Improvise

Another Tomorrow

November 5, 2025 By Allison

autumn scene and daybed

Dad died this week.

In our last exchange, he texted me a picture of the view from his bed at Kavanaugh House hospice. Des Moines’ fiery autumn woods served as the backdrop for the last day of his life, visiting with friends and family and watching one last game of football.

When his message came through, I was preparing dinner across the ocean. Peace washed over me. On the minimalist daybed under the picture window, his clothes laid folded and stacked, baseball cap posed on top of the tidy pile. A striped throw pillow rested against one end of the daybed. He was surrounded by beauty and order.

Dad captioned the photo, “New pic. Another tomorrow.” I’m still chewing on the delicious ambiguity of his words. Did he intend to send a picture the following day? Was he stating an intention to go on living?

Of course, Dad knew his time was short. He had faced health struggles for many years and had given much thought to his relationships and his legacy. Blessedly, his last day brought optimism and lightness. Lying in bed, perhaps in his final solitary moments, he noted the gentle brilliance of the scene and snapped a picture. Then, he thought to share it with me.

As I begin to grieve this loss from afar, my father’s message buoys me. His missive is my poetic balm in the emptiness I feel. I return to it incessantly and hold it at my heart center. In those trying weeks leading to his death, my heroic siblings comforted him and advocated for him. They secured a beautiful space in which he felt safe to finally let go. He peacefully moved on to another tomorrow.

Obituary for Bernard Joseph Connolly, Jr.

I Published a Piece of Fiction!

July 25, 2025 By Allison

I’ve been quiet in this space the last year as other creative projects percolated. This morning, I was delighted to learn that a piece of my very short fiction was accepted for publication in an online journal called The Ekphrastic Review. Twice per month, the journal runs a challenge and publishes a selection of the entries. My story An Offering is amongst those chosen for the most recent challenge. To read it, click here and scroll down to the fourth piece from the bottom of the page.

So, what’s ekphrasis? A derivative of Greek, “ekphrasis” means “description.” Ekphrastic writing is creative writing inspired by the visual arts. My fellow writers and I responded to the mysterious painting Dances by Arch Hades, featured at the top of this post. An Offering revisits an experience I had as a toddler and never knew how to put into words. This summer, I finally realized that fiction is the best form for this long-ago, baffling encounter.

I am wading through the contributions of the other authors, gratified to have my work aside theirs. Each of these stories or poems could be a quick read before bed or material for doctors’ office waiting rooms. Happy reading and happy creating!

Embody

December 16, 2023 By Allison

Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu was on this morning’s agenda, but a strained wrist is keeping me cozy at home. I am bummed to miss class and wonder which techniques I’d have practiced—takedowns, choke holds, hooks? But my tender wrist is telling me exactly what I need to do today: rest.

In the last few years, rigorous exercise has taken me out of my mind and placed me squarely in my body. While the language of ideas has always come naturally to me, the language of sports has not. I am a timid athlete. In elementary school, I was too polite to fight for the basketball. As a young tennis player, I had fun learning forehand and backhand but felt overwhelmed by the prospect of lobbing the ball. I grew into a scholar and participated primarily in gentle activities such as hiking, yoga, and brisk walks. Even now, I am competitive with myself but never with others.

I am not drawn to team sports, but strenuous exercise has done wonders for me. Thanks to regular weight training, I’m calmer and steadier in my movements. I am coordinated, strong, and light on my feet. I have learned to listen closely to my body’s messages, and it inevitably tells me what I need to know. Sleep a little more. Blow off steam at the gym. Walk away from this person.

This embodied existence is new to me. Intense exercise has taught me how to balance body and spirit. I have not abandoned a life of the mind, but I am now less likely to get locked in ideas and lost in intellectual questions. I am comfortable in the weight room and seek to be part of an inclusive athletic culture at my gym and on my campus.

Though my confidence has grown in the last two years, I remain intimidated by Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. As I knot my white belt and get ready to step on the mat, I acknowledge a nervous tummy. I feel out of my element. Drills are invigorating and practicing new techniques is stimulating, but putting the pieces together and grappling with classmates overwhelms me. When it becomes too much, I back away and learn through watching rather than doing. I am still dabbling, curious though not quite ready to let myself go in the calculated movements of the martial art. I want to embody the grace of Jiu-Jitsu. When the time is right, my anxiety will melt away, uniting body and spirit.

