The Wander Society
Today, I did what every introvert does on their Saturday off. Having no plans, I finally straightened my hair and put some foundation over my blemishes. I had a hot date with the clearance section of Books-A-Million.
I bypassed the new releases and found myself in the bargain priced reference section. I stumbled upon "The Wander Society" by Keri Smith. I recognized the name; Smith has been on the top of the charts with "Wreck This Journal" for a few years. For those of you unfamiliar with this quirky gift book, the journal gives you strange directions as to how to creatively deface it. I have not tried it, but I have heard it is a lot of fun.
"The Wander Society" is an interesting name in itself, so I picked it up and read the synopsis. Cleverly, Smith explains you can only know if you need the book by taking the questionnaire on the first page. If you answer, yes to three or more questions, you're out of $6. Long story short, I took it to the counter and later found myself without $6.
Having nothing better to do, I ordered the largest iced coffee on the menu and curled up in the corner with my newfound life coach.
Keri Smith describes in the introduction a story similar to the one I just recited to you. A strange copy of Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" caught her attention in a used bookstore. She explains that through the notes in the book, she discovers a secret society. By now, you have probably guessed it was the Wander Society. Whitman, a favorite of writers and Instagram model captions, seems to be the posthumous spokesperson for the society.
I read up to page 50 and learned of the anonymous society's goals. Arguably, the society seems cult like. They do not advertise conventionally but rather leave small messages around cities and college campuses. Many of the things proposed in the introduction seem far-fetched, but I was intrigued by the community and promises they beheld.
Writers rarely find solace in other writers. Creative writing clubs are outlived by their founders. Artistic differences are often taken personally. In addition, writing is a solitary act. It's hard to write in groups.
Therefore, the wave of Wanderers caught my attention. However, I understand many Wanderers are not writers. They simply seek to clear their minds and access their lost creativity.
For this complicated search, the Wander Society suggests...wandering. Many writers, including Whitman found their best ideas while walking without destination. The book makes it priority to define the act of wandering. The most important aspect is to not know where you're going. Hopefully, your mind gets lost as well.
On my journey to my car, the words of the book stayed with me. I stared at the sidewalks, unused and unkempt. The iced coffee had chilled me beyond my skin and the sun was welcomed upon my body. After a seemingly never-ending winter, the 80 degree weather felt out of place. I tossed my bag of books in the car and set off.
I know I am going to receive a scolding from my mother after she reads this. Thankfully, I can reassure her that all the roads were well traveled and safe. Nonetheless, I felt strange. Walking in a car populated city looked out of place. I was used to walking around campus, but my backpack described my intentions. I often was teased by other students for my hobby of walking to my every destination. I remember the bus driver, perhaps my only happenstance friend of the time, would tell me "just keep walking." It became my mantra of the semester.
The problem is, in the smaller parts of America, those without cars are looked down upon. In addition, if you have a car, you never venture without it. I made eye contact with the driver of every car that passed, knowing they were deducing my life story. I found myself wishing I was wearing running shorts and fitness gear, knowing I did not receive these glares on my runs. I sported a pair of Levi jean shorts and a rose printed kimono.
I wished for my headphones to drown out the sound of the cars. At the thought, I remembered the purpose of this trip. I was to be in tune with the world and listening to my senses.
Smell? Someone was grilling. Touch? I embraced the hardness of the sidewalk through my flat converses. Taste? The previous iced coffee lingered on my tongue. Vision? Constantly shifting. Sound?
A "how you doing, good looking" radiated from the car behind me. Was anger a sense? I thought of turning around. This busy road seemed never ending.
Instead, I envisioned my trip to Norway. We walked almost everywhere. The walk to and from provided time for predictions and reflection. It was perhaps one of my favorite aspects of the trip. As the happiest country on Earth, I would say they are doing something right over there.
I concluded I was doing something right as well.
My improvisational map landed in a peaceful subdivision containing houses of at least seven bedrooms and six figure cars. This adventure could have gone a lot worse. I was finally joined by a mom running with her child strapped in a stroller. Neither of them seemed to be enjoying themselves.
On the other hand, I was having a fantastic time critiquing the houses and their architectural choices. I remembered when I used to be in a stroller while my parents discussed the houses around the neighborhood.
I continued walking past the dead end sign. I had a feeling a neighborhood this nice could only end in a cul-de-sac.
I was right. However, the sidewalk ended at the beginning of the circle. One house remained for my nonprofessional rating. This time, I set aside my HGTV knowledge.
The house was not out of place for this luxurious neighborhood. I would argue the structure was different from the other styles around it. This house was most likely older than the rest. It had a colonial build with dark brick that had been well maintained. In comparison, it was smaller but still relatively large. Next to the front door was a fake lantern lit with a convincing flame. On the door itself was a large monogram "M." I still cannot articulate why, but it was my favorite house I had seen on this wander. I stared at it for awhile, wishing it was not creepy to take pictures of houses.
There should probably be a point to this post. Perhaps it is fitting for an aimless walk to end with aimless writing. I have theories regarding why I was so drawn to the last house. Most of them are far too cliché to record. In reality, I was probably searching for something meaningful and falsified it in a house that displayed my first initial.
