Dear Readers,
Looking back on the past few years, one of my favorite parts of college has been getting to know people who come from all different backgrounds. It’s a remarkable privilege to get to learn both alongside and from people who have had experiences and challenges so wildly different from my own. In the second volume of Tell Your Story Walking, my hope is for readers to share that experience of being immersed in an abundance of stories reflecting an abundance of lives, coming from and headed in all different directions, but intersecting for a moment, here, in this anthology.
Earlier this semester, students trusted us to care for some of their most personal stories, chronicling first loves, unimaginable loss and deep generational wounds. They’ve also shared stories about the lighter, more humorous side of life. If stories allow you to view life from a different lens, then reading this anthology is like looking through a kaleidoscope. As you turn it, you’ll see the gray skies looming over an author in the aftermath of her biological father’s death, the piercing white screen of a COVID alert, and the black and red ink of signs with George Floyd’s name. You’ll also see jade necklaces swinging on pegs at the market in San Pablo City, the blue and green scales of a lizard’s stomach, the lime icing of strawberry margarita birthday cake, and a red barn against a summer sky in Indiana.
As autumn has settled once again in Syracuse, students, faculty and staff have been cautiously settling into this new world left behind by the pandemic that still hangs over us. We’ve all been figuring out what shapes to make from the broken pieces we’ve been left with, and what this new world of ours is going to look like. This anthology is a reminder to everyone that there are still colors to be seen and voices to be heard, even after this long stretch of loneliness and loss we’ve endured. Just as so many of you shared your stories and art with us, we couldn’t be happier to share this anthology with the world. We invite you to read it and revel in the product of all these creative minds coming together to share stories, celebrate resilience, and bask in the warmth only felt from a sun that has spent a long time stuck behind the clouds.
Kind wishes,
Kate Brennan
Managing Editor, Fall 2021
