When we came home, I untied my crewneck from my waist, threw it on the bed, unzipped the travel playpen, and scooped up my little pig. His belly was cold from laying on the cool, ceramic tile.

We did a lot of driving that weekend. And by me I of course don’t mean me. Aaron and I laid in the backseat, falling asleep and waking up only to ask for more AC. Don’t we sound like such pleasant passengers?

There is something very special about a burger shop in the middle of nowhere. The tiles are beautiful just for the sake of it. There is no purpose or function or optimization behind a colorful piece of tile or a tie dye mural tucked away by the bathroom in a burger shop in the middle of Colorado. But we need these things to survive.

By 9am the next morning, it was too hot to function. The ice cubes in my water cup melted before I could ask for a straw. The air hummed with bees, wasps, and mosquitos. They offered us hold music while we waited for a table at Aaron’s grandmother’s favorite restaurant in town. Aaron ate the shrimp from his bloody mary, and I let Karl lick the condensation off my iced latte. Around town, we gathered under patches of shade waiting for tables or figuring out our next move. Following signs for a yard sale then forgetting why were heading that direction in the first place. The heat drains and confuses me. I become a primitive version of myself: Snapping at Aaron and not wanting to be touched, not even by my own clothes.

All weekend long I battled with this version of myself. Filling Karl and my water bottles to the top with ice. Any water would be useless without it. I panicked anytime Karl’s paws touched the pavement. The heat clearly wanted me dead. As we walked, wading through the heat, I thought about how I had rarely felt so hot in san francisco. The fog protects our little city and shields us from this discomfort. Sue me, I like to be comfortable!!!! I like to be in a hoodie and jeans and not feel like death!!!! But I also like to grow... And if every book started with the same sentence then every story would be boring.

I think that’s part of why I love the burger shacks and frozen custard shops in the middle of nowhere. They are not trying to be timeless. They are just of the time they were built. Not trying to be anything but the awesome thing that they are and have always been.

This week in therapy, my amazing therapist with a face tattoo told me that I can make everything I want happen for myself. There isn’t someone else in life who holds the keys to my dreams. I HOLD THE KEYS!!!! And yet somehow I keep losing them… (my car keys & my dream keys). I NEED TO PUT AN AIRTAG ON MY DREAM KEYS!!!!

So I guess this is a reminder to you that you can make colorful tiles in a burger shack even when everyone tells you the basic tiles are cheaper/better/more timeless. You can make things beautiful, even if it is just for the sake of beauty, even if it you are the only person who will ever notice it.

List of things I got there:

- A cool old game called spill and spell which is like if bananagrams and scrabble had a baby (goals)

-101 Trinkets including but not limited to: tiny record player, tiny framed painting, tiny postcards of scenic views in Yosemite, tiny grand piano that opens and closes

-a glass car the size of my hand

I feel so amazing and like myself after I go thrifting. It just really makes me happy to dig through bins and ask to buy something the owner of the store forgot even existed (example: a .5 inch plastic fire hydrant). I keep telling everyone, including the aforementioned store owner) I want to be famous (but still normal and good) and I think it’s really starting to catch on. I don’t really know what I want in some ways, but in other ways it is so completely clear.

I love the phrase “clear as mud” and also the phrase “I need that like a hole in my head.” There are so many good phrases. There aren’t many phrases about wanting to be famous but not knowing what step is the right one to get there. Everyone likes to say talking about money and religion are taboo but really the taboo thing is wanting to be famous. Taylor Swift once said that it’s not cool to want things. I don’t remember the context of why she said that but it’s pretty much true. I’m trying to change that culture by constantly saying I want to be famous. Honestly it started as a joke but now I am like.. I think I actually do want that.

One day, there will be a sub reddit thread about my life (and not in a scary way this time!!!) and people will say well her dad owned a Ghostbusters car and they had a fridge in their garage, so she IS NOT actually the small town mid western girl she CLAIMS TO BE.