Nonetheless, I am happy to have recorded my first wander. As I finish the book, I will continue to take these walks. I doubt I will write of them.
I bypassed the new releases and found myself in the bargain priced reference section. I stumbled upon "The Wander Society" by Keri Smith. I recognized the name; Smith has been on the top of the charts with "Wreck This Journal" for a few years. For those of you unfamiliar with this quirky gift book, the journal gives you strange directions as to how to creatively deface it. I have not tried it, but I have heard it is a lot of fun.
"The Wander Society" is an interesting name in itself, so I picked it up and read the synopsis. Cleverly, Smith explains you can only know if you need the book by taking the questionnaire on the first page. If you answer, yes to three or more questions, you're out of $6. Long story short, I took it to the counter and later found myself without $6.
Having nothing better to do, I ordered the largest iced coffee on the menu and curled up in the corner with my newfound life coach.
Keri Smith describes in the introduction a story similar to the one I just recited to you. A strange copy of Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass" caught her attention in a used bookstore. She explains that through the notes in the book, she discovers a secret society. By now, you have probably guessed it was the Wander Society. Whitman, a favorite of writers and Instagram model captions, seems to be the posthumous spokesperson for the society.
I read up to page 50 and learned of the anonymous society's goals. Arguably, the society seems cult like. They do not advertise conventionally but rather leave small messages around cities and college campuses. Many of the things proposed in the introduction seem far-fetched, but I was intrigued by the community and promises they beheld.
Writers rarely find solace in other writers. Creative writing clubs are outlived by their founders. Artistic differences are often taken personally. In addition, writing is a solitary act. It's hard to write in groups.
Therefore, the wave of Wanderers caught my attention. However, I understand many Wanderers are not writers. They simply seek to clear their minds and access their lost creativity.
For this complicated search, the Wander Society suggests...wandering. Many writers, including Whitman found their best ideas while walking without destination. The book makes it priority to define the act of wandering. The most important aspect is to not know where you're going. Hopefully, your mind gets lost as well.
On my journey to my car, the words of the book stayed with me. I stared at the sidewalks, unused and unkempt. The iced coffee had chilled me beyond my skin and the sun was welcomed upon my body. After a seemingly never-ending winter, the 80 degree weather felt out of place. I tossed my bag of books in the car and set off.
I know I am going to receive a scolding from my mother after she reads this. Thankfully, I can reassure her that all the roads were well traveled and safe. Nonetheless, I felt strange. Walking in a car populated city looked out of place. I was used to walking around campus, but my backpack described my intentions. I often was teased by other students for my hobby of walking to my every destination. I remember the bus driver, perhaps my only happenstance friend of the time, would tell me "just keep walking." It became my mantra of the semester.
The problem is, in the smaller parts of America, those without cars are looked down upon. In addition, if you have a car, you never venture without it. I made eye contact with the driver of every car that passed, knowing they were deducing my life story. I found myself wishing I was wearing running shorts and fitness gear, knowing I did not receive these glares on my runs. I sported a pair of Levi jean shorts and a rose printed kimono.
I wished for my headphones to drown out the sound of the cars. At the thought, I remembered the purpose of this trip. I was to be in tune with the world and listening to my senses.
Smell? Someone was grilling. Touch? I embraced the hardness of the sidewalk through my flat converses. Taste? The previous iced coffee lingered on my tongue. Vision? Constantly shifting. Sound?
A "how you doing, good looking" radiated from the car behind me. Was anger a sense? I thought of turning around. This busy road seemed never ending.
Instead, I envisioned my trip to Norway. We walked almost everywhere. The walk to and from provided time for predictions and reflection. It was perhaps one of my favorite aspects of the trip. As the happiest country on Earth, I would say they are doing something right over there.
I concluded I was doing something right as well.
My improvisational map landed in a peaceful subdivision containing houses of at least seven bedrooms and six figure cars. This adventure could have gone a lot worse. I was finally joined by a mom running with her child strapped in a stroller. Neither of them seemed to be enjoying themselves.
On the other hand, I was having a fantastic time critiquing the houses and their architectural choices. I remembered when I used to be in a stroller while my parents discussed the houses around the neighborhood.
I continued walking past the dead end sign. I had a feeling a neighborhood this nice could only end in a cul-de-sac.
I was right. However, the sidewalk ended at the beginning of the circle. One house remained for my nonprofessional rating. This time, I set aside my HGTV knowledge.
The house was not out of place for this luxurious neighborhood. I would argue the structure was different from the other styles around it. This house was most likely older than the rest. It had a colonial build with dark brick that had been well maintained. In comparison, it was smaller but still relatively large. Next to the front door was a fake lantern lit with a convincing flame. On the door itself was a large monogram "M." I still cannot articulate why, but it was my favorite house I had seen on this wander. I stared at it for awhile, wishing it was not creepy to take pictures of houses.
There should probably be a point to this post. Perhaps it is fitting for an aimless walk to end with aimless writing. I have theories regarding why I was so drawn to the last house. Most of them are far too cliché to record. In reality, I was probably searching for something meaningful and falsified it in a house that displayed my first initial.
Nonetheless, I am happy to have recorded my first wander. As I finish the book, I will continue to take these walks. I doubt I will write of them.
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