#11: Parallel lines parallel lives
Rewriting, rewiring, growing out of skins
Hello, welcome back to you are here, a newsletter on being, becoming and everything in between. Let's pretend this newsletter is always on holiday, except for when it's not. If you're new here, or you'd like a refresh, check out this visual love letter to Mexico City, this post on food and memory, or this sample of stuff I make.
Dear Friend,
I am back from newsletter hiatus, but perhaps only temporarily, as all groundhog re-emergences tend to be. The landscape of my life has shifted — new-old city, new friendships, and an opportunity to tease my neural synapses into new patterns. I am enjoying what seems like an endless summer, long days ending at a lake that rests at the foothills of chocolate Alps, music a balm to the rustling everywhere else.
Last Monday, I walked through the same alley as I did when I was a teenager, opening out from the quiet suburbs into a field that formerly held horses, and now holds houses. The same thoughts that had swirled around my sleep-deprived, burnt out, 16-year-old head morning after morning surfaced again: If I walked into a bus right now, would it change anything? Does anything I do make a difference in the world? Do I matter? What's the point of all this — going to school, following the rules, keeping up the pretense of cultural upbringing from one world when I live in another — when so much is happening around me that I have zero control over?
At its bones, the purpose-of-life wailing of a 16-year-old.
But there's no need to worry, friend. I am no longer a teenager. I no longer identify with the person who questioned everything they were doing as proof of existence. I am no longer someone who needs a sign of permission to fully stretch the limits of living in the skin they were sent down in.
Instead, I am trying to rewire memory markers I put away in boxes a long time ago so that they serve not just as reminders of prickly pressure points, but all the magnificence that accompanied them too. In this case, not just the captivating whirlpool of dark thoughts, but also the sun on my face on a windy autumn day, the cherry trees in the cemetery we thought it would be rude to pick fruit from, the comfort and boredom of walking down the same path everyday on my way to and from school. And this song as the soundtrack to it all.
Oh, to be that age again. (No. Never again. Please.)
I recently heard Sarah Polley, actress, director and political activist, describe the advice her doctor, Michael Collins gave her when she was learning to deal with the heavy(!) after-effects of a concussion:
"Run towards the danger...The more you eliminate experiences of things because they are painful, the more you are ill-equipped to deal with them."
I have always thought of myself as someone who runs towards the danger, not in the sense of doing things that are foolish, but in pushing the boundaries of what causes me discomfort in order to build up my weaknesses. As I grow older, "run towards the danger" starts to mean not "thump your chest and run all daggers out towards the finish line", but rather "breathe, pause, feel the big, difficult feelings, give the wound love". More loving kindness, less inner whip.
In other words, meet the things that make you uncomfortable with generous, loving intentionality.
So here I am, nearly a decade and a half later. Relearning, undoing, rediscovering, letting go, resetting, and running towards the danger. Figuring out what is important to me right now, giving wings to the voices inside me. I find that the further I go, the more love I have to give to the world. And as I continue down this path, I am trying to give myself grace, make room for the liminal spaces, and perhaps the hardest one — pause to really feel the feels.
I wish you the same. ❤️
Gratitude/Examples of love in the world
Last weekend, a friend told me that she would meet me "here" and it was the most supportive thing that I have heard in a couple weeks full of only love and support. We all walk through life with our own burdens on coals, and I hope that you can find it in yourself to make space for your loved ones to meet them where they are, in whatever state they are, with love and equanimity.
Book I am currently nerding through
Tomorrow Sex Will Be Good Again by Katherine Angel, an incisive, intelligent book full of insights about sex, pleasure, vulnerability, power, consent and the nuances within all of them. With just four chapters written to an audience in possession of critical thinking skills (lol, humble brag, much?), this may well be one of the best books I will read this year. I highly recommend it to anyone looking for something that makes them think twice about consent and pleasure in their own lives, in sex or otherwise.
Audio gems
The Poetry Unbound podcast. City soundscapes. FIP radio.
Final words/Watercooler
Sooo, here we are, end of the newsletter. Whew. Sup? How are you? What are you up to these days? I know nearly all of you by name and life circumstance, and I would love to hear what you've been doing or enjoying these past few months, what you're reading / watching / listening to / cooking, and what (or whom) you're holding dear lately. Send me the goss!
Also, if there's something you'd like me to write about or a general life question you'd stake your life for my advice on, just reply to this email!
Originally published on August 03, 2022