Prompt 171. People Watching in Central Park

& a prompt on shame-turned-pride by Evelyn Menjivar

Maira Kalman for the New Yorker, 2011

Hi friend,

I’m back in New York City for the holidays, currently on a hardcore regimen of eating leftovers, watching movies, and strolling with Jon and my brother through Central Park, where the last of the autumn leaves are still clinging to the trees. It’s the longest I’ve been back since the pandemic, and it feels delightfully familiar, like coming home.

Somehow I’d forgotten how much fun it is to people-watch here. I’m especially drawn to the dog walkers with their hordes of canines. (We left our pups with friends back in rural New Jersey, and I’m missing them.) Vendors have also started bringing in Christmas trees, filling the sidewalks with green and the scent of pine, and I find myself wondering where they’ll end up. Especially curious about the 30-foot monstrosities: who in this city has ceilings that tall?! I’d like a holiday party invite.

Funnily enough, our prompt today deals with the opposite: everything in miniature. A few months ago, I got a message from Evelyn Menjivar, a high school counselor from Los Angeles who’d read my book and made a tiny version of it for her miniature library. I was so moved by Evelyn’s story, and her thoughtfulness, and her quirky, lovely hobby, that I asked her to contribute a prompt. It’s about her miniatures, but also about how the exact things that once caused us shame can become a source of pride.

Sending love,

Suleika

P.S. A quick note to paid subscribers—the first installment of Dear Susu went out yesterday. If you missed it, you can find it here!

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171. Memories in Miniature by Evelyn Menjivar

I always loved reading as a child. But in high school, assigned readings suddenly seemed incredibly difficult. I struggled with comprehension and retention, and I felt discouraged each time I stopped to search for the definition of (what felt like) every other word. Eventually I stopped trying, and when I graduated, my English teacher told me I was reading at a sixth grade reading level, which crushed me.

My peers, family, and teachers saw me as an academic overachiever, and I was headed to a prestigious university. I was so ashamed of my reading struggles that I didn’t reveal them to anyone. Independently navigating a competitive university with a poor reading level led to much self-doubt and self-sabotage, and as a first-generation college student who based her worth on academic achievement, I felt incompetent and hopeless. This lasted throughout college and even after graduation, until I gradually discovered what I loved. It felt like I was getting to know a new friend, and I admired who I was becoming.

But like so many others, when the pandemic hit, I experienced fewer joys—and sometimes none at all for several weeks at a time. That’s when a friend recommended the book A Short Stay in Hell by Steven L. Peck. Reading still felt intimidating to me, yet I could not put the book down; it provided comfort like nothing else. Though I knew I’d continue to struggle to read, I realized I would miss out on countless impactful stories if I let that stop me. Since then, I have read more books than in the rest of my life combined.

Not long ago, my sister gifted me a miniature library diorama kit. With it, I made mini-versions of my favorite books, and I loved them so much that I wanted to capture more of my joyful experiences in that tangible and compact form. I began making mini-photos of my pets and favorite places, a mini-poster from my first concert, a mini-drawing of a favorite hike, a mini-cup of coffee (my favorite drink), and a self-portrait.

The miniatures live on a bookshelf above my desk. The books are meaningful because I now find joy in something I used to feel intimidated by. I look at them to recall the powerful emotions they inspired in the past, and they spark hope of more joyful moments in the future.

Your prompt for the week: 

Write about something you struggled with but persevered at—something you believed you weren’t good at but you persisted with and found it brought you joy. How do you honor that perseverance? Where does it live in your life?

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If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments below, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

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Today’s Contributor

Evelyn Menjivar is an aspiring high school counselor in Los Angeles who dedicates her career to supporting students in their growth and transitions to their post-graduate lives. She recently found a second passion in creating art and now indulges in various media, including drawing, short-story writing, jewelry making, and miniature building.