ERIC WENNINGER

  • Peruvian Public Speaking

    Image via Aeon

    I love NPR’s Radio Ambulante and its co-founder Daniel Alarcón. Their newsletter of recommendations is one I look forward to each week.

    In my newsletter last week, I wrote about Peruvian public speaking in anticipation for my work trip to Lima, Perú:

    To learn more about Perú ahead of my trip, I’ve been listening to episodes from their Perú playlist. One of Radio Ambulante’s co-founders is Peruvian-American journalist Daniel Alarcón, who has an excellent short story collection about Perú called War by Candlelight, which I’ve also been digging into. A few years ago, Alarcón did a video for Pop-Up Magazine in honor of Hispanic Heritage Month called “Peruvian Tips for Public Speaking.” In the video, he talks about a cherished little book he bought from a street vendor in Lima, Perú. The pirated book contains inspirational and oftentimes hilarious advice on public speaking, yet it also ends up revealing a profound truth about Latin America and the complexities associated with its diverse cultural makeup. Language is power, and in Perú, the language of the majority is Spanish. But minority languages, like Quechua and Aymara, are still widely spoken today among Perú’s vast indigenous populations. You can see historical traces of these languages and cultures—present long before Spanish imperialism took hold—in the names of streets and cities. It reminds me of Wisconsin’s indigenous languages, which are still present in the names of many of its cities and lakes. Alarcón’s comments address language as a means of access. Spanish speakers hold power in Peruvian society and the public speaking book is meant to extend that access to indigenous groups.

    Alarcón’s story about his Peruvian public speaking book—with its direct and hilariously exaggerated speeches and toasts—appeared as part of a series of videos put out by Pop-Up Magazine‘s “Stories for Hispanic Heritage Month.” In the video, Alarcón recites several toasts from the book. Here are two of my favorites:

    “Eulogy of a drowned fisherman”

    We’ll no longer find Juan sitting on the shore. We’ll no longer hear him tell stories of fishermen. He’ll never throw a line into the water again. And though his fishing nets are empty today, our eyes are filled… with tears.

    “Words offered by a member of an institution on the occasion of the inauguration of a radio receiver”

    These modern times have arrived to offer us this receiving machine, now installed in the social hall of the Club, from where it will not only capture information from all over the world, but offer the same back to the people, so that they may participate in the news that travels atop the ethereal waves directly to our ears, all those events taking place throughout this diverse and fractured globe where we earthlings reside.

    Alarcón summarizes the toasts by saying, “It’s not poetry, not exactly, but it’s not not poetry, you know?”

    He goes on to say that Perú is a country divided by language. There are 15 different language families found in Perú, the most popular indigenous one being Quechua—spoken by around 5 million Peruvians and an official language of the country since 1975.

    But Alarcón points out that Spanish is the language of power, and that how you talk and look in Peruvian society determines how you will be perceived. Spanish is the language of access and Alarcón concludes that the public speaking book is intended to serve as a bridge between the in-group Spanish-speaking majority and the out-group minorities who speak other languages.

    Alarcón calls the public speaking book “an attempt to heal a national wound,” and without even cracking a smile, he finishes the story in typical Peruvian fashion, pointing out this subtle and underlying purpose:

    There’s no speech addressing this, there’s no soothing discourse on the bifurcated identity of a country fractured by its own complicated and troubling history. There’s no tribute to the possibility of creating a hole from disparate, often warring, cultural tribes that constitute, for now, a purely imaginary nation. There’s no homage to the Quixotic 200-year-old attempt to hide the fault lines intrinsic to this national project, from our very first, very flawed moment. None of those speeches are in this magical little book. I know, because I looked.

    You can watch the full video below and read the rest of my newsletter here. Enjoy!

  • Why Be So Curious?

    Pine trees in our Wisconsin backyard under the Northern Lights (May, 2024)

    Right after the presidential election last November, I wrote about having more empathy for one another. In the post, I suggested “suspending judgement” when it comes to interacting with someone who believes differently than you.

    I don’t know about you, but I’m finding a lot of people who think differently than me. I see them online, in my local community, and in different parts of the world—each with their unique experience and perspective. More often than not, the interactions I observe in these spaces are pretty negative and nonconstructive.

