Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Eight
1. He asks me if I know what time it is. I guess 8:30 but it is 9:30.
2. Well, I do wake up at 4:30 every day so maybe I needed these extra 5 hours today.
3. I take a peak at the garden. The tomatoes are choking out the rosemary and the okra. I’ll need to prune them back.
4. The Fire Next Time.
5. Well, she is tenacious.
6. Two little white butterflies off in the distance. The sounds of cars going to and from. I wonder where the deer is and if we’ll see her again.
7. I think of his words and how he said all the things I’ve been thinking about about people and Christianity and to survive as a black person.
8. It just seems like my heart won’t stop breaking.
9. I’m not sure I liked the movie but it did make me cry.
10. We need more stories about death.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Seven
1. Still raining. Cool enough for jeans.
2. The way the soft light of morning illuminates the typewriter and the notebook and the wax and the candle. The way this space finally feels like sacred space. Gratitude.
3. Trying to come up with meals that can feed all of us while I try to honor what my own body is calling out for. How maybe the food doesn't have to be that different for all of us.
4. Still raining. I run the aisles for the regular items and add a few special items like a wedge of manchego.
5. He asks me about the lockbox on the front door. Are we moving? I don't know. They are moving. They have only a few more weeks before they head back to a place that feels more like home.
6. I help the girls make cookies. It warms me to know that the last time they spend together is doing this.
7. Maps.
8. I tell him I don't feel like making dinner. He orders pizza. I breathe a sigh of relief
9. I finish the pint of Madagascar Vanilla Talenti. Some things aren't ever worth their cost. This gelato is.
10. Wishing you didn't know the things you aren't supposed to know.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Six
1. Raindrops on windows.
2. We are supposed to meet with friends today but it feels like a good day for cleaning and drinking tea and reading books.
3. I hear footsteps while I try to finish up yoga. I know who it is. I told her not to come down until 7. But she just really wants to make scones.
4. Something in the dough is not quite right. This is the one things about letting go: choosing to be open to an unfamiliar experience.
5. It's kind of unreal to see my images on a major local publication. I'm honored and proud and it only makes my mind race.
6. Our plans did change and so I spend the morning cleaning. We empty out her dresser drawers which become receptacles for craft trash and I wonder what we'll do about her as she gets older. She is just a messy kid. I know that's part of her creative spirit but we need to introduce some order.
7. Still raining.
8. No tea and no books. I turn on Twilight Zone instead and he comes in to curl up with me as we watch one of our favorite episodes, The Odyssey of Flight 33.
9. I think we'll take a break from tacos for a while.
10. He still thinks I've told someone.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Five
1. No yoga today.
2. Bacon and eggs and hash browns for breakfast. I don't want coffee but I do. I'll make some coffee too.
3. How is it almost the end of June already?
4. She calls me up to tell me that there is a deer in the backyard. It looks like the same doe from last summer but alone. Her coat is deeper and a little thicker but the limp is still there. I can't believe she's alive.
5. I play the songs from the Fever Dreams playlist over and over again. Next October seems so far away but it really isn't.
6. The wildflowers and grasses are almost as tall as me. I had forgotten how beautiful this park is. Red-winged blackbirds everywhere.
7. He tells me something he's not supposed to tell me and now I can' think of anything else.
8. How many feelings can you feel all at once?
9. Sparkling Malbec on the wicker loveseat out back. Gravel between my toes. A cool breeze that turns over the leaves but won't keep away the gnats.
10. The last bit of Talenti from the jar.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Four
1. More spiders in webs. A moth too.
2. Feeling parts of the body that haven't been felt in such a long time. I've missed this level of awareness.
3. We talk about the writing life and social media and whether or not any of this is good for us. And also, we must be crazy to want to be writers and submit ourselves to this kind of torture.
4. Back to wine studies. I must plan as if I will take it again at the end of October. Why did I throw away all of those note cards?
5. I lay down for a few minutes and close my eyes and just breathe.
6. I grab "The Fire Next Time" by James Baldwin and tuck myself into the corner of the alcove, feet propped up against the cool stone, a small bowl of almonds placed precariously on my belly.
7. There is a lot of sage that needs to be harvested, And thyme and oregano and basil and cilantro too. I didn't prepare myself for what to do when everything is so abundant. I don't have enough baskets for collecting or hooks for drying. Why hadn't I set myself up to handle success?