Here’s a list of things I’ve written down trying to get inspiration for a substack:

-picking at my nails listening to the Q & A about how we are all human

-the older couple who shared a cup of ice cream at coldstone creamery

-considering making karl a sheep for halloween

-karl has a cone on and bangs it against everything, stubborn like his mommy

-karl snoring like a fog horn, even when it’s not foggy

-the hostess protected the sidewalk table for me, aaron, and karl

-everyone is seeing whales in the bay except me

-do turkeys care about getting caught in the rain?

-do people say divorce is like trying to unstick two pieces of gum? because they should

It’s a very safe place to be, the place of wanting. You can just say you want anything and think about it and ruminate and yearn. But after awhile you have to start making progress towards that thing or else people don’t want to hear you talk about it anymore.

I don’t know if I actually want to be famous or if I just want people to receive and respond and acknowledge the things I am making in one way or another. I think if we lived in a more nuance-friendly society I would want something else. But right now, my want is to be famous for being funny and awesome and sometimes that manifests as wanting to be on SNL and sometimes it manifests as wanting to be in a writers room where I can tell stories about how one time I was sitting on my porch watching someone load in a lawnmower from facebook marketplace into their car & they finally got it to fit & just as they started to drive away, the back of the lawnmower busted through the back windshield of their Prius and pulverized glass went everywhere. The way I would tell it would absolutely bring the house down and I would be screaming at the Writer’s PA write that down, write that down!!!!

I have such a vivid imagination that I am hardly allowed to watch horror movies and yet I indulge almost daily… See how I’m a walking contradiction? See how I’m a perfect candidate for fame?

The issue with me is I’ll watch a triathlon and feel terrible shame/sorrow/ennui that I haven’t also done a triathlon. Even though I don’t own a bike, can’t currently run more than a mile, and don’t have the faintest idea of where the nearest pool is.

When I told my therapist about this he said not every move in my life has to be like checkers; it can be more like chess. But I don’t play either, so I have no idea what he’s talking about.

I absolutely love my therapist, he says things like “I’m not violent anymore” (about himself) and “they’re a piece of shit” (about people who wrong me).

Record scratch. You might be picking up on my use of “he.” Yes I have a male therapist. Stay mad!

Back to that morning.. I cheered for strangers as they ran and tried to not worry that I wasn’t running with them. I watched a toddler wave as they flew by. I watched friends of friends jog an illegal mile. We bobbed and weaved between runners and bikers and traffic cops while trying to get back to our car.

An hour later, I ordered a bad carrot cake latte and watched a couple get in a fight at the cafe. She flipped the baseball hat off of his head and then stomped inside so she could wait for her latte by herself. Her boyfriend stood outside and thought about what he did wrong. (Boyfriends should do this daily btw).

While she stood in line, I googled her shoes and bought them on the spot. They arrive on Tuesday. I thought about saying something to her. About the boyfriend or the shoe thing, but I got shy. We only ever regret holding back.

That afternoon, I took Karl to a pug meet-up in the park, where 40 pugs slobbered and snorted and snuffled at each other for two hours. My neighbor mentioned that her pug was going to be too tired to walk home. For a moment I thought about being silent because I needed to get groceries later and my car was parked kind of far and I was kind of drained from the whole 40 pugs thing. But then I offered her a ride, and I was so happy I did. I drove my neighbor and her pug home while Karl slept like an angel in my lap. We all laughed at how he likes to use the steering wheel as a chin rest.

Some days I do practically nothing, and some days I do a lot.

I’m trying to remind myself that I am both exactly where I am meant to be and also able to control what I do with my days. I went to Disclosure Day at the AMC by myself. I arrived on time, when people were still filing in. I chose a seat in the middle of the theater, and was pacing my consumption of the cherry coke slushee I made earlier so that I didn’t need to disturb my community by going to the bathroom mid-movie. But as I sat there eating my pretzel bites an old woman made her way to the seat next to me. I say this with no judgement, this is simply a fact of my life: She took awhile getting to the seat. She had a cane, and shuffled her feet, and her husband was holding her other hand as she moved slowly to the middle of the row.

