ON GOOD ENDINGS, FILLING THE VOID, AND BEING FULLY FORMED BUT NASCENT
Thursday July 18 + Saturday July 20 2024
Dear Sarah,
It’s Saturday evening and I was thinking this morning about finishing my letter to you — and this evening it was not a force of habit to turn to letter-writing — but then something reminded me — my trusty g-cal — and I said Oh shit! Because I hadn’t yet finished and because I am on Pacific time and because it’s getting to be much evening-y-er where you are. I was going to text you this and instead I’ve slipped it in here as a pre-script, if you will.
I loved your use of the word molting in your letter last week. I am in this space with you. We are getting cleansed upon space station re-entry, we are shedding coats. I continue to tap into the knowledge of the existence of my imaginal discs — qualities, works, waiting inside of me, fully formed but nascent.
I am very interested in these two years that you have on me, your steps ahead of me into middle age. You mentioned your hair — it is funny how hair is a leading factor in the visibility of age. We are all aging all the time, but for some of us, our hair shows it sooner. Some people start going grey far earlier than others. My hair doesn’t show grey in the same way as dark hair — pale hairs at this stage still blend into the red, look like a trick of the light. When I got my hair cut a few weeks ago, as my stylist combed up the front of my hair and held it away from my head, I was surprised that it seemed lighter — my long-dreamt-of Bonnie Raitt streak coming in?! — I was not quite surprised by time passing, but surprised to see it finally beginning to show in my hair. And still it only seemed visible because of a bit of a trick of the light, the act of combing my hair up in a way I never see it otherwise. I wonder how you might feel about your age if the silver streaks hadn’t yet begun to show. I have no desire to dismiss the reality of the passage of time; perhaps I am trying to curb my own impulse to rely on what things look like.
I went to the clown stage last night — interesting to return — I was so sweaty from my walk from the bus to the theater, and then from our group warmups — sweaty overlay to the adrenaline of preparing to be onstage — and it is not quite so scary anymore, already. I bring this up not just because it was yesterday, but — thinking of your letter and of my words above — because I think some fair portion of the people at this gathering are younger than me. I know my body is aging but I still feel young in my mind (and let’s be honest, neither of us is that old in our minds). And then it is also interesting to feel how some things have calcified in me over time without me realizing, and I am trying to chip away at them to fully reveal the new growth beneath. I feel curious, willing to experiment. Important at the same time to couple that feeling, a sort of youthful daring, with a reminder to myself to utilize my resources — I have so many tools at my disposal at this point in my life — I can access my scrappy self, and I can access my self of accumulated knowledge and wisdom.
Perhaps because I felt slightly righteous about my every-other-day new social media habit that I described for you recently, I think it is important to share with you now that I’ve been looking at social media a lot lately. I can put a rule on my calendar but that doesn’t mean I’m going to follow it! Rules are made to be broken, even when I made them! I’m not spending a lot of time on social media, per se, but I am opening the apps frequently for a hit and a brief skim before closing them again. I am in a new kind of transitional moment with myself — can’t yet see where I’m going — feeling steady and stable but also blind in some ways — I might be in the layer-shedding process of pulling a sweatshirt over my head. My feet are on the ground, I have a sense of my body in space. I am standing still to take off my sweatshirt — I am momentarily vulnerable as I lift it over my head and block my eyes, my field of vision. Perhaps the illusion is in the idea of a momentary vulnerability. But the point being — I am passing through something. I feel different this week arriving in LA than I felt landing in LA five months ago. I feel different but I don’t yet fully know what the different feeling means. I’ve changed, but how, or into what? I think my rapid hits on social media are a way to distract, a way to fill the space of not-knowing, to fill the void — and yet the void does not inherently make me uncomfortable; and yet my instinct and habit is to fill it. It is hard to sit quietly inside the void until things become clear. Sometimes it feels better to shout into the void and to listen for an echo, to drop pebbles into the void and to wonder how far they will fall before hitting the bottom, as I strain to hear the subtle click of rock on rock. I think I feel a comfort in knowing that I don’t know all that is to come, but the actions I take are fully mine to choose. How will I move my body or allow it to be still, what readings will I go to, which art will I see, which days will I leave open and unencumbered, which days will I make plans that I’ll flexibly allow myself to change. It’s all my time.