Inspirations

Feeling Safe in My Body

Luxurious Boredom

Grace Note

May 7, 2023 By Allison

About a year ago, I heard the term “grace note” for the first time, and I was enchanted. My homespun definition of grace note sprouted up immediately: an after-the-fact recognition or insight that brings peace. Looking back and understanding that being denied a certain job or that suffering a breakup was in your best interest because your career subsequently took an interesting turn or a better partner came your way. Seeing that a house you bid on and lost was a blessing because you eventually bought a house that is lighter, brighter, and prettier.

I soon learned that grace note is actually a musical term—a musical note added as an embellishment. My quaint understanding of grace note is not accurate, but it’s not all wrong either. Life’s narrative contains all sorts of markings that denote joy, loss, accomplishment, or grief. Grace notes dot our lives, shining light on once-perplexing events. These markings of clarity are gifts.

Of course, I know that some trying experiences remain opaque and incomprehensible. This is the nature of life and makes grace notes all the more cherished. Time is a remedy, but it does not always bring understanding. Odilon Redon’s Cinq papillons (Five Butterflies) evokes the flitting, unexpected beauty brought on by grace notes. Some of Redon’s strokes seem partial or unfinished, reminding me of life’s rough-hewn endings. These creatures are bold yet wavering. And so are we. As we grieve, forgive, and move forward with purpose, touches of grace grant lightness and serenity.

Tender Season

November 20, 2022 By Allison

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival […]
Welcome and entertain them all!
–Rumi

As we move into the holiday season, I find myself approaching each gesture with reverence. Zipping up my long, puffy jacket to meet the icy morning becomes an act of self-protection. Carving out 20 minutes to light a candle and practice yoga is a sort of prayer for a good night’s sleep.

These chilly, emotionally charged months call for tenderness. First and foremost, we must be tender with ourselves. I’ve spent the year learning to welcome all the emotions that arise. Exhilaration and sorrow both visited and stayed on for a while. Anger made its way through my guest house, but so did joy. When I tried to oust my uninvited guests, they hunkered down. In The Guest House, Rumi encourages us to

Be grateful for whatever comes,
Because each has been sent
As a guide from beyond.

At some point in this mind-boggling year, I stopped resisting the emotions I’d rather not feel. Sadness, grief, and outrage took up space in my house. I finally befriended them. I engaged with them. I ultimately tamed them. And then they left me. Allowing these guests to hang out for a while created an internal ease because I wasn’t focused on resisting them. My life went on, more or less uninterrupted. I traveled, I rested, and come fall, I threw myself into my work. All the while, I tended to my guests, moving through successive ups and downs.

I learned to be tender with the effects of betrayal and the deep hurt that ensues. I was patient with my healing process, extending grace to myself when I seemed to backslide. Thankfully, my house is now less crowded and far less confusing. Rumi teaches that unruly guests may be clearing you out for some new delight. I hope this is true. In the meantime, I’m content to move about my spacious, bright, relatively empty self.

Inspirations

Rumi’s The Guest House, Translated by Coleman Barks

The Rumi Prescription, by Melody Moezzi

Purple COVID Thumb

August 14, 2022 By Allison

“The body is a document. It keeps a memory of its own. We are made of loops and loops of time.” –Ingrid Rojas Contreras

COVID hit me like a summer cold, but long COVID has been no walk in the park. I was spared excessive fatigue and loss of taste, but the virus nonetheless did a number on my nervous system. I’ve always been emotionally expressive, but in the weeks following COVID, I was exceptionally fragile. Happily, my emotions are slowly stabilizing and the steady progress feels sustainable.

My purple thumb is a wild, disconcerting reminder that my body is still out of whack. The bruises first appeared on day 6 of COVID. They come and go. My thumb feels tight and slightly constricted, and my arm aches when it flares up. After a few days, it fades and then unexpectedly reappears.