I’m sad to say I immediately thought to myself… girl couldn’t have copped the aisle seat? But then I thought… maybe I should actually not be a bitch for once. What do I really care if she is walking slowly to her seat? Sometimes I am literally in a panic about things that don’t matter!! Like being in the car and the light just turned orange and the person in front of me won’t go and I scream!!!!!

But instead of being like that, I held down her seat, and said “is this helpful?” She said “actually yes, that is very helpful.” Between me holding the seat and her husband holding her hand, we successfully got her into the chair. This is why I go to the movies. This is why I leave the house. To help an old woman into her seat and remind myself I can still be good.

If you’re like me and don’t know how to play chess, I think the point is that you don’t have to take a “step forward” every single second of every single day. Sometimes you wish you ran more miles. Sometimes you get in a public fight while someone stares at your shoes. But then sometimes a gorgeous, beautiful girl holds the seat down for you in a AMC. There are no steps forward, only opportunities to grow and learn more about yourself.

But I also have no idea how to play chess and anyone who says they do is a liar. So maybe that’s what my therapist meant after all. How can we lose if we don’t know how to play?

It was Aaron and my’s five year anniversary trip, and we were on our way to Ft. Bragg slash Mendocino. I had The Bridge channel on and was quite happy with the dj that day. Wild Mountain Thyme by James Taylor played, and I thought about how the 128 is notoriously windy, either way you pronounce it. I thought about how a friend told me that when he was in high school, a Boylan’s soda truck had to drive through a similarly windy road paved through the mountains in Marin to deliver sodas to the local restaurants. Somehow the trunk flew open, and bottles of orange cream soda, root beer, and cola went rolling down the mountainside. Every Friday after school, the seniors would climb up the hill, grab a few of the sodas scattered among the trees, and watch the sunset.

Around each bend of the 128, there were yard sales, peach stands, and handmade signs advertising handmade creations. Most of the time, and for the sake of time, I would pass by them. But I needed a coffee. So I stopped at a cafe/rock shop/yard sale. Aaron slept quietly with Karl as I adventured, my little passenger prince (Karl) and princess (Aaron).

I asked the mother/son duo at the counter for a drink and the key to the restroom. Three paintings hung on the wall with a handwritten note below each. “To purchase, inquire with the rock stop.” I wandered a few feet over to the garage turned crystal shop. I looked around as my fellow roadtrippers inspected pink crystals and tiny stone elephants, placing them in woven baskets, fishing out their credit cards.

Walking back towards my car, I was stopped by a trio in lawn chairs. “We’re having a yard sale inside. Check it out, and if you have any questions, just holler,” A man in a flannel told me. I looked around a warehouse of tools, old car parts, and milk crates full of miscellaneous materials. “Just give him 5 minutes, it takes him awhile to get out of his chair,” his friend shouted after me. They laughed. I considered a DVD box set of Monty Pythons. I left empty handed. A dresser was marked with painters tape, scribbled in sharpie was “SOLD TO DIANE.” When I drove home the next day, they were still in the lawn chairs. Garage door open to the world.

I noticed this pattern the farther north we drove. Local beer being sold at the local restaurants. A local artist’s magnets for sale in the town coffee shop. A friend helping another friend haul antiques into a truck when the sale was done for the day.

No business hours listed online. Verbal directions to the airbnb. A woman who worked at the restaurant coming to the restaurant on her day off and helping her friend figure out how to order the scallops on the menu because she didn’t want a full order, just a side order, but didn’t know how to order it correctly.

To quote the experienced woman, “She just wants a side order.”

