Ten.Two Hundred & Ten
1. It's warm and so the heat isn't blowing which means that it really is so very quiet.
2. There should be sun today. I can see a little sliver of emerald green. I will never get over sunrises.
3. Today is the day we launch Black Food & Bev. So much work. So much fun. So much gratitude.
4. I look up and realize that I have only one more hour before the kids are out of school. Half-day. No work done. Nothing that I needed to actually do today is getting done.
5. This leftover soup with extra cilantro. Trying to stay fed. Trying to stay full.
6. The way doubt and fear move through your body and settle in at the base of your neck. A gentle choking.
7. Where is my faith?
8. The color of sunset. Purple and blue and pink and orange. Deep breath.
9. We vent to one another in the kitchen while he eats the rest of his ice cream and I wipe down the counters. Remembering that we are both doing this together.
10. Where is my faith?
Ten.Two Hundred & Nine
1. It's just a little after 5. Even though it's still dark I can tell that the air looks thin. I hope this means sun.
2. I suppose I could just check my phone and look at the weather.
3. I run to the store and grab coffee and cereal. I need the space created from a self-served breakfast.
4. I find the rectangle of light in the foyer and sit in it. Let the sun hit my face. Remember that I'm going to California next month.
5. This is still hard. Even though I know what to do and have done it before, this is still really hard.
6. Leftover chicken tortilla soup for lunch. I eat it in bed, alone, in the quiet, as I stare out the window.
7. I think back to my mother's words, "He's usually right about a lot of things." And so I go back to it. Everything right now is about my mindset. What am I choosing to focus on? How can I make this very hard thing a little easier on myself.
8. Since last fall I've been challenging myself to find and keep close the ways in which I can elevate my spirits. I loosely call is self-care. But maybe it needs a different name. Maybe wholeness is more accurate. I'm trying to figure out how to stay whole.
9. The way the sunlight catches the feathers in the windowsill.
10. Bare.
Ten.Two Hundred & Eight
1. 4:34 am.
2. My teeth hurt. I must have been grinding extra hard last night. Must make a note to relax my jaw today.
3. Still so dark. I rush and put on my boots and coat to take the trash bins out. A think layer of glass over everything. I let the weight of trash bins pull me down the driveway as if I'm on skates.
4. Him taking the kids to school gives me just 20 very glorious minutes of alone time in the house to clean up the evidence of living.
5. Wendell Berry's "How To Be A Poet." Communicate Slowly. Live a three-dimensional life...
6. I move my computer upstairs to the bedroom for a change of scenery. I just didn't feel like today could be another day at the dining room table. Plus I need to move away from the reminders of all that needs to be done.
7. Can I even get all of this done by Monday? It's all happening so quickly and yet so slowly and it is hard to hold.
8. I want to just write poetry. I think about the freedom that might come from some other kind of work that is not based on my own creativity. Would there be more space to dream?
9. Bare black branches against the grayed out sky. The golden-brown of the dormant grass on the berm. Little hints of green in the grass where the snow has melted away.
10. I am ready for this.
Ten.Two Hundred & Seven
1. A think layer of white over everything.
2. The thud of feet hitting the ground. It is too early for them to be up.
3. Bacon and eggs and toast. I skip all of that for a banana and a cappuccino.
4. The floors still need to be swept. Tiny dried-up shreds of cheese are scattered around the base of the refrigerator. That's another thing that will need to be cleaned: the refrigerator.
5. Must take one bite at a time.
6. I can't hold it in anymore.
7. Something about the muffins. She says that she dipped the muffins in melted butter and then dipped them in a cinnamon-sugar mix. Melted butter is always magical.
8. I'm laughing so hard that I'm crying. I needed it. I really needed today.
9. "This is the worst kept secret."
10. "It's the uncertainty that is killing me." Is there ever a sure thing? "I just need more specifics." In this case, would a few extra details really assuage the anxiety? There is such a thing as "too much." You can reach the peak of intake, meaning that at some point, the continued collection of information begins to negatively affect your ability to make a decision. So how do you determine what is enough?
Ten.Two Hundred & Six
1. It's the loud rumble of thunder that wakes me. It feels misplaced. Isn't this winter? Thunder doesn't belong here.
2. The light reflection off the wet pavement. Everything is so quiet.
3. I am trying not to yell at them. I sound like I am hissing every word.
4. Car wash sounds. Big glue strips of something slamming against and rolling over the car. No vision. I see why this is scary.