    This past week, I was thinking about how to navigate different perspectives while also keeping my sanity. For sure, there’s a time when it’s better to disengage from it all—or, as Austin Kleon would describe it, to plant your garden. But then there’s a time to engage with it and to listen. Rick Rubin writes about this in his book The Creative Act: A Way of Being:

    We often take shortcuts without knowing it. When listening, we tend to skip forward and generalize the speaker’s overall message. We miss the subtleties of the point, if not the entire premise. In addition to the assumption that we are saving time, this shortcut also avoids the discomfort of challenging our prevailing stories. And our worldview continues to shrink.

    So many of today’s problems are the result of people avoiding the good friction that is produced from engaging in discussions that expand our worldview. Rubin’s comments reminded me of an old friend I had in grad school. Whenever I talked with Peter, I could tell that he was listening to me so authentically hard—not in the “active listening” sense, but more of a completely-and-silently-focused sense—that I always felt challenged to really pay attention to what I was saying, in a good way, to make sure it all added up. I had to clearly express myself and I knew if I didn’t, I’d be met with a thoughtful follow-up question because Peter truly wanted to understand my perspective.

    Like many, I loved Ted Lasso. One of my favorite scenes from the series is when Ted takes on Rupert in a game of darts to prevent him from tormenting Rebecca in the owner’s box. Before sealing his victory with three extremely difficult shots, Ted calls out Rupert’s air of superiority and invites him to be more curious.

    In the clip, Ted quotes Walt Whitman: “Be curious, not judgmental.” While it turns out Whitman didn’t actually say this, the message rings true. Curiosity is valuable. It’s a perspective and orientation toward life that grows your worldview.

    In his book Show Your Work, Austin Kleon quotes some thoughts that C.S. Lewis penned for his introduction to Reflections on the Psalms (1958). Here’s Lewis:

    I write for the unlearned about things in which I am unlearned myself. It often happens that two schoolboys can solve difficulties in their work for one another better than the master can. When you took the problem to the master, either he was so fluent in the whole subject that he could not understand the difficulty, or he had forgotten what it was like to be puzzled by it. The fellow-pupil can help more than the master because he knows less. The difficulty we want him to explain is one he has recently met. The expert met it so long ago that he has forgotten.

    As a teacher, I love this quote. I love that teaching is a reflective practice. You’re always a student of the profession, even as you become a seasoned professional. It’s a dynamic job that you can always build upon. You never arrive, which can be frustrating at times, but in the end I think is what makes it such a worthwhile pursuit. Teachers inspire curiosity and the good ones continue to be curious themselves.

    Our experience is valuable but how does it compare to a beginner’s mindset? What limiting beliefs have emerged as a result of our self-confidence in our abilities and our experiences?

    As it were, the very next chapter I read in Rubin’s book was entitled “Beginner’s Mindset.” In the chapter, he tells a story about the board game Go, which is said to be around 4,000 year old.

    Go board game (via iStock)

    Go is one of the most complex games ever created by humans. There are more possible board configurations in Go than there are atoms in the universe. Back in 2014, the artificial intelligence research company DeepMind started development on an AI system that would be capable of solving complex problems. They called it AlphaGo and intended it to take on the best Go players in the world. But the way they designed AlphaGo to learn the game was unique. DeepMind co-founder and CEO Demis Hassabis described it like this:

    Traditional games engines comprise thousands of rules handcrafted by strong human players that try to account for every eventuality in a game. The final version of AlphaGo does not use any rules. Instead it learns the game from scratch by playing against different versions of itself thousands of times, incrementally learning through a process of trial and error, known as reinforcement learning. This means it is free to learn the game for itself, unconstrained by orthodox thinking.

    Two years later, AlphaGo had taught itself enough to take on legendary Go player Lee Sedol. More than 200 million people from around the world tuned in for the televised event. During the game, AlphaGo made a series of unconventional moves, which culminated in move 37, a completely unique and creative move that no human professional would ever have made. Professional Go player Fan Hui said the follow of move 37:

    Move 37 goes against all conventional teaching and no experienced human player would ever have played it. In fact, we know from AlphaGo’s calculations there was just a one in ten thousand chance of a player selecting that move. It was a moment of inspiration that came from its unique approach to the game. Unlike the way I — and all other human players — approach Go, its decisions are unencumbered by the tradition, theory, and teaching of human play. Instead, it learns the game for itself, giving it the opportunity for fresh thinking and leading to a unique ‘free spirited’ style which in turn has unshackled human players from tradition and allowed us to also think differently about the game.

