How to Look Again

The small surprise that made my day.

Mar 25, 2025

Header illustration by Heather.

I’m teaching a course on creative storytelling and narrative, focused on Brown identities in the U.S. this semester, a new addition to my routine and schedule. (This is, partly, why this newsletter got de-prioritized this month. Thank you for your patience!)

The course focuses on nature, walking and how we can feel connected to nature even within an urban/city setting. In discussing the work of writers and artists of color with the class, I’ve also been reflecting on my own relationship to nature, something I started doing a lot more during the pandemic. Because I was limited in where I could spend my time in those early months of quarantine, for fear of traveling and getting sick, I spent a lot of time walking in our neighborhood. And that, in turn, inspired me to look more closely at all the trees, bushes, flowers, and plants around me.

My eyes suddenly opened to so much, even though it these plants were there the whole time.

In class, we recently read selections from Little Seed by Wei Tchou, an experimental memoir that combines research on ferns with memoir. Tchou reflects on her youth and her complicated relationship with her family; her Chinese American identity; her yearning for belonging; and her obsession with ferns. She shares her research and her frustrations with the world of ferns and fern taxonomy. The book weaves together themes of coming of age (heartbreak, career disappointments, big city living) with facts about ferns.

I found the book during a writing residency at the Mendocino Art Center (if you’re reading this Dav, I’m thinking of you). It was in a cozy bookstore with a resident cat that was napping in a sunny spot near the windows.

Little Seed is the first time I’ve learned so much about ferns and I was eager to discuss the book with my students, because of the way it braids together research and memoir. My time walking in our neighborhood has turned into a newfound curiosity for plants: I have photographed them, researched them, and watched them bloom.

After we met and discussed the text in class, I realized that I still hadn’t found every plant near me.

One morning, I practically gasp out loud in surprise when I saw a fiddlehead fern tucked into a commercial area near our apartment. How long had it been there? Why hadn’t I seen it before? I thought I was paying close attention, but maybe I wasn’t?

The surprise delighted me (we are also reading Ross Gay’s “Book of Delights,” so that language and energy is currently on my mind). I’d never read about fiddlehead ferns until Tchou’s book. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I noticed the fern near our apartment after discussing the book with my class. All these years living on the same block, and I hadn’t noticed that fern until now. What a gift.

Here’s to looking again, and again. I hope you can find a moment this week (or month, or year) to feel grounded, to slow down into the present moment and find something that makes you gasp in delight. May this feed your creative practice. May it lead to new creative possibilities. Or, may it bring you a moment of respite, brief but nourishing in its intensity.

I also wanted to give a shout out to Waverly Colville, my former colleague from that one time I did a social media contract gig at the New Yorker. Waverly invited me to be interviewed (!) on her new podcast, which is all about the creative process and overcoming failures. Check it out here!