5. I think he is taking me to lunch to see if it will perk me up. My silence makes him uncomfortable. I fill up on a glass of champagne and a burger, one scoop of sea salt caramel ice cream in a cone. The mist is hitting my face.
6. That feeling of thinking all the things and yet thinking nothing at the same time.
7. I remember when I had a regular yoga practice—90 minutes twice a week, sometimes three, and how at peace I was. It was the movement and the breath and the quiet. It was the comfort of routine: pouring myself a cup of weak coffee into a Styrofoam cup before heading up the stairs to the studio; placing that cup of coffee on the windowsill by the radiator; unrolling my mat; staring out the window to look out on the world below; sitting on my mat drinking the weak coffee and centering myself before class began; then intentional focus on my body and my breath. The kind of dedicated awareness. I don't know why I'm thinking of this now. It feels like there is no time for this.
8. This group of 1st graders can actually play. Maybe even better than my 4th graders from last session. I tell myself that next time I volunteer to do something like this, I'll take the lead. No more assisting.
9. Chicken Tortilla Soup at 8:30pm.
10. At least the bathrooms are clean.
Ten.Two Hundred & Five
1. I think I will make them muffins today. Just a plain one topped with cinnamon and sugar.
2. The sky is still so muted. The rains are coming.
3. I make my way to meet her in Oak Park at our usual spot. The food is just regular, but I love the way the light comes through the window.
4. Their conversation on technology. His story about how the Amish decide what technologies to adapt and what to leave behind. Two questions: Does this add value to my family? Does this add value to my community? These are good questions of discernment for any decision.
5. Yes, the food is regular but I the light is amazing. As I watch her talk I keep wishing I had my camera to capture her in those moments between her sips of coffee.
6. How to Survive the End of the World.
7. I forgot my grocery list.
8. I think I figured out the ingredients to a productive writing session: 10 minutes of meditation, a closed door, and '90s alternative blasting in my ear drums. I write better when I'm dancing.
9. How do you write a freaking resume, any way? How do women do it? How do we try to re-enter the traditional system after such a non-traditional way of being? How do you prove that you can do the things you've never done before simply because you believe you can? Who am I really trying to convince?
10. At least they are both done. I couldn't manage to fit in the quote where he says that women will be your greatest allies. I think I might have raised my hand like they do in church in when they say, "amen."
Ten.Two Hundred & Four
1. I'm the first one at the donut shop. I buy two dozen. One for home and another to pass out to the boys after our game.
2. Two cappuccinos with a thick layer of foam. I sweeten them with sugar. I don't ever put sugar in my coffee but I want it today.
3. I sit down on the folding chair and let out a deep sigh. The other coach asks me if I'm ready. I want to tell him that it's not the game. It's so many other things.
4. Mind divided.
5. I put my pajama pants back on and lay in bed. We try to make a list to help me ease my nerves. It doesn't really help. I close my eyes instead.
6. The smell of cinnamon sticks, cloves, star anise, and coriander seeds toasting.
7. I start with the easiest thing: removing the stockings. Then I move on to the ornaments, then the lights, lastly the tree.
8. I think back to the question I posed earlier this morning on Facebook. How comforting it is to know I'm not the only person who's body responds to stress by simply shutting down. Sometimes there is space for me to shut down. But not right now. And so I will take their tips and try to shift.
9. There are no more epsom salts left.
10. Still feeling all of the things.
Ten.Two Hundred & Three
1. From this spot at the table I can see the morning arrive. Saturated colors stacked behind the silhouettes of rooftops.
2. Even though I'm trying to cut out gluten again, I decide on drop biscuits. I halve the recipe because 6 cups sounds like too many drop biscuits for the five of us.
3. They are buttery and pillowy with just enough chew. But they needed a tad more salt in the dough. Or perhaps a honey butter.
4. More laundry.
5. I let her know that I'm not ghosting. It's just that something has come up and it has taken over whatever little bit of vacant space was there.
6. Imagining the conversations that need to be had. I am still a little afraid.
7. I really need to take down this Christmas tree. It's dead and droopy, the slightest touch sends 1000 needles to the floor.
8. Pinot Noir with the pork. I think I'll use the leftover pork for pho.
9. I can't tell what's real and what's not.
10. I guess, maybe I should just start small. First, take down the garland. Then remove the branches tucked away on window sills and atop the wine rack. Pack up the snowman cookie jar? Yes. Little bites at a time. Sometimes this is the best approach.