    AlphaGo’s success speaks to the power of a beginner’s mindset that isn’t limited by culture, tradition, or experience. It’s a fascinating story, which you can read more about on this Google Arts & Culture page. There’s also a documentary about it that’s available for free streaming here.

    Rubin concludes with this about the AlphaGo story:

    There’s a great power in not knowing. When faced with a challenging task, we may tell ourselves it’s too difficult, it’s not worth the effort, it’s not the way things are done, it’s not likely to work, or it’s not likely to work for us.
    If we approach a task with ignorance, it can remove the barricade of knowledge blocking progress. Curiously, not being aware of a challenge may be just what we need to rise to it.

    Jason Kottke references this too, in a post called “Ignorance and the curious idiot.” Bringing it back to Ted Lasso, Kottke writes about how the creative team initially came up with the idea for the show—they wondered, “What if we did a show where the main character was an ignorant guy who was actually curious?” Kottke goes on to link curiosity with paying attention, and paying attention with love.

    I like the idea of emptying ourselves so we can learn, of seeking simplicity in the midst of life’s complexities, and of paying attention as a form of love. I like remaining curious, suspending judgment, and having a beginner’s mindset.

    In the end, there’s so much we don’t know and that’s okay. Maybe it’s enough not to know. And maybe it’s better to know that much than to think we know more than we actually do. One of my favorite songs from the Canadian band The Sadies is “Why Be So Curious?” I think it’s a good and peaceful place to wrap this up. The lyrics go like this:

    Feelin’ me the sun, glow so big and warm upon everyone
    Be the tallest tree, grow as rain falls down upon everyone
    Look at the clouds and the stars as they glow
    Why be so curious when nobody knows…
    The truth

    Hear the birds all sing, the most beautiful things hear what they sing
    Feel the love you feel, don’t poison the well with worry and fear
    Look to the simple and be like the snow
    Why be so curious when nobody knows…
    The truth

    Watch the river flow, as you get right in and feel the love flow
    Move along the way, float with care and ease off to the seas

    Look at your fingers and look at your toes
    Why be so curious when nobody knows?
    Nobody knows…
    The truth

  • Photos and Memory

    Flexbox Centered Layout
    Bad Bunny and Puerto Rico – Image via De Los

    In this past week’s newsletter, I wrote about Puerto Rico and Bad Bunny’s new album DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS:

    Two days ahead of the album’s release, Bad Bunny posted a short film (also titled DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS) featuring Jacobo Morales, the much beloved Puerto Rican filmmaker, actor, director, and poet. The 12-minute film addresses the problem of gentrification on the island as tax incentives make it easier for foreign businesses to take up residency there. In the opening scene we see the 90-year-old Morales dig up a small box of photos, marked by a small Puerto Rican flag in the middle of a field, while he reminisces about the magic of the Puerto Rico that used to be—a magic he goes on to say is still there. Also in the film is Morales’s small friend Concho, a native toad that has come to symbolize Puerto Rican identity and cultural memory. The sapo concho is in danger of extinction, much like Puerto Ricans themselves who continually confront forces driving them away from the island. Morales is wonderful in the film, co-directed by Benito A. Martínez Ocasio (a.k.a. Bad Bunny) and Arí Maniel Cruz Suárez. He also makes an endearing appearance in the official video for the song “BAILE INoLVIDABLE,” where he joins a lesson to learn how to dance salsa.

    You can read the whole newsletter here.

    I wanted to write more about the themes developed in the short film because they’re worth taking a closer look at. There’s a lot going on. This is what Morales says to open the film:

    Español:

    Qué muchas cosas he vivido.
    Conocí mucha gente. Gente buena.
    Fui a muchos países.
    ¡A casi todas partes del mundo!
    Pero ninguna como Puerto Rico…
    O como lo que era antes.
    Aquí había algo…
    No sé qué.
    Una magia increíble.
    Y todavía la hay.
    Todavía la hay.

    Quisiera haber tirado más fotos,
    Para enseñarte.
    Las fotos son momentos vividos.
    Recuerdos de cosas que pasaron.
    Yo no era de estar tirando fotos
    por ahí.
    Ni estar subiendo stories ni
    nada de eso.
    Yo decía que era mejor vivir el
    momento.
    Pero, cuando llegas a esta edad,
    Recordar no es tan fácil.
    Debí tirar más fotos.
    Haber vivido más.
    Debí haber amado más,
    Cuando pude.
    Mientras uno está vivo,
    Uno debe amar lo más que pueda.

