Tag: Stream of Consciousnesses

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Travel

Day 454 and Up In The Air

When I first started this experiment in daily writing my schedule was quite predictable. We were in the middle of the pandemic and each day could be relied upon to deliver some consistency. But now that era of at home living is slipping away for abled people, even marginally at risk folks like myself have to contend with new challenges.

In this case, the challenge is writing before being offline. It’s noon in Frankfurt. I’ll be catching a flight back to a Colorado early this afternoon. I’ll land in the late afternoon Mountain Time but for me it will be Thursday already. So I have to consider if writing on the proper day in both Germany and Colorado counts, or if I could leave it till when I land. I decided to do it ahead of time as it is both in the spirit of the daily consistent writing pattern but also I’ll be far too tired to do it after a ten hour flight.

What’s a fascinating to me is that this one big travel block felt like a one off. But once I broke the seal on being up in the air I felt like I could do it again. So I’ve booked a trip to Miami next week. And then Montana in May to spend time with friends working remotely and scouring for homesteads. And from there I’ll be headed to Austin in June. And so the schedule of travel renews.

It’s not exactly the new normal. Travel is still a nightmare. I just had a wheezing fit of tachycardia because of a security line issue and had to beg to have my mask off so I could take medicine and slow my heart. Flying is still a bit of a nightmare. But it feels good to take flight again. I am spiritually ready to be up in the air again.

Categories
Travel

Day 453 and 80% Rule

My husband Alex has this rule for travel he calls the “85% rule” for when to expect homesickness. It’s a pretty simple concept. You will feel the maximum amount of negative emotions as you begin the final days or weeks of your trip. But it clears up once the trip nears completion. You will feel worse when your completion bar is at 80% than you will at 99%. In your final day or even hours you will wish you were staying but two or three days before you will wonder why the fuck you aren’t already home

This rule holds true for business travel and personal. It’s remarkably consistent on short trips and as I discovered even month long excursions. I’m flying home to Colorado tomorrow which is a Wednesday. But last Thursday and Friday I was so done with being in Frankfurt. I just wanted to be done with it. I debated looking for earlier flights.

Thankfully Alex reminded me of the 80% rule. He encouraged me to feel the homesickness and sadness. Enjoy the discomfort even. And that by the time Tuesday rolled around I’d be sad that I was leaving Germany behind.

And just as he predicted today I was hit with the wave of happiness and nostalgia that comes at the end of a long enjoyable stay. I had to walk into the city center to get my Covid test for my flight back. As I finished up the errand I found myself slow walking back to the apartment to put off packing. I went by the big indoor farmers market to get a snack for the airplane. I veered over into old town to take one last look at the architecture. I even popped into a souvenir store to eye expensive cuckoo clocks and beer steins. I normally hate knickknacks.

I’m enjoying an immense wave of satisfaction and nostalgia. This trip has gone even better than my wildest fantasies could have imagined. I’ve reminded myself of my priorities and independence. It’s given me a new appreciation for my marriage and it’s importance to me. I’ve pondered been insights into my motivations and coping mechanisms. I wish I could stay longer to pursue the history of a city that perfectly aligns with my historical, economic and aesthetic history. I guess the 80% rule works. I’ll head home in the morning.

Categories
Chronicle Preparedness

Day 451 and Takeout

I’m a little embarrassed that this is the second time I’ve written about takeout on my daily essay series but fuck it I am owning my love of outsourcing food. My fridge has absolutely nothing in it but leftover boxes of takeout right now and I’ve used Wolt every single day this week. I highly recommend if you find yourself in Germany.

When I get tired or overwhelmed or otherwise struggle to manage life food has always been one of my bigger struggles. I just have no affinity for cooking. The people who find it relaxing or enjoyable seem insane to me. My husband is one of those people. He’s a talented cook. I on the other hand have been known to hyperventilate because I set the microwave on fire because I didn’t know you couldn’t put tinfoil in it. Also this is the second day in a row where I’ve admitted to setting shit on fire. I wonder what that is about.

As much as I love traditional skills and think preparedness and homesteading are worthy and even vital pursuits, cooking is just not the skill for me. I’ll garden and handle the animals but please don’t ask me to make a meal. I can’t handle planning an hour ahead of time. My timing horizons are one year or ten years.

This affinity for long term planning is probably why I like planting and venture capital. I’ll happily work towards a long term goal but if I have to pressure myself into a task on a specific day well frankly I’d probably rather set something on fire. I just can’t predict how I’ll be on any given day. And I’ve only got so much energy so why would I use it on anything that’s not crucial or enjoyable.

So fuck feeling bad about it and my Wolt bills from this month. It’s who I am and everyone in my life who is affected by this habit seems fine with it. Well except maybe the recycling and trash bin guys. They’ve got to be thinking “this bitch needs to chill on the takeout boxes!” But also look at this amazing piece of packaging and tell me it wasn’t all with it.

