Lauren Nixon is a Food and Wellness Educator who guides people in cultivating spirit-filled lives through self-care practices and real, healthy food. She writes about healthy food for BlackGirlinOm. Her writing has also appeared in MindBodyGreen, Elephant Journal, Cooking Light Magazine’s Simmer, Boil Blog and others.

I spoke to Lauren during a time of exciting transition—she’d just finished up a job in Philadelphia that week, and was preparing to move to Washington, D.C. I remembered that D.C. was the city in which Lauren aimed to live and work; location is very important to her. Lauren is a person who truly inhabits where she lives—she bikes through cities, gardens in them and shares food with those around her. I talked to her about creative process and the influence of place.

Would you say that writing is your preferred creative outlet? If not, what is?
I use writing as a vehicle to talk about my heart work, which is cooking and fermenting. Those are my creative outlets. Because you can’t invite every single person in the world into your kitchen, writing is the best way to reveal all of the amazing things that can happen there. So, they work together.

What other venues do you have for creative expression? It sounds like cooking, gardening and farming are very strong in your life.
Nature provides a lot of really interesting creative outlets. My interest in herbs is really great because I know how to dye fabric using turmeric, or nettle. I can create medicine. I use my hands—something that I have to do when I interact with nature.

It’s one thing to take a hike, which is a great physical and spiritual practice, but it’s another thing to take something from nature and bring it back indoors, and then create something that’s a little bit longer-lasting and more spirit-inducing.

Do you think cooking, or gardening, is a creative act? Or is it more of a necessary act?
Both. Cooking and gardening are necessary. But we are told so much that things happen a certain way, and gardeners and home cooks can think outside of that box.

When I have students and we have access to farm-fresh produce, first we talk about the flavor profiles: sweet, salty, sour and bitter. I once asked them to make a stir-fry out of those four flavor profiles. It was so interesting to watch them scramble to come up with things, because in their minds only certain things go in stir fry. Carrots go in stir fry. Onions go in stir fry. Those are things they’ve seen. But food allows for a lot of creativity!

When we think about high school, or public school students in particular, there is a Right or Wrong. When you circle B and the answer is C, you get a lower mark. But in terms of your own taste buds, there isn’t a right or wrong. You like what you like, and there’s a lot of room for experimentation.

That’s why cooking and gardening and farming and creating are necessary. How the heck are you going to know what you like or don’t like, how will you know who you are, if you’re not constantly experimenting and playing? And breaking rules? And getting things wrong? And making tons of mistakes? And having tons of do-overs?

And as I remember, you don’t refer to recipes.
Never!

I just reread some of your recent publications. In a piece about ritual, you talked about “creating a space for self-care.” Do you see this as a physical space? Mental? Spiritual?
It’s a combination of both. I think that the world that we live in really, really glorifies busyness. If you’re not constantly moving, you are not valid and your presence isn’t worthy. I think that creating a physical space as well as a mental space is really important in self-care, in order to remove yourself from the epidemic of busyness.

I have to remove myself as an introvert, as well as someone who is not interested in constantly being busy. I can’t maintain that—I will fizzle out. I have to create a physical space. My physical space can be in my bedroom—create a small space, like an altar. It might be in nature. I often go to nature because the party animals and the people who want to be on their phones all day, and the people who live that busy-busy-busy life are probably not going to be on a hike. Bless them on their journey, but I need to get away from all of that.

For me, creating a physical space is a lot easier. To say, OK I’m going to make this space, I’m going to go there every single day, I’m going to go on a hike, I’m going to go to the river, I’m going to go climb a mountain—wherever your space is. Creating a mental space is a process! It’s one that I certainly haven’t mastered, and I don’t think that anyone will ever master it, or was meant to master it.

Mental space, for me—as someone who is an extreme introvert (yet still a vocal person)—means I have to journal a lot, to be able to survive in the world, and communicate effectively in the world. I have to read a lot. Getting out of my own mental space and getting into other people’s mental spaces is really important. Being really immersed in a narrator or protagonist’s words is really important in order for me to create a balanced mental space that is not self-focused all the time.

Is there a physical place you go to unleash more creativity? Or meditate?
Gardens are a great space. I don’t have my own personal garden, but I’m really lucky to have tons of people who just give me the keys to their garden, because I, a willing volunteer, will go and work on weekends! That’s what I did this morning, I volunteered. It’s really nice to just have some quiet. Especially since I’ve always lived in cities for the most part, it’s been really nice to have that.

There’s a lot of problem-solving that goes on in a garden. Plants are, for the most part, like human beings: they have to be fed, they have to get sunlight, they have to be taken care of. At the same time, there’s space for creativity. What can you grow? What can you do with what you grow? What’s going to happen when you have a surplus of food? There are so many different things you can think about!