    English:

    How many things I’ve lived.
    I met a lot of people. Good people.
    I went to a lot of countries.
    Almost to every part of the world!
    But none of them like Puerto Rico…
    Or how it was before.
    There was something…
    I don’t know what.
    An incredible magic.
    And it’s still there.
    It’s still there.

    I wish I’d taken more photos,
    To show you.
    Photos are lived moments.
    Memories of things that have passed.
    I wasn’t one for going around taking
    pictures.
    Not uploading stories or any of
    that either.
    I said that it was better to live the
    moment.
    But, when you get to this age,
    Remembering isn’t as easy.
    I should’ve taken more photos.
    Lived more.
    I should’ve loved more,
    When I could.
    While you’re alive,
    You should love as much as you can.

    These words from Morales appear in various parts of Bad Bunny’s album. In “BAILE INoLVIDABLE,” for example, the intro music that’s been building into a rocker suddenly cuts out and we hear Morales say, “Mientras uno está vivo, uno debe amar lo más que pueda,” right before a glorious salsa reincarnation of the melody takes over. In “DtMF,” Bad Bunny sings the album’s title to start off the chorus, using the same words as Morales—“Debí tirar más fotos.”

    After the opening monologue, Morales begins to converse with his friend, Concho the toad, who like Morales is a native of Puerto Rico. This is a shared characteristic not to be missed. One of the main themes of the short film is Puerto Rico’s ongoing problem with gentrification and the multiple ways in which it’s displacing native Puerto Ricans on the island.

    After they both realize they’re hungry, Morales goes for a walk downtown to pick up some food for the two of them. On the way, the signs of gentrification abound—foreigners living on the island blasting their music, English being spoken to the exclusion of Spanish, franchise restaurants taking over local cafes. Morales has the appearance of someone who doesn’t even recognize his hometown anymore. It all comes to a head when he tries to make a simple order at a newly-established chain restaurant and is met with a barrage of choices and inflated prices. He even has troubles paying for his order due to the restaurant’s no-cash policy. At this point, a younger Puerto Rican man intervenes to pay for him and offers an encouraging, “Seguimos aquí” (We continue here).

    Songs from Bad Bunny’s new album are sprinkled throughout the short film. Upon returning home, we see Morales percolating some coffee on the stove while the song “TURiSTA”—not unintentionally—plays gently in the background. The song directly calls out the issue of tourists benefiting from the beauty of a place without being willing to help solve the challenges associated with preserving that beauty. The beauty of Puerto Rico—both in its physical landscape and the cultural identity of its people—is something worth preserving. In this song, as he does throughout the whole album, Bad Bunny is commenting on the risk of it disappearing.

    The Puerto Rican casita featured in the short film DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS

    As Morales and Concho enjoy their food on the back porch, Concho inquires about seeing more of Morales’s photos. After Morales reminds him that he didn’t take many, Concho suggests that they take a picture today, implying that it’s never too late to start recording their cultural identity. There’s hope for its future.

    I loved this short film because I love Puerto Rico, and I love the devotion and care with which Bad Bunny positions himself as an advocate for his homeland. It’s not the first time he’s done so. In 2022, he released a music video for his song “El Apagón,” which included a documentary at the end of it called “Aquí Vive Gente” (People Live Here) that addresses how foreign investments in Puerto Rico are negatively impacting island natives. DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS also introduced me to the wonderful Jacobo Morales. I’ve since discovered more of his work, like his 1989 film Lo que le pasó a Santiago, which was the first and only one from Puerto Rico to be nominated for an Academy Award.

    Theatrical release poster (via Wikipedia)

    I also loved the film because—as good ones often do—it challenged my own thinking about important issues. I’ve done a fair amount of traveling in my life and have even lived abroad as an expat. The film’s commentary made me wonder: have I traveled and lived abroad in ways that preserve and support local communities? Or have I unknowingly aided and abetted the takeover of their spaces and the displacement of their people?

    Two summers ago, for example, my wife and I stayed in an Airbnb in downtown Murcia, Spain. It was only afterward that we learned about the recent trend of foreign investors buying up downtown properties to rent out to tourists, and how this is a growing problem—contributing to a higher cost of living and the displacement of local peoples who end up being forced to live outside of their preferred urban spaces. It has led me to explore more responsible travel and adopt more sustainable practices, like regenerative tourism. We can all do better.