A bison burger in a takeout box
The magic of good recycled packaging

Categories
Aesthetics

Day 450 and Editor Pants

I was chatting with one of my favorite girlfriends about this and that today when we stumbled into a strange revelation.I was bemoaning the lack of serious writing on style and she was sharing good TikTok accounts that get into the type of fashion analysis I might find enjoyable. You know, shoot the shit with girlfriends texting. And somehow we stumbled onto how we both became fashion girls. And well I’m just going to share it.

On my way to become a fashion girl I had some awkward phases but none more awkward than when I was quite sure that Express was actually stylish.

And nothing did more to convince me of this than their absolutely iconic Editor Pants. If you are an elder millennial you know this pant. Black and mid-rise with a mostly straight cut, it’s form fitting hug was the definitive silhouette of its era.

Now mind you they were polyester and not terribly high quality. I once set a pair on fire in my dorm room by attempting to try it on a lamp so I didn’t have to go to a fraternity party in damp pants. Couture this was not. But in my teenage head these were the kind of pants that serious professional women wore.

Now this has some consequences for the trajectory of my life. I absolutely thought being an editor was a serious job based on the marketing of these pants. Sure Banana Republic tried to convince us that architect was the sexy creative job. But for me it was the Editor Pant that inspired my imagination. It put the idiotic notion that I could work at a magazine right as magazine publishing culture was at its zenith. I remember standing outside of Condé Nast on a visit to New York and telling myself I’d work there one day.

So yeah fuck those pants. Being an editor is a grueling shitty line of work where you are constantly in financial jeopardy. Thank fuck I god over it when Condé Nast wouldn’t hire me after college. They rightly told me I wasn’t qualified having done something asinine like study economics at Chicago.

And to be fair I had an amazing career in fashion and I owe a lot to those pants. They were a generational staple and Express deserves a place in fashion history for it. I hope someone with actual skills in this space writes something serious about it and published a back catalog of their advertising. Maybe I’ll do it one day. And if you’d like a lovely internet friend my friend is Alexis Hyde. We have similar tastes though she’s much more visually literate than me. She’s an art curator in Los Angeles and if you ever want to buy art look her up.

Categories
Chronicle

Day 449 and Lost Time

I lost some time this week. I was living on someone else’s schedule and it cascaded into a wash of hours where I felt like I was completely out of sync with the wider world as I struggled to get back in my own time.

I’m not at my best when I have to push myself to live on other people’s time. Everything shrunk down to my bedroom and my body and my own myopia about righting my sense of reality. I was in a lot of physical pain which pushed me mentally as well.

I started to feel genuinely better and on track around 5pm in Frankfurt. Technically that meant I still had a half day in California to work. But I’d lost the will to push. I needed to regroup. I am telling myself that it’s ok because it’s not as if I work a standard 9-5 job. I can take the weekend to find my way back to the timeline. And if I’m honest some of my best work gets done on Saturday night.

Categories
Emotional Work

Day 448 and Disappointment

I’m feeling disappointed in myself. I want to shake the feeling as I’ve done nothing wrong that warrants punishment. But the feeling of disappointment is lingering which is a double cruelty I’m perpetuating on myself.

I have been pushing myself physically. I know this has consequences. And yet I’m frustrated by my body reacting exactly as I know it will when I run myself down. And worse than that, I find myself negotiating with my body to justify pushing just a little bit more. What if I take this medicine? Will that buy me more time? How dangerous will it be if I just keep ignoring how I feel so I can push a little bit more for a little bit longer? I’m rationalizing what amounts to self harm all because I want my body to be something it cannot be.

I feel like I should know better than to be so cruel to myself. I should let it go of the foolish need to push. What I need is sleep and my routine. I should take my medicine and instead of using the feeling of relief it brings to push, I should use the relief to rest in comfort so I heal and recover.

I hate that I keep relearning the same basic lessons of chronic disease over and over again. But hating myself for being disappointing is of course the pattern I need to break. It defeats the point. The self is not an attack surface. Being disappointed serves no purpose in this moment. It’s not driving me to be better. It’s driving me to be worse. So I’m letting it go. And I’m hoping tomorrow I’ll go a little easier on myself.

Categories
Travel

Day 447 and For Others

Yesterday I reminded myself that I write for me. The choice to write is one I’ve prioritized day in and day out. Today I organized my entire day for someone else. I regret it.

My Airbnb was supposed to be cleaned today. The owner texted me as reminder to be out of the apartment from 12-4pm for the cleaning crew. I moved my calls and meetings to tomorrow. I decided I’d go to the Zoo for the day.

I rushed to be out of the house before the cleaners arrived. There are still Covid protocols. I felt stressed by the obligation. I have a tendency to clean for the cleaners. Eventually I left and decided I’d go to the Frankfurt Zoo.

I made a bit of a day if it. I took pictures. I browsed. I watched penguins and spider monkeys play games. I saw the tigers. I had a beer and pretzel. As the zoo closed down I headed home sure I’d done my duty for my Airbnb host and the cleaning crew.