8. Rigatoni with a pork ragu, rosemary focaccia and salad greens from the garden.
9. We sit outside while the rain falls. It is still humid but the temperature has dropped and there's a cool breeze that snakes its way into the corners. The sky is grayed over and everything is quiet. I just watch the birds and the leaves and listen.
10. It was worth the price.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Three
1. I can tell by the opaqueness of the sky that it will be another hot day. This is one morning where I won't be too cold for yoga in the basement.
2. A big black bird descends into the window well to eat a slug. It leaps up and out to go do whatever it does with a slug.
3. Mapping.
4. I write about the things I do instead of writing and decide that for the next 45 minutes I’m going to just write whatever comes up.
5. I write a page of questions to ask her; five haiku, a few pages about trusting myself.
6. We catch up on life and on Fever Dreams and on other projects. I tell her that the book did indeed change my life.
7. We head to the library. I find another herb book and pick up The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin.
8. More dates added.
9. Old John Mayer and a painfully late dinner.
10. Breathing.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-Two
1. 5:30 am run to the store for syrup and challah and coffee. She wants to make him french toast for Father's Day.
2. I show her how to grind the coffee beans and which buttons to press on the maker. I see her in me. She is a caretaker, to some extent, and I both love this and am worried by it. I guess it will be okay as long as she learns to take care of her self.
3. I keep thinking about what she said. About how she was surprised by the other kinds of work I do. I realize it's because what I am really so good at is what I really want to do. What would it be like to do only that—to write only my own words, to only run creative retreats, to only run writing workshops, to feed people, to make people think in ways they've never thought before, to create sacred space for people to gather and experience one another.
4. I think back to how I described what I do with people at the On Being Gathering: I facilitate experiences for women to explore their creative truth in the form of online and in-person workshops and retreats. Yes, I just want to do that.
5. It's been open for only 6 minutes and the parking lot is full. We are here for steaks and wine. We find a package of ribeyes and settle on a 2012 Hietz Cabernet Sauvignon.
6. We stop once more for and get a bottle of 2010 Chateau Lalande-Borie Bordeaux.
7. I close the book. I am done and undone.
8. I forgot the whipped cream for the shortcakes. She comes with me to the store to grab a few more ingredients and decides to grab a bag of chocolates for her father.
9. Even in the shade, the heat is oppressive. I can feel the weight of every bead of sweat collecting above my brow. But there is also something pleasing about the stillness of the air.
10. I eat another shortcake.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty-One
1. Sleeping in.
2. The ground is wet from dew but the soil is still quite dry. I set about to water it. A strong breeze blows the water back toward me. I laugh.
3. It's going to be a hot, long drive into the city for this shoot today. But hopefully it will be worth it. The editor says she trusts me which means I need to go into this trusting myself.
4. Birthday parties for kids you don't know. I drop him off and use up some store credit from a Christmas return. The mall is a dark and empty place.
5. I put pull on and pull off pants and shirts. This is another reason I do not like to shop. I have a hard time with what I see in the mirror. I keep trying on clothes. Keep trying to rewrite the stories I have about myself and my body. I realize that I've ignored these stories because I created space for myself where there are no scales and no full-length mirrors.
6. At last a pair of shorts that I can convince myself to purchase.
7. I always get nervous before these kinds of things. It's been a while since I've shot some food. And this is my first newspaper assignment so I'm extra nervous.
8. The restaurant is small and a little dark but I think I know how to work with this space. I remind myself that I am a natural light photographer. This is what I work with exclusively. I know this kind of space best.
9. "It’s the quality of a particular interaction that creates the replication of energy." - John Paul Lederach, On Being
10. I'm miles and miles away from the redwoods, barreling down the highway headed home, but I listen to them speak and am back in the lushness of that weekend. I remember Shabbat and how to listen and how to speak and how to observe and how to rest.
Ten.Three Hundred & Fifty
1. Snooze.
2. Dreams of being places that I do and don't want to be. People seem to be confused.
3. Nowhere to be but here.
4. Donut run. One very old pick-up on over-sized wheels with two large American flags attached to the bed. In the parking lot of the donut shop, A bumper sticker with a heart, a cross, and a gun. An American flag bandana hanging from the rear-view mirror. I think maybe I don't belong here after all.
5. I dip the old-fashioned into my coffee before heading down to the basement to work.
6. It looks like rain but I don't think it will fall.
7. I didn't realize I was supposed to pick him up. I round up the two of them and get in the car to drive to Naperville. The ride there feels longs. My mind is just preoccupied with so many other things.