    But at the core of the film is Morales’s attempt to preserve the cultural identity of Puerto Ricans, at a critical point in history when that identity is again being threatened. At the end of the film, Morales promises his friend that he’ll share his photos and his memories with him—both elusive attempts to capture the essence of what it means to be Puerto Rican. Photos and memories are snapshots frozen in time. They are not completely reliable in their ability to represent cultural identity, as cultural identity is active and always evolving. I think that’s why it takes the effort of a full community—not just one individual—to remember its past identity and carry it forward into the future.

    Such community efforts exist. A large portion of the Puerto Rican diaspora lives in New York—or, “NUEVAYoL,” as Bad Bunny’s opening track of the album pays homage to. In 2019, two of these nuevayorkinos—Djali Brown-Cepeda and Ricardo Castañeda—started the digital archive and multimedia project Nueva Yorkinos. It’s a beautiful community project that serves as “a love letter to Nueva Yol” and the type of group effort that seeks to achieve the cultural preservation that Morales longs for in DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS. Since its founding, the website “has amassed over 2,000 pieces of visual media, and 1,500 personal stories and family histories” of Puerto Rico’s diaspora in the city. Visitors can peruse the many media and stories that others have submitted, and of course, submit their own.

    These are the kinds of projects we need to ensure that the marginalized have a voice and that their stories are heard. This, too, is what Bad Bunny is using his platform and creative energies to accomplish. His final lyrics on the album leave a powerful and definitive statement:

    Español:

    De aquí nadie me saca,
    De aquí yo no me muevo.
    Dile que esta es mi casa
    Donde nació mi abuelo.
    Yo soy de P fuckin’ R.

    English:

    Nobody’s taking me from here,
    I’m not moving from here.
    Tell them this is my house
    Where my grandfather was born.
    I’m from P fuckin’ R    .

    For more Bad Bunny and Jacobo Morales, check out the official music video for “BAILE INoLVIDABLE.” It’s simply excellent! It will make you excited to live your life to the fullest and to dance like no one is watching.

  • 100 Things That Made My Year (2024)

    Wisconsin’s Caribbean blues

    These are some of the things that made 2024 special:

    1. Cal getting his wisdom teeth out and calling me at work to say in Spanglish, “Estoy triste porque el dentista took mis dientes and won’t give them back.”
    2. Celebrating 16 years with Angie a là saunas and cold baths.
    3. Annual adoption day breakfast with Cal at the delicious Breakfast Bear.
    4. Swanson and Rislove kazoo chorus at Kin & Kind‘s live music night with Jason and Ryan.
    5. Packers playoff run led by J. Love and A. Jones.
    6. Backyard fires with the Solo Stove.
    7. My buddy Boyd spinning vinyl at Whitewater Music Hall. Also, wearing baby blue to support him and his Lions while serving ourselves at Sconni’s. My buddy Ben closing ‘er down to host us.
    8. Angie’s manifestations via To Be Magnetic.
    9. Seeing Making Movies as part of the Grand Theater’s Lift Every Voice series.
    10. Receiving a lucky bamboo from a student with the message, “The bamboo plant is said to bring good luck and positive energy to the place where it is grown. This bamboo has been selected to express my gratitude and appreciation for everything you do. I hope that this bamboo plant will bring you and your family good luck, health, and happiness.“
    11. Sunday walks listening to Mountain Stage. Realizing that this is the music I’d choose to listen to on my deathbed.
    12. Watching Tracy Chapman and Joni Mitchell perform (on TV) at the Grammys.
    13. Angie getting accepted into medical school at St. George’s University in Grenada, West Indies.
    14. Cleaning up downed trees and splitting firewood with friends.
    15. Helping my bro insulate his cabin up north and making a fire to burn a tree stump.
    16. Family roadtrip and vacation over spring break in Orange Beach, Alabama.
    17. Watching Netflix’s 3 Body Problem, a mindblowing story based on a favorite sci-fi trilogy of mine, In Remembrance of Earth’s Past, by Chinese author Liu Cixin.
    18. New glasses and an updated prescription after 10 years of wearing the same glasses without ever updating my prescription.
    19. First Bucks game as a family to celebrate Cal’s birthday.
    20. Listening to NPR’s All Songs Considered episode “Songs to make you laugh with ‘Weird Al” Yankovic.”
    21. Walks in the neighborhood with Buckley.
    22. Listening to records.
    23. Trip to Door County to stay with Meghan and Karsten and attend the soft opening of the Shoreline Restaurant in Gills Rock.
    24. Witnessing Wisconsin’s Caribbean blues without fully realizing it at the time.
    25. Watching the Survivor finale with friends.
    26. Moon Man on tap!
    27. Completing the Door County Half Marathon with Angie. Training for it with the Nike Run Club’s Half-Marathon Training Plan.
    28. Mix tapes and Choose Your Own Adventure books at Bridge Up Brewery in Sturgeon Bay post-race.
    29. Cal crushing his freshman year at UW-Madison.
    30. Seeing the Northern Lights in Wisconsin.
    31. Finishing my fourth year of teaching Spanish at D.C. Everest Senior High. Watching students I mentored complete the Global Scholars Program.
    32. June recognizance mission to Grenada with Angie as part of See SGU. Live music at 61 West and hearing “This one goes out to all the lovebirds out there” before every single song.
    33. Camping with my family in Brule, WI. Ordering the 1, 1, and 1 at the Twin Gables Cafe, having the waitress and my family doubt my choice because of how small it was, and immediately needing to eat something else upon returning to camp because I felt faint.
    34. Food and beers at the Fish Shed in Cornucopia, WI and visiting with our friend Joe (but missing our friend Jody).
    35. Disc golfing at the gorgeous and expansive Highbridge Hills Megaplex.
    36. Blending in kitchen cabinets to accommodate a bigger refrigerator.
    37. Attending the Blue Ox Music Festival with “festival Angie.” Listening to great music and spending wonderful time with friends.
    38. Hosting Cal’s Madison friends for a weekend. Hoops and pool time at grandma and grandpa’s.
    39. Deciding to quit my teaching job to support Angie as she attends medical school in Grenada. Cleaning out my Spanish classroom at D.C. Everest and remembering all the memories.
    40. Buckley and Moco’s tolerance of one another (and maybe even affection for one another).
    41. Being inspired to write again after reading Austin Kleon’s Steal Like an Artist and Anne Lamott’s Bird By Bird.
    42. Cannonballs and climbing hills.
    43. Brad’s bachelor party in Milwaukee, WI—playing Spikeball, throwing axes, and general shenanigans.
    44. Brad and Deborah’s wedding—hotel room dance parties, celebratory dinners, testing out my Portuguese skills, general merrymaking with family and friends, and celebrating an amazing couple. Post-wedding beach visit with Angie and Brad.
    45. Successfully changing a flat tire while on a bike ride with my bro.
    46. Teaching my niece and nephews tennis at my dad’s summer camp.
    47. Spending time with the Caseys at their cabin.
    48. Finding childhood Michael Jordan posters in my parent’s basement and passing them onto Cal.
    49. Cleaning and organizing our house to prepare for our move. Taking breaks to watch the Olympics when feeling unmotivated and somehow finding the inspiration to carry on cleaning and organizing.
    50. Having high school friends over for a campfire and having two of them show up in full-on track suits.
    51. First full-on Barn Dance since before Covid. Witnessing the next generation sit down and sing “Stand By Me” in unison.
