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This birthday, the one just before turning 40, needed to be quiet, calm. Not least of all because it came on the heels of an emotionally dense weekend with the family.
So, David and the dog and I hunkered down at home. Didn't stop us from breaking into the stash of Burgundy we brought back from our trip last year, though.
The past year has been an absolute mindfuck in so many ways. You can read a little about how it started here). But something that stands out for me has been how we cling to our technology in the face of a pretty insular life. We often talk about how we could not have moved here even five or seven years ago -- the internet and the growing acceptance of distributed workforces are really the only reasons we can keep our jobs and still be at Bear Creek.
But there are a handful of especially kooky paradoxes we live with that always bring a smile to my face. As it happens, today was an amazing highlight of those things from start to finish... I want to remember them as they happened, so...:
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In the Conceptual Art wing of the Oakland Museum sits a cast bronze version of a peacock chair in which Huey Newton, iconic leader of the Black Panthers, was once photographed.
Sitting on the chair*, the visitor looks down to see herself reflected in a mirrored base, deeply marked with concentric circles that both capture the reflection and send refractions of color all over the room.
It's stunning.
It's difficult to know, in those times, which is harder: feeling untethered or being locked in place.
Today was the first day I really noticed how much longer the days are getting. This makes me inordinately happy.
I celebrated the arrival of my 38th year this weekend. (Which means, of course, that I turned 37...)
I had the good fortune to be surrounded by wonderful friends and an amazing boyfriend all weekend. To eat delicious food, drink my favorite wine, and spend a solitary hour at SFMoMA feeding my other senses. To treat myself to a little present from my favorite shop, and to lay my head down in a home I truly love.
If you ever catch me saying that I wish I could go back to my younger days, you have my full permission to flick me squarely on the forehead.
I'm fortunate to be surrounded by some pretty amazing kids.
With them, I get to exercise "auntie-privilege" -- a very special role that means I get to play with LEGOs, read silly books in goofy accents, make cool-gross science projects, and blow zrbtts on bellies until we both fall to the floor laughing. It's awesome.
Watching these kids evolve and grow, watching their places in their respective families take root, and seeing how incredibly important it is to give them a voice and encourage their individuality has been so inspiring.
I know motherhood still isn't for me, but jeeze, am I ever lucky to love--and be loved by--these awesome little people. They have an awful lot of lessons to teach me.
Very late, this post. But I was lucky enough to spend Thanksgiving in Israel thanks to a partner who had to be there for work, and who invited me to tag along.
I spent a day wandering Tel Aviv with my camera, chasing the street art that was everywhere. Huge wall-size pieces, tiny rat-sized ones. Black spray paintings, colorful wheatpastings. Aggression, sadness and whimsy, sometimes all at once.
More of the set here.
Father's Day. People tell me it "gets easier every year," but that hasn't been my experience. Trouble is, I keep thinking it WILL get easier, and so get bowled over when it's not.
This year, I was in Manhattan for work, with the rare gift of total anonymity.
I went for a run on the High Line, walked the city, took in a magnificent sunset, and ate dinner alone. In the absence of expectation to engage with people, I engaged with memories of my childhood in New York. And in those memories, I found my dad's company.
Sometimes, I just need to be reminded that grief and solace both come in many forms.
I have this... problem. When I fall behind on something -- whether it's returning a phone call, processing photos or finishing a project -- I seem unable to simply regroup, complete the task, and move on.
No, I end up paralyzed by my "undoing." I have an incredibly hard time re-motivating and acknowledging that sometimes, things just slip. I beat myself up while simultaneously ignoring the problem (a real gift, I tell you) until it's no longer front of mind or it no longer matters. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that this is not an ideal way to deal with life's projects, and usually ends with hurt feelings, irked collaborators, and a unhealthy dose of self-loathing.
That, unfortunately, is what happened with this bloglet. I'd stare at the TypePad UI, not knowing how to say, "Sorry I missed a few days. Sorry I didn't keep my 365 promise. I'm doing the best I can."
I want to change this personality trait. I need to change it. So, today I try again.
Sorry I missed a few months. Sorry I didn't keep my 365 promise. I'm doing the best I can.
Full circle and then some.
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