Ten.Two Hundred & Two
1. Up before the alarm. It's amazing what you can do with an intention and an extra five minutes.
2.The sound of the shower. How you can hear the voice of water.
3. Scones with a little bit of leftover glaze. I just drink my hot water with lemon, forgetting to make myself a little espresso to start my day.
4. 7:03 am.
5. I decide that I'm going to use this day as a day of rest because soon, there may be no time to do this.
6. I set the meditation app for 10 minutes. I can't keep my brain quiet but I think the act of just sitting still changed something.
7. Once I let it go—decide that I have permission to let it go—I feel my whole body relax. Like I added an extra inch between each rib. There is room to breathe.
8. I rip out "Back to the Land" and think of how my mom calls me her hippy child. Which I think means that I've always had my head a little (lot) in the clouds. That I love simplicity and ease. That I believe in freedom and love for all. That I talk in a way that most people my age don't talk. That I'm all about ideas and possibilities. That at the end of the day, I just want to sit in the woods with my coffee and read and write and grow my own food.
9. I tell him that I'm excited, but also terrified.
10. But I think this is a natural reaction to the big, big dreams coming true.
Ten.Two Hundred & One
1. I hear the crash of glass from the recycling truck and remember that I forgot to take the trash out last night. I rush to get my coat and boots and drag the container to the curb just in time.
2. I can see the colors beginning to form in the sky. This means that it will be sunny today.
3. When you are up before the first light begins you learn how to tell the weather based on the shape of dawn. It reminds me of that time we were out in the vineyards shooting with Adam—at sunrise—and how he said he could forecast the beauty of that day's sunset based on the color and cloud formation of the morning sky.
4. I am still thinking about darkness. About the journey into the unknown. What I will name this period once it is over.
6. In between sips of coffee it's laundry, bathrooms, vacuuming. It's putting it back together again just enough for me to be comfortable with it all coming undone.
7. The dentist.
8. I think I am going to go back to decaf. I don't like this latest sleep pattern since the reintroduction of caffeine.
9. The irony is that I'm reading a book about focus, about deep work, and I am reaching for my phone more and more. Because right now my way of avoiding is by choosing this form of distraction. Because I know there is heavy and hard work ahead.
10. I'm returning to the vision. Remembering the light. It's time to unload, re-evaluate, and invite in.
Ten.Two Hundred
1. More snow. Not a lot but just enough to be a nuisance and so I run outside to push it all away with the shovel. But it's still cold and it doesn't take long before my fingers begin to burn.
2. Tuesday's are my favorite days.
3. The drive to Naperville is slower than usual. Brake lights. Snow flying off of tires. But there is just enough yellow light from the sun to make it bearable.
4. Not my whole arm, just the inside, right below the bicep and just about the elbow crease.
5. I step inside the kitchen and think, "how can I make the rest of my afternoon more beautiful? When I return, what will make this space feel more full of ease?"
6. The tulips are drooping and reflective of my own state of being today: bright, soft, fallen over.
7. But tonight we'll gather and it will be good because it's always good. At least it's always good for me.
8. "Our poems formulate the implications of ourselves, what we feel within and dare make real (or bring action into accordance with), our fears, our hopes, our most cherished terrors." - Audre Lorde
9. The hour goes almost too quickly. My writing is rectangular. Meaning that I write and then box it up. Make it a container to revisit and explore on some other day.
10. Today is day 200.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Nine
1. There is snow but I can't tell how much. The depth of it doesn't really matter. I know I have to shovel.
2. It is higher than I expected it to be. I will be out here for awhile.
3. It's hard not to curse at winter for being itself, or at my husband for not being up and awake to do this for me—even though I'm shoveling at 6 am and I am the only one who appears to be out and working this morning—, or at my children who are not yet old enough to do this themselves.
4. The thing is that the cold is so painful. In temperatures this low, regardless of the thickness of the gloves, my fingertips burn. The sensation brings tears to my eyes. It takes a good 45 minutes for my hands to feel normal again once I am inside.
5. So I dream of warmer places and remind myself that I will be in California two different times next month and then again in April, and then New Orleans in June.
6. My eyes hurt from staring at the screen but it must get done. Each image brings me back to the individual and their story and that is what I like about editing: you get to relive your experience with your subject.
7. This is the year of investing in myself wherever I can.
8. I scroll through and look at all of the posts highlighting Martin Luther King. I can feel the sourness of pessimism rising up. How do we move past memes into real action and change? What does that look like? What do I want it to look like for myself.