My doctor suspects that my condition was brought on by the disturbance the coronavirus caused in my sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system. He told me that this elegant, well-designed system regulates the autonomous processes of the body, including the fight or flight response during a threat or perceived danger. If the body is under attack from a virus, physical trauma, or emotional upheaval, that regulatory part of the brain is affected.

My doctor is perplexed but not worried. I have no definitive diagnosis, but we believe that the trauma of COVID likely sent my fight or flight response into overdrive. Long COVID is uncharted territory, and symptoms vary from patient to patient. A few weeks ago, I opted to receive a nerve block to pause my fight or flight response. The simple procedure was soothing and settling. I consider the injection a useful tool but not a cure. My nervous system will come back into balance over time, and I must give myself the time and space needed to heal.

I feel validated by the medical community and remain open to more injections and/or talk therapy as I recover. As always, my friends and family hold me up. And I’ve chosen to treat the purple thumb adventure as an opportunity to deepen my knowledge of healing. When my purple-hued thumb sends me looping through my mind and has me pacing my house, I am reminded that healing rarely proceeds in a straight line. I try to pause and practice deep breathing as a way to soothe my nervous system. More than ever, I pay attention to emotional triggers and my reactions to them. How can I step back and recalibrate? What helps me keep my emotions in check? Moving forward, how will our society deal with long COVID? Given that health is a personal, private subject, how can we facilitate healing for others?

I hemmed and hawed before writing about my COVID thumb because the condition frightened me. I keep it bandaged so that I don’t catch glimpses of the bluish-purple splotch. As much as possible, I set it aside and focus on the more pleasant aspects of my life. So why did I choose to post this story? Writing has the power to restore wholeness. Sharing does too.

Safe in My Body

July 25, 2022 By Allison

When you have a silly putty spine, gentle movement is usually a safe bet. For 20 years, yoga and walks were my go-to forms of exercise. Inexpensive and accessible, both have helped tone my core and soothe my nerves. Even in the midst of flare-ups, I could usually do a few sun salutations or take a stroll in the neighborhood. Though I was active, my back and neck remained precarious.

A year ago, I unknowingly made a life-changing leap. My back doctor and physical therapist felt I was ready to “graduate” from physical therapy and begin medically supervised exercise. I had undergone about two dozen injections—prolotherapy and PRP (platelet-rich-plasma)—which had strengthened my ligaments. My spine was no longer mushy, and my body no longer felt jangly. I was ready to leverage the healing and build strength.

So, I joined James’ class for patients with a history of back injury. Having already done physical therapy with him, I felt comfortable in the group setting. I was the youngest in the class by a few decades, but I struggled to keep up with my classmates for the first few weeks. I thought James was crazy to expect that I could do a deadlift with a 35-pound kettlebell. When he placed a 45-pound dumbbell on my pelvis for a weighted bridge, I was sure it would shatter me. He challenged me in ways I could never challenge myself, and he could always gauge my capabilities without crushing my spirit (or my pelvis!). Each week, I left group exercise a shaky mess, but I was gaining strength and perfecting my form little by little.

I now work one-on-one with James. I lift 50-pound kettlebells. My weighted bridges sometimes accommodate 80 pounds. James is prepping me to lift barbells. I am stronger, leaner, and more steady in my movement. I still leave every session a shaky mess—a sure sign that I’ve had a fabulous workout!

Along the way, James has been a mentor, a teacher, and a friend. He is demanding yet compassionate, and he is unfailingly kind to me. He has taught me that lifting heavy weights helps us to feel safe in our bodies. It allows us to move through life with elegance and grace. But it’s not easy because we must keep challenging ourselves!

I am gratified by James’ correlation between strength and safety. When women say they want to be “strong,” it is often coded language for wanting to be thin. This mindset troubles me because I sometimes find myself slipping into this unhealthy rhetoric. My young nieces look up to me, and so do my students. As they find their way, it is my responsibility to model confidence, self-assurance, and grace of movement. I can do this by demonstrating that I am finally safe in my body.

Inspirations

Self-Soothing

The Nourishing Power of Gentleness

Fallow

May 13, 2022 By Allison

Fallow times are productive times. I’ve spent the last few months lazing around intellectually. Given that I was coming down from a handful of writing deadlines and processing a few emotional hardships, it was appropriate to settle into a protective and hollow mental space. I admit that I haven’t been reading a lot. I haven’t even been thinking very much. I’ve been curled up, so to speak, allowing my mind to rest so that my creative spirit will reset and regenerate.

