On counting and measurement

I’ve always preferred to set my alarms (when I have to set an alarm..) to off numbers. Such as 7:34, or 8:48. I like to say it’s because I don’t think those other numbers get as much appreciation or use, be them not a round :00 or :30.

The other day I was thinking about how we can set these arbitrary timelines for ourselves in life. X by this time of year; Y by a certain age. Or, how there is an idea of a certain weight we “need” or want to be, or amount of money we need to make. Really, I think, all of that’s just as (not) meaningful and arbitrary as setting a certain time on alarm clock.

Especially because, many of these numbers mean—and are!—different things in different places. US dollars aren’t used around the world. Neither are pounds. Average age of birth, marriage, life expectancy, etc. are different in different places.

Time is what we make it; and numbers know no stories.

I choose to look at this with kinder eyes

In the joy and jumble of holiday tumult, between the high, high happy times of cross-continental vacations and celebrations with family, friends and loved ones, I’ve found myself a bit derailed (understandably!) from routines and “regular” days—and being critical toward myself and the situation as a result. I’ll calculate the sleep I’m not getting, the vegetables I’m not eating, the workouts I’m not doing and see stagnation; feel frustration.

And everything else?? I woke up today feeling softened after a New Year’s even wedding for a close friend. And all of the things that are happening? Everything I am receiving? I want to choose to look upon it all—myself, the world—with kinder eyes.

And navigating through an international airport on New Year’s Day? I’ve just found out it helps with that, too.

Old new beginnings

It’s New Year’s Eve, and I haven’t felt like being as introspective and retrospective as I usually delight in at this time. It’s probably because the call inwards has been more towards less overthinking, and more just being. Which has been really nice! There’s no missed opportunity, either; I remind myself, too, that this is only one, chosen new beginning at a certain point in time, and that these are happening all the time.

The start of a new season, the end of an astrological year, a new monthly cycle; we can choose to time our changes as we wish and with the reverence and reflection we choose.

Happy New Year to you, should you wish to take it.

(Only) Saying, 'Thank You'

With yesterday being Thanksgiving, there have been lots of notes and stories about gratitude circling, including how it’s good for health, etc. All of which is wonderful!

It reminded me of a friend who told me earlier this year, “I’m practicing saying ‘thank you,’” As in, only saying “thank you.” When someone gives a compliment, holds open a door, whatever it may be. To simply say “thank you,” without an apology, without an excuse, without rushing to follow up with context like where something was bought, or negation like how it’s actually so messy, without even quickly returning it with a “you, too.” To just meet and receive what’s given with, “Thank you.” And that’s all.

So, thank you for receiving this after all this time; for reading this.

I am home

I spent three months last summer living out of a carry-on suitcase and a backpack, spending no more than 10 days at a time in any one place. I’d given up my apartment in Los Angeles, along with most of my belongings, before taking this leave from work. I needed, wanted, feared and craved some time on my own, with everything laid bare—me, myself and I. Less as more; to feel alive.

I expected to feel unsettled throughout this, and I knew that was what I needed. Because in taking everything else away—all the things I had; all the things to do—I needed to find out who I was, and how I felt. I really needed to meet that person and get right with her on the other side. Understand her, challenge her, support her and encourage her to be even more herself.

Halfway through my time, I was on a yoga retreat in Mallorca. It was incredible, yes, and it was also another scene in the theater of life. It topped 100°F most of the trip, and there was no air-conditioning anywhere on the property. One day in particular, I felt like my body and brain were no longer mine and I read that happens to be what happens at 104°F, which it was.

When things get that gnarly, and we were also folding ourselves into shapes we may have never been in before every morning. And as cliché as it is, things started to happen. Tears would spring up in certain poses, and I spent hours lying as close to the floor as possible with my legs up, letting life pass. A willing participant, a passive witness, doing as much as I could and a little more than I wanted, but knew that I needed . I took the group trips out in the afternoon and bathed in the salty Balearic waters that held me up and felt like a hug, and then one day I just needed to hang back, alone.