9. I ask him to just bring me some dessert.
10. Tomorrow we gather.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Eight
1. 7:58 am.
2. Peel and slice the ginger, two cinnamon sticks, half a lemon, a couple spoonfuls of honey. Fill the pot and let it simmer.
3. I eat a small bowl of cereal and take my tea up to bed.
4. We recount last night's dinner. That soup—boy was it good. The people—so nice and fun. The kids—no crying. We need to do this again.
5. Deliberate practice.
6. "The woman's place of power within each of us is neither white nor surface; it is dark, it is ancient, and it is deep." - Audre Lorde
7. I wake up from my nap and remember that it is supposed to snow. And indeed the snow is beginning to fall.
8. The way the light reflects on the white, white snow. Even though it is past dark, there is still the illumination of sky.
9. But I'm ready for the warmth of sun and crawl back under the covers and pretend that I am somewhere else.
10. This week.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Seven
1. The little bit of green between yellow and midnight blue.
2. I can tell it's going to be a bright day which is good. I'm ready for a little sun. It've been so dark.
3. Tonight is soup night and there is still so much to do.
4. Basketball game. We win but they still frustrate me. No one jogs to the bench. They still won't put their arms up on defense. I have to remember that they are only 10.
5. Back to class and though the soreness is gone I am still a little tight. It's been a long time since I've done something that feels so unnatural. But I'm finding joy in this challenge to push myself to do something I've never done before. To be okay with the feeling of being uncomfortable.
6. I find the pork bones, bamboo in a can, dried shitake mushrooms and yellow tulips.
7. First the seaweed, then the mushrooms, then the pork bones, bacon, soy sauce, mirin. This is the broth. Fill your bowl with noodles, a soft boiled egg, kimchi, pork belly, bamboo, scallions, seaweed, top with broth. Slurp and get messy.
8. Table full of people. A little bit of music. A little bit of candlelight. A lot of Riesling.
9. Tired. But the good kind.
10. I hope they let me sleep in.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Six
1. Open eyes. Remember that it's Friday.
2. Bring butte, water, brown sugar, a little bit of salt, dashes of cinnamon and a teaspoon of vanilla to a boil, then stir in oats. Bake. This is what I make on days I don't know what to do for breakfast.
3. Coffee plus list-making. Hunting down a ramen recipe. Tomorrow is soup night and the theme is Asian. Must also think of wine pairings.
4. I relisten to Isabel Wilkerson's episode of On Being as I drive into the city. The way she talks of The Great Migration—it is making me think of all of the men and women who left the homes the new in search of a new kind of freedom. A freedom they had to define for themselves under the racism they experienced. It makes me think of the ingenuity, creativity, and courage of black people in America. Of all immigrants in America.
5. "The heart is the last frontier." - Isabel Wilkerson
6. Today's interview is on the south side. The woman is large in stature and in personality. I realize that she is my mother's age but doesn't look like it. Her smile is infectious. She's *really* smart. And by smart I mean that there is something behind her eyes that only some people have and she has it.
7. Nikki Giovanni and her obsession with space. And how she keeps called #45 a fool. It must be that certain age that causes you to lose all filters.
8. Daydreaming of warmer days.
9. I am convinced that I'm a little more rooted in myself because of the amount of time I've been able to spend in conversation with black people this past month. I underestimate the importance of being with those who understand you—not because you are black, but because there is a common history and an unspoken language. And because even if we didn't grow up in the same kinds of neighborhoods or in the same kinds of families, we are all still black people who have grown up in America and that is something no one but another black person can understand.
10. I think I'll try again.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Five
1. 3 am. I turn over and try to sleep for a just a little bit longer but all I can think of is the day ahead and how tired I am.
2. And it's still so dark.
3. Bacon, croissants, fruit, and coffee. I set down my cup somewhere and then lose it. I remember that it's in the laundry room and go to retrieve it but now it's cold. I keep losing my cup.
4. The grayness continues and I try to conjure up memories of the sunny days spent with my toes in the grass.
5. I pack up my lights and grab a kombucha and get in the car. Today, I'll meet her on the north side. The drive is slow. I listen to Andre Mack of Mouton Noir Wines and some big shot from E & J Gallo talk about how wine professionals should approach people who are new to wine. Like, basically, the goal is to have more people drink it. So let go of your idea of what is good. Remember that everyone has a starting point.
6. It might have been the best cornbread I've ever eaten in my life. I stuffed it all in before I even made it to the on-ramp.
