Cheers to the .111958%

My getaway with writers and furry blue monsters

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Recently, I braved pouring rain and slippery mud to dance with my pals at a celebrated outdoor venue. No, it wasn’t Burning Man. I was at Tanglewood in the Berkshires of Western Massachusetts and five of us were swaying together under the pavilion (the “Shed”), singing along with a live performance by Train. “Hey, Soul Sister…” now stirs bittersweet pangs as I miss my three soul sisters (and one soul brother).

I met these friends in fall 2020 in a Zoom course for journalists. I only remember interacting with one during the actual class. The rest I got to know in the following weeks as we formed online groups to critique each other’s writing. By early 2021, six of us from across the U.S. and Canada had splintered off into the Mavens of Mayhem. Sharing our most vulnerable selves through our writing, we quickly evolved into friends, then family.

We Zoom, text, WhatsApp, email, and talk on the phone in groups and pairs. We even managed a few individual meetups, but this was our first planned-in-advance, in-person gathering. We were one person shy (next year, Yassi!), but thanks to LaVonne’s determined coordination, three of us arrived by planes, trains and automobiles to the same New York hub to travel the last part of our journey together, where we joyfully met up with the other two. Is it still a reunion when there hasn’t yet been a union?

I was the one who suggested the Apple Tree Inn in Lenox, not realizing when I booked it that it was directly across the street from Tanglewood. In a moment of full-circle synchronicity, I later discovered our inn was also next door to Kripalu Center. Four years ago, I had registered for a weekend memoir writing workshop that Cheryl Strayed was teaching at Kripalu in April 2020. Had it not been canceled because of COVID, it would have been my first writing course and my first tentative step onto a path beyond the corporate copywriting I did for a living.

The same day I would have arrived at Kripalu, I stumbled onto The Isolation Journals, a pandemic-borne online global writing project. Maybe it was fate. I ended up finding my writing voice and community on that path instead.

More than three years later, LaVonne drove us on a quick tour of the Kripalu campus and I thought about all that had changed. I’m now an agented writer with a memoir on submission. Like I said, a full-circle moment. I still hope to meet Cheryl Strayed one day.

The Uncertainty of Meeting IRL

Before the Mavens meetup, I wondered how reality would stack up to the promise of finally being together. I worried that as a social introvert, I’d run out of steam while still out and about with the group. Would a long day of group conversation be too much without the built-in escape of a Zoom call ending or text thread reaching its logical conclusion?

Happily, reality exceeded expectations. You couldn’t wipe the smiles from our faces and our conversations were punctuated by laughter and companionable silence. I had one moment in the car when I sighed out loud and immediately, Nikki asked if I was okay. “I’m just going to need a few minutes to recharge when we get back,” I confessed. I was simply tired, and sure enough, 20 minutes later I was ready for our next adventure.

I was amazed (and relieved) to discover no speed bumps, no adjustments needed to reconcile my impression of each person in my phone and on my screen with the one standing in front of me. My friends were exactly who I thought they were.

The .111958%

I was reminded on this trip that there’s nothing like being physically present with another person. I’m a walking testament to the power and authenticity of virtual friendships—they can be as real as any in-person relationship. But there’s an intangible essence that can only be experienced when you’re walking next to someone, catching eyes, or hearing them laugh at something you said. It’s a magical spark, a building block for memories.

There’s an intangible essence that can only be experienced when you’re walking next to someone, catching eyes, or hearing them laugh

In S1E3 of Breaking Bad, there’s a flashback to high school chemistry teacher (and future meth kingpin) Walter White’s younger days as a scientist. He’s at a chalkboard working through a problem that has him—and the lovely research partner with whom he’s got obvious chemistry—stumped. They are breaking down the chemical composition of the human body and after identifying the final trace elements, discover they’re still .111958% shy.

“Seems like something’s missing, doesn’t it?” White says. “There’s got to be more to a human being than that.”

His colleague asks, “What about the soul?” 

