The Prodigal Son
The Body, Brain, and Books: Eleven Questions with “Feels Like Home” writer Alex Lewis
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Alex's work has been featured on Chron, ESPN’s Andscape, and Columbus Underground—in addition to him writing features for several (614) Magazine publications.
What are you reading now?
I’m in between books. I actually just finished reading Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. It reads as a tragedy considering how Bourdain died, especially as he remarks, “I’m still here. And I’m surprised by that. Every day.” Then, I just started Onyx Storm, the third book in Rebecca Yarros’ Empyrean series, and I’m looking forward to starting Kaveh Akbar’s Martyr! soon.
What are your most beloved books from your youth? Did you ever hide any from your parents?
The book I think about a lot because I thought it was so silly is No, David! by David Shannon. The art is so iconic, and the most memorable spread (literally) is the drawing of a naked David running down the street with his bare butt showing. I definitely hid those pages from my mom. Also, I loved Captain Underpants and Junie B. Jones.
What’s your favorite book to reread? Any that helped you through a dark time?
The books I come back to most often are Hanif Abdurraqib’s They Can’t Kill Us Until They Can’t Kill Us, bell hooks’ The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love, and either Heavy or How to Slowly Kill Yourselves and Others in America by Kiese Laymon. All of these were formative in shaping how I approach my writing, as well as how I look at myself and others. Amid murders of Black people by police, reminders of how patriarchy harms us all, and even the ongoing deterioration of interpersonal care, words within these books have met me where I am and continue doing so.
What’s an article of clothing that makes you feel most like you?
White Crocs. My wife got them for me five Christmases ago, and they’re the first thing I put on whenever I get home. We’re a no-outside-shoes household, so house Crocs are my saving grace. They have a few Jibbitz: an orange cat that looks like our cat, Cheech, the word “FLEX,” Peppa Pig, a headless Tom Nook, and “Living My Best Life!” I’ve had these from the start, so I should probably get some new ones soon.
What’s the best piece of wisdom you've encountered recently?
I’m easy to love. Everything in me wants to deny this and believe it’s not true. That’s because I always thought of humility as making myself smaller. But recently, I heard Krista Tippett talk about humility as wanting other people to be big. I want to see others as easy to love—for them to feel they’re easy to love—and believe that in myself, as well.
Tell me about any special relationship you’ve had with an animal, domestic or wild?
I love my cat, Cheech. He’s so forceful with his love—more like a dog than any cat I’ve ever known. When he wants to snuggle, it doesn’t matter what I’m doing or how busy I think I am. Cheech will push me back and sit right on my chest. When I don’t give him the attention he wants, he musters up all his mischief and makes me pay attention. Cheech is a constant reminder of what really matters and that most things aren’t that urgent. There’s always time for a little orange cat.
What's one thing you are happy worked out differently than you expected?
Two years ago, I worked on two stories for Andscape. They were more journalistic, reported stories—and neither of them got published. At this point, I didn’t have much experience, if any, with reported writing or working with an editor. But a writing mentor of mine, who works at Andscape, encouraged me to give it another try.
When I ran an idea by him for a Russell Westbrook piece earlier this year, he told me it wouldn’t be likely to do a reported story. I appreciated his directness and moved on. But he came back and asked if I wanted to do an essay instead.
I didn’t know Andscape accepted essays. This is the type of writing I felt most comfortable with, and it led to me finally getting my first byline with them. It went on to be the top story link on the ESPN app during the Denver Nuggets-Minnesota Timberwolves game in late January, and my alma mater even highlighted the piece in its online alumni publication.
Singing in the shower or dancing in the kitchen? Or another favorite way your body expresses itself?
I love putting on a show in the living room. After work, my wife and I relegate ourselves to the couch. And sometimes, when I get up to grab a seltzer from the fridge during commercials, I wait until I have a willing audience and dance like Michael Jackson or one of the kids in the Charlie Brown Christmas special. I add a new element with every performance, trying to see what leaves my wife the most aghast. And the best is when we go move for move in the silliest little dance battle.
What are your hopes for yourself?
I want to stay who I am and hold onto the best parts of me in an often cruel world. I want to maintain care for myself and others even as capitalism and patriarchal masculinity tell me it’s weak to show genuine love. I want to keep returning home to me and my people.
What’s a kindness that changed your life?
I’m not self-made. I don’t believe any of us are. So much of where I currently find myself is a byproduct of other people’s kindness. I think about my parents who let me explore my interests and encouraged me to keep pursuing my passions. I think about my former classmate, Matt Lee, who pitched a story about Car Window Poetry to his boss at NBC Nightly News and paved the way for me to share about my art project on primetime TV.
I even think about a former manager who gave me a copy of Hanif’s They Can’t Kill Us that he had laying around his office. Or Nicolas-Tyrell Scott, a decorated journalist, who told me I should publish my writing. I encounter this kind of kindness daily and recognize that anything I’ve ever earned is a result of the people who helped me get there and encouraged me to keep showing up.
What’s a guiding force in your life?
The Prodigal Son story. I can’t remember the last time I opened a Bible, but the Prodigal Son story still speaks to me—namely its picture of “home.” A model of warmth. This idea that we are loved and accepted as we are and can always return to this reality, whether it’s found in a place, people, or things. And when we come home, we’re not met with shame. We’re welcomed with open arms and celebration. It’s where we belong. I seek to rest in this feeling of “home” and extend it to others. This is what I always hope to communicate in my writing and with my life.
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