Look for my new book, The Tears of Things, in February 2025

It’s never too late to try something new. That’s what I did in opening myself to the beauty of writing poetry, which led to my first collection. The Tears of Things explores the therapeutic value of poetry and nature to transcend grief, disappointment, and regret. Observing seasonal flourishes and decay taught me the meaning of a life in full—that love, joy, longing, sorrow, grief, and gratitude arise from life’s imperfection and brevity.

Call it my second act. When you’re in that phase of life, it’s a chance to worry less about looking Instagram-perfect. Rather, it’s a time to mine deeply for what matters. I loved studying creative writing in college, but life happens. Sure, words always mattered to me, and for years, I used them to crank out copy for employers and clients (and still do). But a return to poetry precipitated self-discovery through language.

As human beings, we share common ground in that we live with a complex set of emotions and experiences. We each have singular creative powers to express ourselves. If blessed with a second act, there’s joy in exploring who we are and connecting authentically with those around us as well as Earth, sky, and water.

So, what’s this book about? Ultimately, every reader brings their own response to a book’s meaning. But today, I’d love to share a few tidbits.

Why did I choose the title The Tears of Things?

Some of you probably read Virgil’s The Aeneid (or plowed through the Cliff Notes). It delivers some of literature’s most memorable lines. Aeneas, defeated at Troy and far from his destroyed home, stops at a temple and weeps on seeing murals with scenes from the Trojan War, including images of dead friends and fellow citizens. Seamus Heaney’s interpretation of Aeneas’ explanation to a comrade—sunt lacrimae rerum (“there are tears at the heart of things”)—speaks to the human capacity to know distress and sorrow while arriving at a condition of safety.

How did I get started?

After losing my parents and processing life changes, I started observing nature and journaling. There’s something peaceful about walking and reflecting with a small-size notebook in hand. It’s the notion of stopping to apprehend largeness through the infinitesimal; as William Blake famously said, “To see a World in a Grain of Sand/And a Heaven in a Wild Flower/Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand/And Eternity in an hour.”

The book goes through four seasons, and I added a fifth. What’s up with that?

Actually, the book spans about two decades, so the seasons are symbolic. The fifth season speaks to transcendence and acceptance. It ends with a loving-kindness meditation. Creating the collection was a way to slow down—to exist in present tense and explore nature through the senses. When you pause in the outside world, it’s easier to take the journey through your interior landscape.

How did poetry become a part of my life?

It started out as a challenge. Several years ago, I ventured into poetry just to experiment with a compact art form—which makes sense, as I’ve worked as a copywriter for a bit of my career. Then it became a way to examine and work through life events (e.g., breakups, anxiety, depressive episodes, grief)—poetry therapy if you will. As I took a deeper dive, I discovered the National Association for Poetry Therapy, a nonprofit that promotes “growth and healing through written language, symbol, and story.” That seemed to be what I was doing all along.

Why does poetry matter?

Devices can distract, take us down rabbit holes, but poetry, indeed any kind of creative expression, is a way to return to the fundamentals of breaths and beats, to glimpse the infinite and our connectedness to nature and each other.

D.H. Lawrence talked about how people are not free just doing what they like. They’re “only free when they’re doing what the deepest self likes. And there is getting down to the deepest self. It takes some diving.” Poetry is a way to do that, as is any activity that engages all that you are.

Sometimes I see an image on a website with the caption “Better Than a Thousand Words.” I get that. But words matter. Poetry can be a way to paint an image—for an audience that has the patience to apprehend, think about, maybe return to it.

Thanks for stopping by. If you’d like to know more about The Tears of Things, drop by my publisher or explore my website. And feel free to leave a comment about your own creative outlets—whether you’re in your first, second, or third act.