I am looking forward to hearing your voice soon and reading your words sooner! Will the whirlwind have quieted, or are you still in the eye of the storm at this moment? Much love!
Until soon,
Eva
July 20 2024,
Dear Eva,
It is 10:06 pm on Saturday(!), and I just had the very pleasant surprise of remembering that I had started this document a lifetime ago aka last Monday. The doc doesn’t say much, just 4 half-sentences. But it is enough to get the juices flowing and for that I am very grateful.
It has been a week! It is very hard for me to believe that it was only Monday that I signed a new employment contract and then gave notice at my job. I feel solid with my decision. Nonetheless it felt a bit like releasing a harness and freefalling. I immediately entered that liminal space where I am still working, but on a long slow clap-out toward the door. I appreciate good endings to things, and I am thankful that the ending to this particular job seems to be on track to ending well — reflections solicited and given, copious loops closed and documented, sincere goodbyes exchanged. Onward!
I appreciate the blank slate a new job provides, even if it is also an old job in some ways. I am a different me now, and the organization is a slightly different place. I am energized by the prospect of being intentional about what I seek to do in this role, how I want to be in it. As I reflect on the past 2.5 years in my current job, I realize I have spent the entire time hustling. So much of the work was new to me – the questions I was asked, the subject matter on which I was advising; and the pace was quick. I am looking forward to a change in that pace, a chance to work more deliberately.
I am also very much hoping this new role will be a better fit with my creative practice. Thanks to the aforementioned hustling, I never really got in a good groove of habitual writing while I was in this role. This brings me to the first of the wee notes I had left myself in this document earlier in the week. Though I had already forgotten since the week took a turn, after returning from vacation I decided to start a series of open-ended documents – one for each kid, and one for me. Essentially, three containers that I will gradually fill over the months ahead. I have no agenda, just that I will write my way through to something. This feels like a nod to your fascinating hypodermis writing. It feels electrifying to think that simply putting words on a page could eventually constitute a creative project, even if I have no idea at the outset what I am making. Over vacation I read a memoir called Stay True, which was the eventual work product that emerged when the writer started writing after the death of a dear friend, decades before the book was even considered. There is something relieving about the idea that I do not need to know. I can just write.
I also love the idea of writing in a private space. I find myself increasingly wary of public writing. (She says while writing in public.) One other note from my early-in-the-week self was that this public exchange has what almost feels like an element of danger, similar to walking around the house in the evening with open windows. In this metaphor, I am not even naked, just doing everyday things that I would feel a tad funny about someone I do not know watching. I think that is how I feel about these letters. I am not writing anything I would consider a secret, but it does seem odd to consider that folks we do not know may have read or someday read these anecdotes. This reminds me of your recent analysis of the site analytics, which I forgot to respond to. It is bizarre to consider that people may be reading these words, is it not?!
I had an experience recently where I found myself retelling someone something that one of the kids had said. The kid I was quoting overheard, and he later asked me about it. He said he would appreciate if I asked him if it was okay before I told people things he said. This experience made me so proud. I was proud of him for asking for what he wanted, and proud of myself for having created a relationship with my kid where he felt comfortable expressing his wishes in this way. Apparently I am congratulating myself here! But it also raises for me (again!) this notion of what stories are ours to tell. I wonder whether all of the people in public life whose lives I know many details about have these conversations with their loved ones. How would kids ever be able to know and consent to having their stories shared with strangers at scale? Am I over-indexing about the cost of that sharing, I wonder? I genuinely do not know what I think on this. I just know it worries me. What stories are ever mine to tell?
I cannot wait to talk to you on Monday, and to read your words that are waiting in my inbox as we speak. Did you have a clown-filled Saturday? Were you a clown? This delights me to no end!
Thank you so much for indulging me in postponing this exchange to Saturday. I am happy to report that I thoroughly enjoyed my bike ride yesterday, so from my end this break in our Friday pattern was worth it. I promise I won’t make it a habit. But as you said, we make the rules! What a revelation!
Your friend,
Sarah