I went deep in that heat, and the funny thing is, I didn’t even really endeavor to. As with most things we need in life, it just happened. It was just me and my body in that heat, with some other bodies floating and flowing by, in the center of that peaceful island where the insects chirping to a roaring chorus every night, nature’s white noise.

I realized I’ve been looking for Home this whole time in that moment, brought me to it. Without being able to think about, or do much more than be in that immediate moment with myself, everything cleared. I am home. I am my home. I’m in my body; I’m here. Whether I’m together with others or alone, I’m home. I’m sleeping in this bed; next week I’m in a hotel. I don’t know where I’ll live next, and I am living right here, in my body, at home.

I am home.

It’s the next note you play

A friend of mine messaged our group this past week deeply concerned about an oversight that had happened at work, one in which she was closely involved. It was one of those more serious mistakes, one that could affect people personally, one that kept her up that night. Still, to err is human.

What came to mind to share in that moment is something that has given me consolation, as well as empowerment, in times of need. It’s from the late, great and astoundingly creative Miles Davis: "If you hit a wrong note, it's the next note that you play that determines if it's good or bad."

What do we do with what we have, and what’s happened? It’s about what comes next.

Side note: In confirming this quote, I pulled up a page of others of his, and wow, did he have some meaningful things to say, in addition to play, including: “In improvisation, there are no mistakes.”

Life, and all that jazz.

J’ouvre les huîtres / I open the oysters

On my first date with my now-boyfriend, we sat under a bridge somewhere between Zurich city center and the airport, waiting for storm clouds to pass and the music festival to hopefully resume.

I told him that I’d spent time that summer in France and was learning French. I was, in a sort of skipping rocks, cutesy, explorative kind of way. Him being Swiss French, with French as his first language, he was eager to hear me speak. I told him there was one phrase I’d been practicing with friends that really challenged my pronunciation: « J’ouvre les huîtres » which means, “I open the oysters,” or, “I’m opening the oysters.” (I do love oysters, and the “ou” sound in French is notoriously hard for English speakers, as well as the French “r.”)

Him also being Swiss in all the best ways—practical, fair, honest—he wasn’t going to let me get away with a half-hearted or incorrect pronunciation, and we sat there with him very cutely and matter-of-factly repeating it and having me follow.

We kept talking after parting ways that first date, which I think was, for both of us, unexpected and thrilling. (The concert never started back up, but our date lasted for hours of conversation under that bridge.) He’d occasionally pop quiz me vis WhatsApp—“how do you say it?” And I’d send a sheepish audio note back.

We spent this past New Year’s together in Verbier, and his friends purchased oysters for the occasion. I laughed and ran over to him holding one up. « J’ouvre les huîtres!! » We both smiled, and he hugged me, a moment I think that had us both reflecting back on those first, fresh moments together.

I’d had a 70-day Duolingo streak for French going at that point, and I was about to start taking twice-weekly French classes in hopes of one day communicating with his family as naturally as he (polyglot of five languages, sigh) does with mine. (I am appreciative for how much really can be communicated through body language, smiles and gestures!)

Still, I open the oysters; j’ouvre les huîtres, in continuously opening up in the unique, beautiful and vulnerable way that only this loving relationship could invite, in opening to new possibilities in life, and new pearls of wisdom from experiencing life and learning from, and with, someone who I admire and who inspires me every day.

I’m opening the oysters, and, shucks, aren’t I lucky to have this great guy doing it with me.

A veces lo barato es lo caro

Sometimes cheap is expensive

I was going from train to train in Spain, because after two months of flitting about in Europe, I was doing what I could to keep off of flights For both my own well-being, and that of the environment.

Never one to travel without snacks and ample amounts of hydration, I had just stopped at a convenience store and loaded up on goods for the next leg of my trip. Which bag did I want? The attendant asked. I looked at everything I had, and the two options, one, notably flimsy than the other, and both costing money. I probably could use this one. I told her appointing to the sturdier option. She agreed. “A veces lo barato es lo caro,” she said, and smiled.

Sometimes what’s cheap is expensive, and not all costs, or benefits, are monetary.