Stepping away from an active mindset is easier said than done. Even when I seek a change of pace, it takes me days to settle into a state in which my mind doesn’t churn. Fallowness gives way to sensations of boredom, and boredom makes me feel guilty. When I notice feelings of shame coming on, I swat them away. I remind myself that boredom declutters my mind and makes space for intellectual freshness. It creates an environment in which streams of thought might flow and original ideas might form. Our bodies are similar to fields that benefit from periods of inactivity. We emerge rejuvenated and bring our new energy to our work and our relationships. Not only are we better thanks to fallow periods, but people around us also benefit from the inactive time we’ve given to ourselves.

After a few months that have felt empty and blank, I sense a shift in myself. Ideas are percolating. Each day I sit down to write, and energy rushes into my palms and then my fingers. I am mostly writing fluff, but I’m writing. Though my curiosity and focus are returning, I’m not charging forward just yet. This selfish, fallow period has been restorative. I’ve been kind to myself. I’ve allowed my mind to wander. The starkness has brought new perspectives and opened my heart. Surprising, unexpected creative paths have emerged, and I tentatively begin to pursue them.

Burnout or Exhaustion?

February 8, 2022 By Allison

The word “burnout” has been a buzzword for a few years, and I’ve recently come to understand that I’ve both misused and overused the term. I’ve vented to my friends about my COVID burnout and complained that I’m feeling burnt out at work, all in an effort to voice ongoing fatigue and frustration.

Burnout is a specific kind of work-related stress that the Mayo Clinic defines as “a state of physical or emotional exhaustion that also involves a sense of reduced accomplishment and loss of personal identity.” Symptoms of professional burnout can include disillusionment or irritability. People suffering from job burnout often feel cynical, critical, and/or low energy. Possible causes include unhealthy workplace dynamics, unclear expectations, lack of control over one’s schedule or assignments, and an unsustainable work-life balance.

Though my work often tires me, it is intellectually energizing. I have always maintained a sense of control over my work life. I have supportive colleagues and charming students. Most importantly, I have agency and autonomy. In my workplace, I speak my mind without fear of reprisal, and I have total freedom in my teaching. I have latitude, and this is a luxury.

So, I do not suffer from burnout. My issue is recurring exhaustion. I often feel drained, but I nonetheless maintain my sense of self and a degree of control over my professional life. I believe it is important to distinguish between professional burnout and exhaustion because they call for different treatments. Those who suffer from burnout need help making meaning in their lives, finding meaningful work and activities, and perhaps assistance to move towards having more autonomy in their work. If, however, someone suffers from exhaustion like I do, treatment involves taking a break, setting boundaries, and having true quiet time.

To be honest, I don’t see myself finding a cure for my exhaustion. Being a professor is incredibly intense at certain times of the year and very calm at others. Some years are more demanding than others, depending on service commitments to one’s institution, course load, and writing deadlines. This is part of the rhythm of academia, at least in the States. However, I am confident that I can get a handle on the exhaustion as it arises. First, I need to correctly identify my exhaustion (and stop labeling it “burnout”). Then, I need to be gracious with myself. I can set aside papers that need to be graded, allow a creative project to linger, or go on a screen diet. My antidote to exhaustion is rejuvenation—sleep, long walks, travel, and time spent with loved ones.

Inspirations

Job burnout: How to spot it and take action (Mayo Clinic)

It’s Time to Embrace Slow Productivity (The New Yorker)

Your work is not your god: welcome to the age of the burnout epidemic (The Guardian)

Me When I Moved In

January 22, 2022 By Allison

Today’s guest contributor is my 7 year-old niece Sylvie Rose. An aspiring writer, Sylvie likes soccer, Roblox, and fake nails.

sylvie deck

That day we had a party at my house. I was 1 and a half. My cousin Nora Jane and me Sylvie Rose were playing tag with my Uncle Jack! I was eating apple sauce at dinner! I was happy and I was wearing my favorite color!