t do in that classroom wasn’t entirely up to me. It involved my students — their participation, their preparation, their personalities. Each student brought a different set of previous experiences, a different set of learning styles, and a different set of challenges.” 

The paragraph above is an excerpt from my personal essay, “Teacher: One Who Loves,” and I’m so pleased to share that my essay was recently published on HerStry as part of their Women at Work series. You can click here to read the essay in its entirety.

And just a friendly reminder — Teacher Appreciation Week is May 8-12, 2023! It’s a great time to get in touch with a former teacher (yours or your child’s) and thank them!

One Step At a Time, One Book At a Time

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

This past weekend, I attended the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books. For those who aren’t familiar with it, the Festival of Books is a huge, two-day, annual event held on the campus of USC (University of Southern California). 

Years ago, before my son was born, I went to the Festival every year. Back then it was held on the campus of UCLA (University of California Los Angeles.) 

I attended the Festival last year for the first time in many years. There was a certain thrill and energy that came with being surrounded by all things book-related, at attending an event that is a true celebration of books and authors. 

This year, though, I really wasn’t sure if I should go or not. Because I haven’t been feeling well lately. Because my pain level has been high and my energy level has been low. 

That’s the hard part for me — deciding when to push myself and when to hold back and admit that my body needs rest.

The truth was, I really wanted to go. I didn’t want to stay home because I was worried about my pain or the heat. I wanted to prove that I’m still capable of being out in the world, doing things I feel passionately about, not letting my illness completely dictate my life. 

I tried to make it as easy and stress-free as possible for myself by not attending any panel discussions or book signings. I didn’t want to have to worry about being in a particular place at a particular time. 

I simply strolled around the Festival, wearing my mask and sunhat, and doing my best to be present and enjoy the experience.  

I admit — I did start to daydream about what it would be like to be an author with my own exhibition area, selling copies of my memoir. Immediately I thought of giving out small, wrapped candies to those who stopped at my table. (Starburst and Hershey’s Kisses came to mind, though the Kisses might melt in the heat. Jolly Ranchers could be another possibility.)

I walked around, I took pictures, I picked up books, chatted with some authors, and bought three books, even though I have more than a dozen books at home, just waiting for me to read them. 

I loved being there. But, (you knew there was a but coming) it was incredibly hard on my body. It took me about 15 minutes to walk from the parking structure to the exhibition area. Plus, I had parked on level 5 which meant I would ordinarily take the elevator down to the ground level. However, eager attendees were crowding onto the elevator each time it stopped at 5, and I will not ride in a super-crowded elevator. (During my teaching years, I once was stuck in the school elevator for 55 minutes one morning.) So I walked down five flights of stairs. (Thankfully when it was time for me to leave, no one else was waiting for the elevator so I rode it up to parking level 5.)

When I felt my speed decreasing, when I found myself searching for a place to sit and rest in the shade, I knew it was time to go. That’s when the mask comes in handy. No one can see me talking to myself as I retraced my steps back to the parking area. One step at a time. Okay, you can do this. 

Am I glad I went? Yes. 

But I’m also sad. Because I miss the old days, the years I could just go out and do something without weighing all the possible risks. When I didn’t have to worry about having a pain-hangover the day (or days) after a particularly strenuous activity. 

I Am Alive With Creativity

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

I have slowly been making my way through The Healing Journal: Guided Prompts and Inspiration for Life with Illness by Emily Suñez.

This is a book that you don’t read all at once. You “savor the flavor,” as we say in our family. You pay attention to each beautiful illustration and each writing prompt. (I last wrote about The Healing Journal in a December blog post. You can click here to read it.)

The book is much too pretty for me to write in. Instead, I use the statements in the book as prompts for my daily five-minute writing exercise. 

If you’re not familiar with it, my five-minute writing time is exactly what it sounds like. You set a timer and you write for five minutes. That’s it. Sometimes I am surprised by what I write during those five minutes. Something comes out on the paper that astonishes me, delights me, saddens me. 

Sometimes I know those five-minutes were just the beginning of something more to come. I feel as if there is more to explore and so I do. Several of my published personal essays were born from my five-minute writing exercises. But sometimes, the five-minutes were just that. Five minutes that are done and over with, that produced writing I won’t ever return to.

Last week, it was a case of me wanting to further explore what I began in my son’s partially-used composition book from last year that I now use for my five minute exercises. It was this statement:

“I am alive with creativity.”

I am alive with creativity. I write — in some way, shape, or form — each day. Sometimes it’s a blog post, sometimes it’s an article for MomsLA.com, sometimes it’s just my five-minute writing exercise. 

What I realized as my timer counted backwards was that my definition of creativity has changed over time. It has broadened and expanded in ways I didn’t realize, until I answered this prompt.

I surprised myself by listing all the ways I am creative, all the ways I demonstrate my creativity. My garden. The way I display the books on my bookcase. The way I use stickers to decorate the envelopes for the letters I mail to my pen pal. The flowers on my dining table and the candles in my writing room. The earrings and necklace I select to wear each day. 

Many days, lately in particular, it’s easy to think of the glass-half-empty parts of my life — the unsatisfying physical therapy appointments, the prescription medications, the pain that leaves me crying when I step out of the shower. 

But my life is more than that. I am more than that. 

Dear Readers, I’d love to know about your creativity. Tell me about it in the comments! 

Describe Yourself — Easier Said than Done, At Least for Me

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

The other night at dinner, I asked my fifteen-year-old son a question.

What three adjectives would you use to describe yourself?

I was inspired to ask, because I’m reading Tara Schuster’s book Buy Yourself the F*cking Lilies: And Other Rituals to Fix Your Life, From Someone Who’s Been There and earlier that day had read the chapter titled “If You Can Play Nice with Others, Play Nice with Yourself: Do One King Thing for Yourself on the Daily.” (By the way, I’m loving this book; more to come on this book in a future blog post or two.)

In the first paragraph of that chapter, Ms. Schuster tests her readers:

“How nice are you to yourself? Don’t know? Let’s try a test. Right now, write down ten things you like about yourself. Go ahead and use the margins of the book.” 

I didn’t write in the margins of the book, though plenty of pages are marked with sticky notes and yellow highlighter. But I did pause in my reading and try to mentally list ten things I like about myself. It’s a hard thing to do.

So at dinner that night, I decided to try out an easier version on my son. 

What three adjectives would you use to describe yourself?

Of course, he first wanted to know why I was asking, and I told him I was just curious, based on something I had read in my book.

My high school-freshman-son took a few seconds before replying.

“Creative. Unique. Likable.” 

It was quick and easy for him. And I love the three adjectives he chose! It just made me feel like that was one of those moments when my husband and I each earned a little pat on the back, an acknowledgement from the universe that we’re doing a good job as parents. 

I’ve been trying to think of my three adjectives. It’s definitely harder for me to do, than it was for my son. 

So far I’ve got, “neat, kind, punctual.” 

Another time I came up with, “passionate, friendly, literary.”

How about you, dear readers? Feel free to share your three adjectives in the comments.