8. I follow the thoughts all the way through and realize that it's not anger but shame. The shame of being a black person who cannot swim and thus a black woman who's kids cannot swim.
9. Turkey burgers again for dinner. I think I was able to convert him with these.
10. I forgive myself for feeling shame.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Nine
1. I let myself sleep in until 5 because it's cleaning day. The clouds are pushing east and the air is quiet.
2. Knowing versus Learning.
3. Today just feels like the day to stop. And then I realize that it's exactly two weeks until my birthday and so yes, this makes sense. I've been really into numbers lately. Not necessarily numerology, but just paying attention to what numbers I'm seeing and how they make me feel.
4. I still don't like the idea of announcing digital sabbaths but it feels necessary to do so. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I never know how long I'll choose to be gone when I leave which is kind of the interesting piece when it comes to these kinds of breaks. Sometimes one week is enough, sometimes three weeks is not enough.
5. Chairs.
6. The impulse to check is strong.
7. I drive all of us to Naperville to spend a little bit of time with friends. I always get asked when I'm going to move back. There's always a house for sale. Maybe. Maybe if he gets a different job with a bit of a pay-raise then we might move back. I try not to think about that. Right now, despite my feeling of loneliness, moving back isn't the focus. Rooting is.
8. I grab the chairs and they are just brown enough and not red at all and I'm relieved.
9. She asks if we can talk about other things, not grow-up things.
10. We look up and see the sky. The sun is setting. The sky is the color of cornflower and the clouds are a pale pink. I can't move back. I'd never see these kinds of sunsets.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Eight
1. What time is it?
2. The windows are sweating so I already know what kind of day it's going to be.
3. I drag myself down to the basement for a quick yoga session. It's warm outside but so cold down here. I need to remember to bring a sweater.
4. Blueberry muffins. I forgot how satisfyingly light and airy the batter is once everything has been mixed together.
5. "Being at home in a given place means recognizing the rocks, the plants, the winds, and the waters and stars of that place in your own body, and your body in the rocks, the plants, the winds, and the waters and stars of that place. It means more than having memories associated with a given place. It means learning again how you and those you love and admire, in every physical, metabolic, chemical, mythical, and spiritual sense it can be means, are made of the things that make the place you belong to. That is the alchemy of belonging. This is where home comes from." - Die Wise
6. My shoulders and neck are sore from me trying to retrain them into alignment. Poor posture as a defense mechanism. Poor posture as a result of holding so much in that the body feels the need to cup itself in order to contain it.
7. I teach myself a few new things and it feels good.
8. I drag the blanket out of the back of the car and spread it on the grass, half in the shade and half in the sun. His gift to me was pizza ordered in for dinner so that I could continue to read and relax. It is a gift indeed. More time to feel the breeze blow down the back of my shirt.
9. "The culture lives in the language." - Die Wise
10. The right book at the right time is an elixir for your own becoming.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Six
1. 3:55 am. I know I won't be able to fall asleep again.
2. 4:25.
3. The way the street is wet from last night's rains and the way the streetlights make the water glisten.
4. There are spiders and slugs clinging to the window wells. I really need to get these covered.
5. Finally a frame for this image. All the dried eucalyptus in a vase beside it. Right here above the tub where the soft light will always hit it. This might become my new favorite spot.
6. Canceled plans mean a sense of ease about the day. It means more time to read and to write and do more laundry.
7. He sees me in bed. Even though he's smiling, I always feel judged. I justify it with having been up since before 4 am. But does it really matter what time I woke up? When you're tired, you're tired. It's taken me a long time to let myself be okay with resting.
8. It's taken me a long time to enjoy the privilege of resting. The next iteration of my life and my work will be helping other women to find a rhythm of rest in their lives and work. Yes. I think that's going to be a thing.
9. When I write down the list of things to do it doesn't always seem so big. But the few things that are there are large. And they're exciting. And they're heavy. And. I'll just get to them when I get to them.
10. I think back to the conversation. "What are you going to do with them?" (Them being my followers.) "Connect," I said. "This is a creative outlet," I said. Very little of what I do makes sense to those on the outside. Sometimes I care too much. I'm learning to care less and trust myself more.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Five
1. I think what it is is that I had worried that a post of mine might have offended my neighbors. That maybe what they read was that they are not my people. What I meant is that I didn't know who here might be my people so please raise your hand if you are. See. I still care too much what they think.