It’s so interesting to hear you say you feel very tied to cities, and also the East Coast—D.C., Philly, Brooklyn, etc. Those are places notorious for that busyness, that can’t-sit-still, gotta-be-on-my-phone, What do you mean, hiking? places. Yet it feels like you also find your home and your space there. I don’t hear you saying, “I want to move to the wilderness,” it’s not that extreme. So I find it really interesting that you like the East Coast City, but also take a step back from some of the narratives of living in an East Coast city.

A lot of that is really intentional. I need to be around other people of color. It’s something that makes sense in terms of my own growth and my own self-care. It’s important for me to have community. I’ve grown up on the east coast and it’s what I know.

I think the East Coast is really starting to create a lot of possibilities for people of color who are interested in the type of world that I am interested in, in the type of practices that I’m interested in. People of color in the cities are creating these worlds for themselves and manifesting those worlds, and so I see a really interesting opportunity to grow and flourish here.

Laura Eppinger graduated from Marquette University with a degree in Journalism. Her laptop screen got cracked during a year in Cape Town, South Africa, but it never stopped her from writing. Her publications list lives here.

The post Spirit in the City: Lauren Nixon on Creative Places and Spiritual Practice appeared first on Newfound.

When I spoke with Valadez via Skype in May, I could hear birds chirping on his end. At certain points I could hear him pouring tea.

It occurs to me that 10 p.m. on a Friday night for me (in New Jersey) is 10 a.m. on a Saturday morning for him. He thanked me for staying up late—and it was late for me. We both wondered what happened to our resolve for all-nighters, in those bygone College Days. No more staying up till 5 a.m. and pounding back coffees throughout the following day, for either of us. Even though, Valadez told me, there is a Starbucks in his neighborhood in the urban area of Chengdu, China.

Eppinger: If I walked into the closest Starbucks near you right now—

Valadez: Oh, it would look like a Starbucks.

Eppinger: And do people camp out there, like with their laptops and their homework, or “working from home”? Or, is there a different vibe?

Valadez: You know, that is not as much of a thing here—the hanging out in coffee shops.  People will socialize, or play on their phones. But you don’t see a lot of people sitting down at a Starbucks to work. You see people who are hanging out with friends, or—it’s that thing I don’t really get about the U.S. either, where people will go somewhere and then just be on their phone. Why did you leave the house for that?

Chengdu is a fairly modern, highly developed city. Where I was before, in Neijiang, there was no Starbucks. What’s a little more common is what they call a milk tea shop. Milk tea is essentially the frappe version of tea. It’s like 10% tea and 90% cream. It’s really good! But the word “tea” is kind of misleading.

In the smaller places (like Neijiang), a lot of young people—especially on college campuses—go there to hang out. If they stick around, they’ll play cards, play on their phones, smoke cigarettes, and drink a milk tea.

Eppinger: Sounds pretty good!

Valadez: You know, it’s college life. But those students you’ll see doing that (this is not my judgement, this is taking into context the social dynamics), are like the “bad kids.” Like, “Oh, they’re hanging out in the milk tea shop when they should be studying.”

Eppinger: What do “good kids” do instead?

Valadez: Education here, from middle school through high school is just like: Study All The Damn Time.

Eppinger: Hmm.

Valadez: Twelve, thirteen-hour days—if you’re not in class you’re in a study hall. A lot of high school students go to bed at 1:00, wake up at 6:00, they have class for ten hours, and then after class they’re in a study hall for three more hours, then they go back to their rooms and do some more studying! So college, by comparison, gives them a lot more freedom. But it’s still really regimented, and their time is very scheduled for them.

Eppinger: I think some of the most poignant things you’ve written about in updates since you’ve been there is the concept of Leisure Time for university-level students. Also, things like: time for creative expression, and time for creative writing. So if I went to the Starbucks near you right now I wouldn’t see people with their laptops idly writing, or scribbling in a notebook. So, where could I find that? Or, could I find it?

Valadez: You could find it. It would be in a very specialized area.

There’s a book shop in Chengdu called The Bookworm, which is a pretty exceptional place. It has that traditional Western feel of a café where they have open mic nights. The space is really set up for people to hang out and chill. They have writing groups there. Of course, China has a long tradition of arts and literature. That influence combines with the modern café art scene feel more common in the US. It makes for a really unique atmosphere.

Eppinger: Right. I guess that challenges my American/Western assumptions of what it means to be in a “college town.”

Valadez: Oh absolutely. The way things are organized in China, there’s the tradition—in Chinese, Dan Wei (单位), which means “work unit.” In the old tradition, if you got a job somewhere, the job took care of you: housing, meals. Some of that tradition still maintains.

A lot of teachers live on the campuses where they teach. Sometimes there’s housing provided by the university. Every campus is like a small universe. These college campuses are communities of people. Teachers don’t live there alone, they bring their families, and you have the tradition of taking care of your parents when they get older, so grandparents are living with them. You go outside at night, and you’re likely to run into more grandparents and little kids than students.

Eppinger: A multi-generational university. That’s interesting.