    52. Giving Cal one of my flannels for the Barn Dance because he couldn’t find any and having him cut off the sleeves of said flannel before immediately finding one of his own and saying, “Oh, here’s one of mine.”
    53. Full moons.
    54. Former Mankato neighbors adopting sweet Moco while we are away. Dan taking care of Buckley, along with the occasional help of several other good friends.
    55. Watching Cal play on a local summer soccer league.
    56. The support of all our friends and loved ones at our going away party, hosted by our lovely neighborhood craft beer bar Kin & Kind.
    57. Finding rainbows.
    58. Fluffy bunnies and the Alto Fair.
    59. Baby Etta.
    60. Eating sushi in Wauwatosa before taking Angie to O’Hare Airport.
    61. Packing our remaining possessions into our upstairs bedroom.
    62. Anticipating that I’d have a lot of time to read in Grenada and buying a Kindle Paperwhite, along with a sweet cork cover for it that reminded me of a surfboard (because in my mind, Caribbean = surfing, apparently).
    63. Reading more than I have in years and feeling inspired to cultivate a reading habit from here on out. Some books I’ve enjoyed so far on the Kindle are Rebecca Solnit’s A Field Guide to Getting Lost, Oliver Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, Chuck Klosterman’s The Nineties, and Kio Stark’s Don’t Go Back to School.
    64. Spending time with Cal and moving him to Madison before the pair of us traveled to Grenada. Packing up his stuff and moving him into his first apartment. Self pickup of the apartment keys from The Hub Realty. Finding the perfect-sized bed frame and building him a bedroom shelf. Shopping at the tiny Ace Hardware store on Willy Street.
    65. Getting mole at Garibaldi. Final frisbee game with Cal at Elver Park.
    66. Loosing my year+ Duolingo streak during a chaotic August and not caring. Feeling empowered to control my own language-learning journey and not let an owl dictate how I feel about it. Take that Duo!
    67. Moving to Grenada.
    68. Cal’s Grenada haircut.
    69. Snorkeling at the Underwater Sculpture Park.
    70. Buying a Suzuki Ignis and driving it on the left side of the street.
    71. Angie’s white coat celebration at Le Phare Bleu.
    72. New beaches like Morne Rouge.
    73. A colleague sending me a video of my former students telling me “te echamos de menos, Señor” and singing “Cielito Lindo.”
    74. Starting my website ericwenninger.com and my newsletter An Uncommon Commute.
    75. Angie persevering (once again!) through a lost luggage situation and Cal incredibly finding said lost luggage (aided by the fact that Angie’s suitcase is bright florescent green) in a sea of gray and black suitcases at the Miami Airport while on a 6+ hour delay.
    76. Hiking to Hog Island after Angie’s first exam.
    77. Playing cribbage and reading cards with Angie at the Brewery.
    78. Cooking red snapper whole. Cooking much more to support Angie’s intensive study schedule.
    79. Holding my own playing ultimate frisbee with a bunch of SGU youngsters.
    80. Taking a random walk through my neighborhood and starting a conversation with this guy I met along the way, the first of what would become many with my newfound friend Matt.
    81. Participating as a crew member in my first sailing regatta.
    82. Journeying out to Nat’s Pizza and feeling happy about it.
    83. Getting our shit together to vote absentee, even though shit still hit the fan. Realizing we all might need some more empathy.
    84. Running in Lance Aux Espines and finding out where the sidewalk ends.
    85. Contemplating blue while missing the fall. Creating my October Oceans playlist to help me cope.
    86. Angie’s incredible motivation, work ethic, and resilience.
    87. Hearing 80s and 90s soft rock everywhere in Grenada. Embracing it fully. Can’t stop, won’t stop.
    88. Grenadian grocery stores playing full Michael Jackson albums on repeat.
    89. Negative capability and the adversity in our lives that helps us to grow.
    90. My buddy Matt teaching me how to sail a Hobie Cat.
    91. Walking on the beach with a rum punch, or two (but absolutely no more or else you’re flirting with danger).
    92. A Caribbean Christmas with visits from my parents and Cal. Driving them around, visiting sweet beaches and a waterfall, and eating good food.
    93. Listening to my dad sing some 70s classics at an open mic night at Nimrod’s. Surprising musician Paul by joining him to sing the Buena Vista Social Club song “Dos Gardenias.”
    94. Baking Christmas monster cookies, listening to my ever-growing Christmas playlist (now over 24 hours long), and watching Christmas movies both new and old.
    95. Cal joining a Grenadian soccer team to compete in a local tournament late at night on a small field with some unique throw-in and penalty-kick rules.
    96. Working on a media literacy unit for the Access program. Learning about the six individuals we featured in our lesson who are using social media for good causes: Dani Aravich, Hollis Belger, Darius Brown, Nick Lowinger, Julia Warren, and Joshua Williams.
    97. Seeing Santa Claus flying in a helicopter while on Grand Anse Beach on Christmas Day.
    98. Grilling out on SGU’s campus and stargazing.
    99. Counters and candles.
    100. New Year’s Eve dinner at La Luna with Angie, and our Grenada (Sandwich, MA) friends Matt and Caitlyn.
    The Wenninger family and Caribbean blues – Welcome 2025!

