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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...:
Nowruz (Persian New Year) is probably my single favorite holiday. It's a celebration of Spring, renewal, and love. It doesn't require gifts, it's totally secular, and its most important traditions fill the house with light and fragrance. It's pretty perfect, as holidays go.
Of course, when Iran is in the kind of turmoil it's in today -- crippling sanctions, horrific inflation, and an oppressive, deeply corrupt government -- the joy of Nowruz is somewhat clouded over by the knowledge that people "back home" are really suffering.
Still, I set up my Haft Sinn, gathered a small group of loved ones, and made the traditional meal. As the two Americans, two Israelis, one Kiwi, and I made a toast to the new year, I couldn't help but make a wish:
I hope, so deeply, that within the next few years, it will actually be possible for the same six people to sit down to just such a meal together in Iran.
With that, I say, Eideh Shoma Mobarak, and may you have a wonderful year ahead!
It's difficult to know, in those times, which is harder: feeling untethered or being locked in place.
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.
I love this tattoo. Always have.
Have you taken a leap recently?
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.
For four years, I've been going to Burning Man. The last three of those, I've helped coordinate Camp Pendant, a lively, warm, lowkey group of friends and relatives who've become my bona fide playa family.
The memory of the morning this photo was taken -- walking across the dusty lakebed, watching people frolic as the icy night air was slowly, gently warming from the reappearing sun -- is one I hope never to forget.
Sometimes I feel like my life is one big performance.
I was held captive in a hotel twenty minutes away from home this week.
I had a captive audience when I presented my research for the first time.
Captive is such an interesting word.
Full circle and then some.
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