One of my favorite poems is His Favorite Blue Cup, by Stephen Dobyns. Now, I can’t meaningfully analyze poetry. I just know how it makes me feel. Dobyns’ heart imagines a place where the many things he’s lost still exist. His cup. His old car. His childhood mutt. This hits for me. My heart still looks for a house long demolished. It expects my grandfather wading in the shallows across the street, even though he’s been dead fifteen years. I am a scientist. I can quote the laws of thermodynamics. I know in my bones that the only constant is change.
Still, my heart wants better than that. It remembers the crisp iodine of the ocean. It remembers a time before the McMansions, before chain stores invaded the island. It remembers girls sneaking me donuts at the bakery, the powdered sugar on my tongue as powerful as any drug. It remembers saltwater kisses under Fourth of July fireworks. It remembers falling asleep under the Perseid meteor shower. It remembers Michael’s laughter the last time we surfed together, baby dolphins circling us like puppies. My heart remembers everything. So does yours. The body may keep the score, but the heart keeps the receipts.
I think that’s why people confuse good fiction with memoir. We feel the feels, and we want to believe in a physical reality behind them. Don’t do that. It cheapens the experience. I’m not writing to accurately reflect the August of my youth. I’m performing a magic trick. I’m using my feelings to evoke yours. There’s no house called Villabaia, but when Jack arrives there, I hope you’ll feel a sacred place you’ve long missed. There’s no lunatic named Fusilli, but when you join one of his missions, I hope you’ll remember the time you knew someone was trouble, and got in the car anyway. There’s no Irish girl named Nora, but when you see her by lamplight, I hope your guts will free-fall like first time you fell in love.
There are scientists who say time is like a river. We can only put our foot in once, because it is always flowing past. However, there are those who say time is like a lake; that we might swim from place to place. It means the people, places, and things Dobyns’ heart longs for are still out there. In a strange way, it means everything is always happening. Isn’t that what our memories are like? Moreover, isn’t that one of the reasons we read? We want to feel ourselves transported. Maybe the trip will resurrect feelings we’ve forgotten, or friends lost to time. Maybe, we’ll get to feel something entirely new, learning something about ourselves and the human condition. Maybe, just for a moment, we’ll stand in another’s shoes and gain valuable perspective. Maybe, if we are really lucky, all of those things will happen.
Enjoy the ride.
We Make You Feel Sane drops 5/18/2026, and will be available online and at your favorite bookshop.