Awestruck

When I was about nineteen or so, I read a short story that changed everything I thought about writing. It was in the Best American Short Story anthology that year and I still remember a kind of shiver that went through me when I read it.

It was called "Lawns" by Mona Simpson. I went to see her read at a Chicago bookstore and the memory is so sharp that I can see her when I close my eyes, standing at a podium in a quilted jacket with very long straight hair. Too shy to ask her a question, I listened intently, amazed to just be sitting in the same room with her.

I still teach "Lawns" in my classes now, always happy to share it with my students.

Last Thursday night, I met Mona Simpson at a Christmas party in NY and I am still not over it.

I drove into New York to have dinner with David Sedaris and to be his guest at a New Yorker party.

We met at Ai Fiori in the Langham Hotel. As we were ordering, David handed the waiter the wine list and said, "We won't be needing this. We are tragic alcoholics."

Dinner was lovely and afterwards, we walked for dozens of blocks in the cold December night to the party.

I don't really go to parties these days. It's a lot to stand in a crowded room and make small talk and then it's a lot more to stand in a crowded room full of famous writers.

I shook Mona Simpson's hand and told her that I still teach "Lawns" and that I am a big fan and I felt weirdly nineteen again.

I also met Jeffrey Eugenides and when I asked him if his students came to his classes at NYU starstruck, he said, "They are actually insufficiently starstruck." Which made me laugh.

This is basically a substack post about being starstruck. I would say that I was sufficiently starstruck all night on Thursday.

But being starstruck is to be in awe, which is one of the best feelings in the world. I'm going to wish for more moments of awe this year, welcoming the slightest whisper of it whenever I can. May you all experience an abundance of awe also.

Thank you for reading.