nib·ble

1 a : to bite gently b : to eat or chew in small bits
2 : to take away bit by bit

I haven't had the will to finish a book in quite some time (a result of last month's quest to take the pressure off). In the interim I haven't stopped reading, but I've been enjoying various papers, essays, poetry and short articles.

There’s a particular pleasure in this sort of literary nibbling that I forgot about. Wandering through 10 pages here and there feels like a quiet oasis in the middle of my over-thought days. It’s made me realize how easy it is to break our lives up into novel-sized proportions – each book a goal or project - all or nothing.

My actions have written many novels by:
-running an entire 5K
-going to Kenya
-working to change certain habits
-dating, not-dating, stepping into the gray-area, not-dating

With each completed manuscript, amazing things have become part of my story. Things are completed, direction is gained, and ink has dried.

But this sort of lengthy, focused existence with beginning, middle and end is not my life’s natural proclivity.

Like these poems and essays of varying length and substance, I’m made to be broken up into chunks. My existence is that of a born nibbler.

I like to know small parts of things. We even joke about it in my family - as my brother would say, “we know a little bit about a lot.”

It’s frustrating because there’s this unspoken societal taboo in America with regards to nibbling. We see potential in a child, foster it, and encourage them to excel. With time, they must choose between scat-singing and pirouetting.

Maybe it’s a bit of mid-twenties rebellion, but I think that choosing just sucks.

See, I like Nebraska Cornhusker football, Common, Kenyan skies, Red Zinfandel, talking to strangers, watching an opera, reading the paper, Wendell Berry, ballet dancing, making coffee in a French press, Newcastle, praying while in my car, black sharpies, crime and detective books, being frustrated while running, writing in my journal, buying shoes, eating cheese and bread for dinner, talking about God, putting on lip gloss, dancing around my apartment, hugging just about anyone, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, and peanut butter.

(And that’s just off the top of my head.)

These are all things I know about to varying degrees. I have nibbled and chomped down on them, sinking my teeth into all that makes up this special life. The list reads like that of a schizophrenic, but it is entirely me, through and through.

(chomp.)