7. I can barely keep my eyes open. As I sit, the sky gets darker and darker. It is only 3:15 but it looks like 4:45 and all the light is gone. I feel claustrophobic. Like I'm trapped in a box.
8. He says that I look like a woman who does not want to cook dinner today. He is right. I am not. He runs out to get a dinner that I won't eat because I am still full from the cornbread.
9. The way they laugh among themselves between bites.
10. Bath with salts and oils and nature sounds from the meditation app. I feel a little dehydrated when I get out.
Inspiration - Burgundy
Burgundy is almost always on the brain. Stare into as many glasses of wine as I do and you too will only see red. No not red, burgundy. It's one of those colors that feels sexy and smooth, so rich and decadent. It's dark and moody and, in the right tone, a little devilish. - A
“What is happening to me happens to all fruits that grow ripe. It is the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker, and my soul quieter.”
“Her blood is dancing, she wants to live, and there is no life here.”
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Four
1. Up before the alarm again.
2. Everyone has eaten and they are back upstairs playing quietly. I can barely keep my head up. I take my coffee upstairs and stick my legs back under the covers.
3. Maybe it's the weather. The low-hanging gray. It's bright, but the light feels empty, if that makes sense. There is no glow, no warmth.
4. She texts me to let me know that today's interview needs to be rescheduled. I am beyond happy. I need a day to rest, I think.
5. I feel guilty resting.
6. Make a list of gratitudes.
7. Sushi and sake for lunch. The house is a disaster. I try to pretend I don't know this by just keeping the kitchen clean. I just have to keep my head down. I know this is only temporary.
8. But the fatigue. We determine that it might not be the coffee, but the lack of iron. The weeks of no caffeine were also the weeks of a heavy burger and steak diet. And it could also just be winter.
9. Her smile.
10. I lean against the shower door, eyes closed, draped in the warmth of the water. Ready for tomorrow.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Three
1. Their lights are off.
2. The sky outside. How it's milky. Silhouettes of trees, bare and naked like skeletons.
3. I open the back door and take a deep breath. It's just barely above freezing but the air feels a touch warm.
4. Caramelized onions and peppers get stuffed into potatoes, topped with bacon and cheese.
5. It feels good to be back at the counter. Because Tuesdays are still my favorite days. And because this is still the place where some kind of restoration occurs.
6. 37 days until the On Being Gathering. 49 days until Sonoma & Napa. 106 days until Fever Dreams Collective. This year of numbers.
7. Beaujolais with some duck prosciutto and the bacon jam crostinis. I finish with a big cup of coffee and a thick slice of cheesecake with the best graham cracker crust I've had in a long time.
8. He orders pizza.
9. I can feel the weariness in my bones. But I know I say this to myself all of the time: "I'd take this kind of tired—the kind of tired that comes from doing the things that matter to me—over anything else."
10. I think back to what she wrote to me...about how, astrologically, it is time for me to face the hard work needed to make my dreams a reality. So I can either surrender or work my tail off. I'm choosing the latter.
Ten.One Hundred & Ninety-Two
1. 4:58 am. It must be nerves.
2. It's the first day back and since I am cultivating ease, it's frozen waffles and fruit for breakfast.
3. I am in this shirt that is too low-cut for normal wear, if I'm honest with myself. But I love its texture. It's shiny and smooth and falls pleasantly.
4. Traffic into the city can be so unpredictable. I am 40 minutes early for today's shoot. I sit in the car and finish a few podcast episodes. Watch the students walk on sidewalks turning from snow to slush in the morning sun. Everything is a little golden.
5. On to the next.
6. They must not see very many black women at this particular Starbucks. Everyone turns to look at me when I walk in. Caramel Macchiato and back out the door I go humming Demi Levato.
7. Maybe it's because I was humming Demi Levato too loudly?
8. It doesn't even matter.
9. We ask one another what it looks like to be free, to live from the sacral energy, to be the embodiment of bold expression, to be able to be in a feeling state without being overrun with emotion.
10. Sometimes a name or a photo from the past pops up and you know that what you thought had been buried and covered over, blessed and healed, is still a tender wound.
10.1 I believe in signs. I always have. And I believe in the interconnectedness of things—that sometimes there is an inextricable link to a place or a person. That for some reason, things return to you. And that sometimes it's to show you how far you've come. And maybe sometimes it's to show you how far you still have to go. Or maybe, sometimes it's to show you that it's okay. That in this case, you had been right all along and that, at least in instance, there is no such thing as severance.