The .111958% revealed itself in the Berkshires in flashes of connection that will carry me until our next in-person gathering:

• Playing DJ during long car rides, each person in rotation calling out a song for Siri to play on Spotify

• Meeting Matt, Nikki and Helen in the lobby of our inn during a middle-of-the-night power outage and giggling like 12-year-olds at a slumber party

• Sharing a banana, half-eaten bag of pistachios, and soul-baring conversation over glasses of wine with Helen when the inn’s kitchen closed before we could order

• Lingering over lunch in a Mediterranean restaurant, each person taking a turn describing the others, one at a time, in a single sentence

• Turning Grover into our own Flat Stanley. Wait, what?

So Many Grovers

Before our trip, we decided to give each other a small, inexpensive gift. I was thinking of getting everyone a Snoopy. Snoopy’s our shortcut to comfort, a late-night meme we text to say goodnight, I’m here, I love you. The Kohl’s website said they had stuffed Snoopys in stock, but when I went, they didn’t. They did, however, have Grover. A whole binful.

One of my favorite works of CNF is a piece I wrote called Salt, in which the element starts off innocuous and later becomes menacing—a monster that threatens my family. Grover has a few cameos. For my gift, I printed out a copy of Salt, created a bookmark with a related blurb about friendship, and wrapped up a stuffed Grover for each person, hoping they wouldn’t think I’d lost it.

Instead, Grover became our mascot. He joined us on outings and took lots of selfies. I’m glad I thought to buy one for myself, though he didn’t make the cut when I packed my suitcase. Frankly, it was Grover or a second pair of shoes.

My trip refilled my cup, strengthened my bond with friends, and reminded me that leaving my house on occasion is a very good idea. Also, that you’re never too old for a stuffed pal.  

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Three Things That Entertained, Intrigued, or Inspired Me (Berkshires Edition)

1) “So how do we want to handle meals?” I asked at the start of our trip. Five people sharing expenses can get complicated to track. Unless one person is grossly out-spending the rest, I’m all for splitting costs. Nikki suggested we download the free Splitwise app. She set up a group, and anytime someone picked up the tab, they entered the expense and checked the box to split evenly (you can also uncheck a name). The app continuously tallied our spending, and when we each tapped “settle up” at the end, it showed who owed what to whom. We then paid using Venmo, PayPal, Zelle or cash. This isn’t an ad—just sharing a positive experience.

2) I will never again travel by Amtrak without taking advantage of their Red Cap service. If you’ve ever taken the train from New York’s Penn Station, you know the hell of waiting for your track announcement before jumping into a Hunger Games stampede trying to get downstairs and grab a seat before the train pulls out. And doing it with luggage? Nope. LaVonne tipped me off to the magic of Red Cap service. While it’s not available everywhere, it was in Philly and New York, my two stops. Red Cap staffers will hold your bags while you wait, escort you to the tracks for preboarding before the cattle call goes out, and put your bags onto the train. They work for tips.

In New York, I was supposed to meet Helen and Nikki who’d flown in through La Guardia, and we’d take the train together to Hudson Valley. We didn’t realize until it was time to preboard that we were in two different sections: I was in the old Penn Station watching mice dart through the waiting area (yup) and they were in the new Moynihan Train Hall across the street, where the air conditioning actually worked. My Red Cap was kind enough to walk me to their location, wait patiently while we squealed and hugged, and schlep us and all our bags onto the train. (We tipped him well.)

3) LaVonne took us to Shaker Mill Books in West Stockbridge, MA and introduced us to the owner. The bookstore was a delight, but what won my heart was the barn next door, an historic grist mill called The Book Mill that’s now filled with unique books, incredible art displays (most made from books), oversized photography collections, and more. The smell alone from all that old wood reminded me of summer camp—my original happy place and where I first met my husband as a teenager. Combined with the intoxicating scent of old books? Come on. That place was heaven to this book nerd and art school graduate. We lingered for a while, browsing the different floors and calling out our discoveries to each other. I found some Nancy Drews I used to own as a little girl. Swoon.