The apartment was untouched. Nothing has been cleaned. No one was ever there. Seems my rescheduling my entire work day for someone else’s workday has been in vain. Some excuses were given about sick family members and no one was able to tell anyone what was happening.

I expressed that I wouldn’t be able to rework my schedule again for someone else. That I needed to have my work day. That I just couldn’t live my schedule on someone else’s tomorrow or the next day. I have to mice for myself.

Categories
Emotional Work

Day 446 and For Myself

Some days I forget I picked up the habit of writing every day for myself. It might feel like an obligation or a burden or even a sacrifice. Today it feels like a sacrifice. I want to be spending my time elsewhere. But I’ve committed to doing this habit every single day for myself. And when my desire to write conflicts with another desire, it’s a challenge to form a good narrative.

I have to ask myself honestly what priorities do I put off so that I can always write every single day? Am I sacrificing other things to give myself this daily writing habit? Of course, the answer is yes. Every act, every decision, every time we apply our focus it is a choice to pick one priority over another.

I am in this moment sacrificing time with someone so I can maintain this habit. I pulled myself away from someone to put finger to keyboard (a much less romantic turn of phrase than pen to paper) so I could prioritize myself and my habits.

And that’s ok. I want to put this habit first for the few minutes it takes me. It doesn’t make me a bad person to pull away to do this for myself. I don’t need to justify it. This is what I choose. Getting comfortable with the responsibility for my choices is the bigger challenge. As it is for us all.

Categories
Travel

Day 445 and Traditional American Meal

When I was fifteen I lived in France as part of an exchange program. The family I stayed with asked me to prepare a traditional American meal. Because I’m from Colorado I made tacos.

This did not amuse my host family very much as it was a real pain in the ass to locate things like jalapeños & avocados in the middle of Normandy.

I’m not sure if they expected me to make hamburger helper or tuna casserole as their idea of the “The West” definitely didn’t make fine distinctions between Mexico, Texas and the Rocky Mountains. We were all cowboys in their mind.

As I head into my forth week in Europe I’m starting to miss “American” food. So I ordered Mexican for dinner. In a testament to the strange truth that big cities have more in common with each other than actual countries do, I got some of the best pork tacos I’ve ever had. Just absolutely perfect Cochinita Pibil in Frankfurt.

Maybe it’s my imagination but between delivery apps and Netflix and the expectations of urban living cities have become a kind of default global standard of cosmopolitanism. I suspect this is why the digital nomad has become a thing. It’s not that young urban professionals are actually willing to become immersed in other cultures. It’s that we’ve formed our own culture that is portable to any city of a certain density. Frankfurt and Denver are basically interchangeable when it comes to amenities.

So we bounce from one Airbnb to another with our iPhones and Apple Air computers and we expect a certain standard of cuisine and service and global sameness. It used to be that if you were an American you’d end up at a McDonalds because you were homesick and wanted something that tastes like home. Now I expect to be able to get absolutely authentic Mexican food no matter where I am.

So I guess in that sense I did serve my French host family a traditional American meal. Americans pushed the neoliberal cosmopolitan smoothed edge sameness on the world. And I’m glad I could get good tacos to be honest. But also damn it’s going to be weird when we export cosmopolitan yuppie culture as a traditional Earth meal to the aliens when we finally have first contact. Hopefully they will be less disappointed than my French family was.

Categories
Aesthetics

Day 444 and Equinox

There is a brand of luxury gyms called Equinox that was started in Manhattan. I didn’t have enough money for a decent apartment when I first arrived in the city, so I showered at the gym. There was a time when I lived in a shithole on the Bowery that barely had working hot water but I could always rely on the sanctuary of the spa-like bathrooms at the Equinox. Apartments then were two grand a pop but an Equinox membership could be had for $150.

I loved that place so much my friend Rob swears I manifested a job at the corporate headquarters. I only lasted a year in the marketing department before I got headhunted out but I loved working there (until I hated it but that’s another story.)

One of the big events the gym would throw for marketing purposes was their biannual seasonal Equinox parties. They’d make a big to-do about both the fall and spring Equinox and encourage members to bring friends for free classes and workouts, and somewhat inexplicably an open bar. I never got how mixing drinks and spin class worked but whatever.

I always thought there was something beautiful about a fitness brand centering its marketing around the change of seasons. The Equinox logo plays on the balance of day and night aesthetically. But I’ve always preferred to think of the brand as a promise that all things change. It’s a powerful one for marketing aspirational luxury fitness because the origins of its earthly seasonal reality is so visceral.

The solstice may get all the glory what with midsummer madness and orgies and the Swedish horror movies and the whole winter solstice getting adopted by Christianity thing. But it’s the Equinox that has always spoken to me. Maybe it’s because I gravitate towards extremes that I crave the balance of the equinox over the solstice. I aspire to the rhythms promised by a day perfectly split by light and dark. The equinox says to me that it’s possible, even if it’s only twice a year, to get it all perfectly balanced. And then we get back to change. We move back towards extremes as we tilt towards the solstice.