2. This is also a childhood wound. I carry this story of always being the odd one out, of not belonging, of being misunderstood. This is why I so deeply care about belonging, why I am always trying to find home.
3. We talk a little bit about my feelings at the island. I acknowledge that it's my own stuff I need to work on. Someone responds in a DM to say that she's learning how to honor her introvert-self while also finding ways to be seen by others. Yes, this.
4. More and more white petals on the baby hydrangea bushes. I need to take a picture to show Aunt Janice.
5. I sit down to write a newsletter and it feels good to be back. There is a tiny but mighty little community that sits right there. I tell them that they too are essential for living.
6. Everything is just an experiment anyway but I need better systems.
7. The great thing about choosing to watch a really bad horror movie is that everyone has to leave you alone. So I drink Lacroix in my underwear and watch "A Cure for Wellness" and this feels like a good way to spend a cloudy afternoon.
8. I worry that she'll think I'm flaking on her if I cancel on her tomorrow. But really, who wants to go to the pool when it's not even 80 degrees?
9. Philosophical questions that don't have any answers.
10. One more sip of pinot before I fall asleep.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Four
1. Slept in long enough for me to consider grabbing donuts but the pressure is on for scones.
2. I have her gather all the ingredients and squeeze the lemon juice to make the glaze.
3. I love the cloud-cover and the low rumble of thunder and the sound of the rain. Storms feel like a deep inhale.
4. He flips through the books and looks at the maps of Fixin, Gevrey-Chambertin, Saint-Aubin. I remember how badly I still desire to learn French and that this is the last year I can try to retake my certified sommelier exam without starting over with the introductory.
5. I get it, I really do.
6. I want to take a nap but I know if I do I won't want to get up for the block party so I grab the book and head outside to the alcove to read. I'm too cool in the corner of shade and so I sit on the step and drape my dress over my legs and sit in the little bit of sun that's peeking through.
7. I ask him how he wants to die. Then we realize that there are more adult things we need to do like make a will or a plan for the children. The things you have to talk about once you get to a certain age.
8. I tell him that we don't do the things that require lawn chairs but that maybe it's time to get some for next year's block party.
9. Pulled pork, kebabs, macaroni and cheese, homemade empanadas, wine and water. Some conversation.
10. All of these people and yet this feeling of being alone. Maybe it's an introvert thing. I am not one to walk up to a group of people to introduce myself. Most people can't, really. Engagement is a two-way street. So I know that I shouldn't take it personally. But I am. I tell him that I sometimes worry that because so many of the people here only know me through my Instagram that it might affect how they interact with me. That maybe I wish they couldn't see everything I post and say before getting to know me in real time, face-to-face. It shouldn't really matter. I am who I am and eventually they would see and learn what I'm all about anyway. I think I just wish that I didn't care.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty-Three
1. Twinkle lights on and a bit of a chill in the air.
2. I’m moving slowly. The rain is coming. I can see it in the clouds.
3. No, I will continue to follow my gut.
4. I am trying to see it all from his point of view. I hear him. I understand him. But I can tell that it’s not landing in me how he wants it too.
5. Grocery shopping with three children. What I thought would be torturous turned into a moment of awareness for them and gratitude for the food they eat. I hadn’t thought about how, out of convenience, I’d been shielding them from a life lesson.
6. I have them help me unload the car and put the groceries away. Yesterday I was yelling but today I feel empowered.
7. Two Oreos.
8. I could quit it all but then what would I do?
9. Flank steak and potatoes and asparagus and mushrooms and blue cheese sauce eaten quickly before drinks with friends.
10. Community.
Ten.Three Hundred & Forty
1. All clouds and bird song.
2. Someone's been eating the spinach. This weekend we must put up the chicken wire and protect what's left. I inspect it every morning and all the green still astonishes me.
3. Body aches. I can feel soreness in every movement.
4. It's funny how often I forget to breathe.
5. What happens when women are given permission to market their work? I know there are some still hesitating to write their name and their offering. I can tell by the way the sentences are crafted who is pushing an edge and responding to the call. I love it though. I love that there are so many of us doing our work.
6. The littlest one doesn't really ever stop talking. He has an inquisitive mind and I have very few of the answers he's looking for.
7. I'm inviting people into my home for a poetry and wine tasting. I am not the one doing the reading or performing the tasting. I am just making the space for it to happen. I tell her that I'm trying to create what I need.