Valadez: It makes it so that it’s not party time, you know?

It’s kind of nice, it gives you that warm communal feeling. Of course, things are much more regulated for locals. The dormitories don’t have RAs. They have what they call ayi (阿姨) or shushu (叔叔), aunts or uncles, older people who live in those buildings and make sure you’re not fucking off!

Eppinger: Do you interact with, or meet, working writers in China—who are either Chinese or from abroad? Is that part of your daily life right now?

Valadez: Other foreign writers, I have met. There’s a community out here of artists, especially who live in Chengdu. I have met, and even did a reading once, with Chinese poets. Unfortunately, those opportunities have been few and far between. I think there’s a lot of mutual respect there, but it’s hard. The language barrier makes it difficult to have a dialogue.

Eppinger: How do you fit writing and a literary life into your working life in China?

Valadez: My volunteer life afforded me a lot of extra time that I didn’t have back home, so I was able to create some routines, create some structures in my life to promote my writing practice. I continue that, though at this point it’s a lot more difficult. My working life, in particular, is a lot busier. So for me, the way to fit writing in with my life here is to be really concerned with: Tonight is writing night. This is writing time, right now.

Eppinger: Good for you! One burning question I have right now—it involves a lot of speculation. If a university student in Chengdu, where you are right now, went home and said, “Mom and Dad, I’ve changed my mind, I want to be a poet,” or, “I’m going to write novels.” What do you think the reaction would be? Would it be supportive? Or would it be something more like what we’d hear Stateside, “Oh, you’re gonna starve! That’s a terrible idea”?

Valadez: Things here are so rigidly structured, I couldn’t even imagine a student saying that at all. In my experience, it’s hard enough to get students to even admit those things to themselves, or to their friend.

In Neijiang where I was teaching, odds are a lot of those students were the first in their families to go to school, and it’s a really big deal. Because most of my students were girls, that means: You go to school, become a teacher, get a stable job, and then within two or three years get married, have a kid. And, at the same time, help their parents in retirement.

Eppinger: Do the students around you have the time or the inclination to read for pleasure?

Valadez: Oh yeah. There’s still ever-present the traditional Chinese lauding of education. A lot of them will go the library and read for fun at their schools. Read stuff that they are just interested in. Also, they believe that’s a way to improve yourself, it’s a way to broaden your horizons, to read more books.

The post Bad Kids at the Milk Tea Shop: Leisure Time, Reading and Writing in Chengdu and Neijiang, China appeared first on Newfound.

“There was a wall. It did not look important. It was built of uncut rocks roughly mortared. An adult could look right over it, and even a child could climb it.”  -The Dispossessed, Ursula K. LeGuin

We make assumptions. For example, as a writer, I make assumptions about my audience, about you. One of those assumptions is that you read, most of you widely, and many of you deeply. Since this blog is attached to a literary journal, it is very possible that some of you write. At the same time, I could be completely wrong. That is the nature of assumption after all.

Last week, my wife and I were driving through a small town in the Utah desert. The evening was approaching and I was hungry. The next town was probably an hour off. The problem was that we only passed two restaurants on the highway, China Star and Pizzaria. Take a moment to look at the pictures and you might make some assumptions of your own.

Chinese, American, Mexican Drive-In…

And Italian-American Mexican Food, which happens to include Freezies and Chili Dogs.

I’m a food snob. I made assumptions. I did not stop.

When we got to the next town, there were many familiar eating establishments: Subway, Arby’s, McDonald’s. But after waiting so long to eat, I wasn’t going to eat fast food. I wanted to get out of the car, sit down and enjoy a nice meal. So we did the only thing I could think of, which was to ask a local where to eat. The recommendation we were given was an Italian restaurant called Red Gravy.

When we went inside, I couldn’t help but notice that the vibe of the restaurant wasn’t quite Italian. The décor was eclectic, as though someone’s grandma had taken all of her knickknacks and put them into a barn she decided to convert into a restaurant.

The entire back wall of the dining area was a chalkboard with an excellent drawing that I couldn’t help but photograph. It reminded me of New Orleans where I once lived, or what I imagine Venice might look like.

Then the food came, probably the second- or third-best Italian food I’ve ever had — which is saying something. Our waiter was professional and efficient. Overall, it was an enjoyable experience, perhaps made even more so by being unexpected.

But this post isn’t a travelogue of a trip into the desert. The point of all this rambling is the places.

The places I mentioned allowed you to make judgments. Even with limited details, my wife and I made assumptions. The roadside diners and the Italian eatery are the setting of the story; they allowed immersion in the tale. They don’t just give the story a place to happen. They give it flavor. And, in cases like this one, if it weren’t for the places, there wouldn’t be a story at all.

Reggie Carlisle finished his BA in Creative Writing at Weber State University in 2014. His first published story was in the Fall 2013 Mixitini Matrix. He currently resides in Utah with his wife and five daughters.

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