  • More Friction, Please

    Have a jolly, jolly Christmas – I took this picture of Santa and his crying elf on a motorbike from a food stand in Vietnam (2015)

    Last week’s newsletter was all about friction:

    It’s always difficult to spend the holiday season away from family and friends. You find yourself missing the traditions you’ve long held for this time of year, along with the special events and gatherings you look forward to with such anticipation. Your place in the world shifts and you have to deal with the friction the shift produces. One way is to bring the familiar into your new space—some Christmas tunes, favorite holiday movies, putting up a few recently bought decorations (instead of the beloved ones from the bins in your attic crawl space). Another way is to open yourself to how the holidays might be celebrated in your new place—spending unexpected time with new friends or observing the little changes in honor of the holidays happening around you.

    I was thinking about friction this past week when I took a break from my comforting Christmas playlist and turned on Television’s song “Friction” from their album Marque Moon. Like so many forces in life, I started to process how friction can be both good and bad. So like Santa shimmying down the chimney, this week’s newsletter is gonna involve some friction.

    You can read the whole newsletter here.

    In Television’s song “Friction” (from the excellent Marque Moon), Tom Verlaine sings, “You complain of my diction. You give me friction” while cleverly pausing for a noticeable moment between “dic” and “tion.”

    Innuendo aside, I think we need more friction. Our world tries so hard to reduce it. Get there faster. Buy it more easily. Watch it whenever you want. Our convenience culture often leaves us feeling disoriented, reaching for something solid to hold onto. The rapid pace of it all can cause us to become desensitized to the richness of all that life has to offer—blinded to what is truly valuable.

    Friction can help us slow things down—see things more clearly. It can help make things a little harder so that we’re forced to grow. And it can also set up limits for us—limits that surprisingly make life more enjoyable.

    I remember reading this Guardian article around the time I started getting into vinyl. In the article, Jeff Tweedy discusses why the album still matters in an age where you can just as well download individual songs from iTunes. While discussing the album Sukierae that he and his son Spencer released back in 2014, Tweedy says:

    I just want to listen to the album and have a feeling that one part has ended, and now I can take a little breather before I listen to the second part. Or I can listen to the second part another time. It’s a double record on vinyl, so there are three breaks like that. I wanted it to have different identities artistically and the album format allows me to do that.

    Listening to music on vinyl brings intentionality to the listening experience. There’s more friction compared to streaming an endless playlist on Spotify. You have to pay attention to when the record is finished, get up out of your seat, physically flip it over or change it, go sit back down. Changing the record requires even more friction—you take the record off the turntable, put it back in its sleeve, take a new record out of its sleeve, place it on the turntable, and so on. If you want to keep listening, you have to take all of these steps all over again. The intentionality brings mindfulness.

    I also think of watching holiday specials when I was a kid. Each December, we use to pull out our living room hide-a-bed and lie down under it to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas. The idea of a holiday special is mostly lost on us today, but we can still add some friction into the mix to bring the “special” back. Rather than binge-watching a show, pick a night and watch one episode weekly. Showing some restraint and delaying satisfaction makes you appreciate it the show a lot more. Like listening to vinyl, it also might help you watch the show more mindfully.

    This is true of a lot of things when you think about it. It’s the reason seasons are so cool. The season changes and you have to wait a whole year to see it again. As a result, you appreciate it a lot more when it finally comes around. Limiting yourself to eating out once a month makes that night a whole lot more special than if you eat out every night.

    Friction can create more mindfulness and enjoyment for us, but it has an enemy: efficiency. In his book The Creative Act: A Way of Being, Rick Rubin writes about the dangers of our efficiency-based culture:

    Our continual quest for efficiency discourages looking too deeply. The pressure to deliver doesn’t grant us time to consider all possibilities. Yet it’s through deliberate action and repetition that we gain deeper insight.

    Friction allows us to look deeper, but the cost of it is time. Where do you have time to sacrifice efficiency and gain the benefit of deeper insight?

    In the summer of 2023, I took a lot more time when I chose to bike from Wausau to Eau Claire (a journey that ended up being 120 miles) to see a late night concert at the Blue Ox Music Festival. There was certainly a lot more friction for me riding my bike than driving my car. It was a lot harder! But, I gained a great deal from the experience. When I arrived, Them Coulee Boys were singing “Ten Feet Tall,” and that’s just about how I felt.

    Entering Eau Claire County
    Feeling 10 ft. tall in front of the porta potties

    There are so many ways you can add some more friction to your day. And the benefits are many—you get to know yourself better, you grow as a person, and you live with more intention. Ultimately you decide what is important to you rather than letting someone else determine that for you. Life becomes a lot more meaningful and satisfying as a result.

    This week I was listening to Francis Quinlan’s song “Another Season,” and I caught the word “friction” in the opening verse. It struck me as a good way to close out the end of another year:

    Hey
    Nothin’ much, just
    Wrappin’ up another season
    What do you make of this town?
    Here I have been taking the long way around
    Do you, like me, keep closest to the most familiar friction?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eric Wenninger is an educator and writer. He teaches language and culture and writes about his thoughts and experiences here.

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