8. Her house feels like a home.
9. I'm thinking of his assertion that the natural world actually has no need for humans. That if we were all to be gone, or had never existed, nature would continue to move at its own pace. The earth may not need us, but since we're here, how are we going to live on it? The earth may not need us but we need us—whole versions of us.
10. I agree with Mike Wilbon. I'm not interested in visiting the White House right now either.
Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty-Eight
1. There’s already so much light for this early in the morning.
2. Bright bits of moon.
3. The boat house with its pagoda-style roof and warped, cloudy glass windows.
4. The red-winged blackbird loops around my head and lands in front of me.
5. Rusty iron gates and trellises and peonies in bloom.
6. I’m out of practice and can feel it in my hands and quietness. I need to do more of this.
7. The sun on skin. I remember why summer is so good.
8. Watching him hit the ball and I think about all the parents that think their kid will be some kind of star and how it’s just natural to see the potential in your children. But I did call it, back at the house on Needham, when he was 4 years old and I watched him pitch the ball to himself and knock it across the yard.
9. In the shower I think of old poems and old stories that maybe, now, with a fresh heart and fresh eyes might make more sense.
10. Soon.
Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty-Seven
1. Two days in a row.
2. I go out back to harvest and water. I end up with a basket full of spinach, basil, cilantro, and mint. The level of satisfaction I feel is high.
3. They use some of the spinach to make his omelet. I’ll save everything else for something else. Maybe I need hooks for drying now.
4. “Obedience is following the grain of things. With that skill of obedience, every natural thing knows above all how to be itself, come what may.” - Die Wise
5. Morning pages in the alcove. The stree is quiet. I hear the neighbor and his friend next door moving the slab of walnut to the basement for his bartop.
6. Nap. But not the kind where you’re fully asleep. The kind where you half-hear everything even though you don’t want to.
7. All the design books. I need inspiration for this home. Dreaming up a vision for this space.
8. I dump all the feta into the bowl for this salad. There’s something about summer and a Greek salad with all the tomatoes and the dress dill.
9. We get there at 6:30 and don’t eat until 8:30. I am silently apologizing to my husband.
10. It takes me a little bit to wind down from the night. Sometimes an experience just leaves you so abuzz.
Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty-Six
1. 4:45 am sounds like I have enough time to reintroduce a yoga practice.
2. I go down to the basement and turn on the laptop. I don’t know where my yoga mat is but I find the box of Pendleton blankets and decide it will do. 30 minutes. I can do this.
3. Blueberry turnovers for them. I eat a leftover salad.
4. I think of things I’d like to say but choose to keep them private. That is the dance. How much can you reveal and still maintain your privacy. Not everyone needs to know everything. Not everyone should know most things.
5. I’ll need to harvest some things tomorrow.
6. The pool combines some of my least favorite things: crowds and the possibility of danger/death. But maybe once they are all confident and capable swimmers I’ll be able to relax.
7. Nap.
8. Cravings: curtains, pictures frames, a new hammock for the stand.
9. There are these small trees that sit at the top of the hill and when their little trunks are bent because of the way the wind blows through them. They remind me of the windswept tree you sometimes see on the hillsides of California.
10. I love his love of the stars but I’m getting cold and so I go in. He puts on his jacket and takes the phone back out and looks for Venus and tracks the moon. We watch him from the upstairs window as he gazes at the sky.
Ten.Three Hundred & Thirty-Five
1. I undo the twists.
2. The window screens are still covered in rain but the sun is peeking through the trees. I know I need to harvest spinach, thyme, basil, maybe some mint.
3. One cappuccino before I begin.
4. Today I will dust the baseboards. The house is so much quieter with one of them gone.
5. I feel resentment rise as I begin to clean the toilets. I talk myself back down. I ask myself what is the anger telling me? What do I want instead? What do I need?
6. I realize that what I want is to be fed. Not figuratively, but in a very literal way. I want someone else to make me a delicious meal and then clean the kitchen afterward. I want to be cared for in this way.
7. I walk to the garden in my bare feet, hot blades of grass pushing up between my toes. Cottonwood seeds sticking to my lips.
8. I forgot to tell them to get rice so now I need to go to the store. I take my time and walk almost the whole store. A baby is screaming and I try not to stare but it’s hard.
9. Hawaiian bowl for dinner but I skip the pork. Next time I’ll remember to add black beans.
10. I drop my glass of rosé on the concrete and it shatters into what feels like a 1,000 pieces. I take it as a sign to get some rest.