Prepare to be captivated by the extraordinary journey of Susan Orlean, a writer whose insatiable curiosity has led her to uncover the hidden gems of everyday life. But here’s where it gets fascinating: Orlean’s memoir, Joyride, isn’t just a reflection on her life—it’s a masterclass in how obsession, mischief, and a relentless pursuit of truth can transform the ordinary into the extraordinary. And this is the part most people miss: her ability to find profound meaning in the seemingly mundane, whether it’s the memory of a folded piece of paper or the surreal experience of seeing herself portrayed by Meryl Streep in Adaptation.
In 2017, a decade after profiling Caltech-trained physicist-turned-origami-artist Robert Lang for The New Yorker, Orlean found herself at the OrigamiUSA convention, attempting to fold a “Taiwan goldfish” under Lang’s guidance. I was there, microphone in hand, capturing the crisp sounds of paper creasing as she struggled to keep up with the man dubbed the “Da Vinci of origami.” Her frustration when her goldfish’s fins didn’t flutter perfectly was palpable, yet it was a moment of pure Orlean—an adventurous student of life, inquisitive and exacting, always seeking the mischief in the details.
During that workshop, Orlean recalled a profound insight Lang had shared: “Paper has a memory. Once you fold it, you can never entirely remove the fold.” She couldn’t help but wonder: was this a metaphor for life itself? Over four decades, seven books, and countless magazine features, Orlean has profiled celebrities and unknowns, explored cults and choirs, and turned her lens on everything from supermarkets to surfers. Here’s the controversial part: she doesn’t see herself as someone with a message for the world; instead, she believes the world has something to tell her. Her favorite stories? Those that are “hiding in plain sight” or leave you thinking, “Who knew?”
Memoirs rarely fit this mold, but Orlean tackles her own story with grace, weaving in another recurring theme of her work: the nature of obsession. Early in her career at Willamette Week in Portland, her editor preached that every story, no matter how small, held meaning. This philosophy stuck with her as she married a like-minded colleague and landed her big break covering the Rajneesh cult for The Village Voice.
Her pieces from this era—published in The Voice, The Boston Globe, Rolling Stone, Vogue, and The New Yorker—are a cultural time capsule. From the history of Lycra to profiles of Bon Jovi and artist Christo, her assignments were as elastic as her budgets. Negotiating a New Yorker feature about a Bronx cab driver turned Ashanti king, she was simply told by editor Chip McGrath, “Your budget will cover travel to Ghana if necessary.” Her final payment? “It will be sufficient.” Bold statement alert: “I don’t need to tell you that magazines don’t work that way anymore,” she writes, leaving us to ponder the golden age of journalism.
Joyride is the ultimate behind-the-scenes tour of a career filled with hits. There’s the surreal experience of seeing Adaptation, based on her book The Orchid Thief, come to life—complete with Meryl Streep playing her. Her hilarious account of discovering herself in Charlie Kaufman’s script is laugh-out-loud funny. Then there’s her 2020 Twitter thread, born from too much rosé on an empty stomach, which crowned her the “patron saint of pandemic drinking.” But it’s not all laughs—Orlean also shares harder moments: a divorce, a cancer diagnosis, and the heartache of moving her mother into a nursing home.
Orlean views the writing life as a constant high-wire act of creative reinvention. “You never build equity,” she admits. Her father, who dreamed of being a writer but became a businessman, once suggested she consider law school after The Orchid Thief was published. Thankfully, she didn’t listen. Instead, she followed her calling: to reveal the complexity and poetry of ordinary life, to show how rewarding it is to stay open and curious, and to find joy in the unexpected.
Now, here’s the question for you: In a world that often demands big, bold messages, is there still value in the quiet pursuit of uncovering the extraordinary within the ordinary? Do you agree with Orlean’s approach, or do you think writers should have a clear message to share? Let’s discuss in the comments—I’m eager to hear your thoughts!