It felt like everyone and everything were living in lockstep with each other: Referencing each other, remembering each other, keeping each other in mind. Despite the homes being physically quite spread out, dotted sparsely along the drive, acres apart. People were willing to go the distance for their neighbor.

On our way back to San Francisco, we stopped for gas and gatorade at a gas station in Santa Rosa. I got red and Aaron got yellow. The bathroom was locked. When we stopped for coffee 24 hours ago, I remarked to Aaron that I thought it was strange for a bathroom, in the middle of the woods, to need a key. He said you never know. But I feel like out there, you do know. You know who is your neighbor and who is visiting from the city.

When I bought the gatorade, I asked for the bathroom code. Without looking at me, the cashier held up a sign that read “5-4-3-2-1.” I thanked him and headed towards the back of the gas station. When I arrived, a blonde woman in a quarter zip was exiting the stall. I rushed to grab the door, and she let it slam. OK queen!

I put the code in and held it for the next guy on my way out.

I thought about why some cities get the reputation of being cold and corporate, like New York City, and why some towns like Philo have warm smiles and local beers. I spoke to my friends about how it’s becoming more common to have such casual negative interactions. And how everyone is overworked and underpaid and can’t be bothered to care. In San Francisco, separate houses share walls, but we hardly know our neighbors. In Ft. Bragg, Diane is coming back with cash for the dresser, because they shook on it.

Aaron got me a lawn chair for my birthday, so I could sit outside and watch the world go by. Usually I’m just sitting alone in front of my garage. I hope one day, my neighbors will join me. We will start a rock shop and leave the bathroom unlocked.

If you see me at a party, first of all- call Aaron and tell him I got out again. And then ask me to read your tarot while we wait for him to pick me up! I like piecing together some sort of story or narrative with the tiny bits and pieces I remember about each card. My friend told me she enjoys my readings because I always put a positive spin on it, which I don’t think is a bad thing. And then she told me I look like young Diane Keaton, SO YOU COULD SAY I AM HAVING AN AWESOME WEDNESDAY!!!!!

Another thing I’m into as of late is writing Yelp reviews. Here are a few of my favorites.

This is my most recent review. It’s extremely important to me because I really like this coffee shop, and I just discovered it. It’s in a really random spot IN MY OPINION and even looks very random from the outside. It feels like someone accidentally built a coffee shop. It has half a parking lot, and it’s attached to a warehouse for reasons I do not understand. When I wandered into the Red Whale for the first time at 7am on a Monday, I sat down after ordering my drink. The men on either side of me starting speaking across me at each other, and I instantly felt ashamed. I had committed a faux pas. I had sat in between two good friends. But then the man with the mustache got up and said, “Well, have a good one!” and left. They didn’t know each other at all. That was just the Red Whale community. Friends for a few minutes while the coffee brewed.

I’ll say only this: For me to drink something that is not a coca cola… let’s just say it takes a lot.

Now if you are a long time substackscriber (word I just invented), you will know that I stan Gaspare’s!!!! They are doing such incredible work there, including but not limited to: writing their special on a whiteboard that they stick in the window, letting you always choose where you want to sit, having a really good salad named after the restaurant itself.

The music is good. The pizza is good. The whole damn vibe is goated.

I think I wrote this to get something for free. So LA substackers, don’t come at me for this if y’all disagree!!! I am a sucker for when restaurants offer discounts for a review. It’s like, yeah I’ll throw you a bone for a free appetizer. I’ve done worse for less. It’s also def illegal but whateva!

I am a storyteller via Yelp review, Southwest complaint form, impromptu tarot card reading with a stranger in an interior design shop (story for another day…), etc. I love working within confines, limitations, and parameters. It could have something to do with my astrology chart or how humans evolved or something my mom ate when she was pregnant with me. Because my mom ate a lot of oranges in the spring of ‘99, now I am forever destined to write incredibly convincing yet moving 3 paragraph complaints to Southwest airlines via their iPhone app.

My current favorite tarot card is The Fool. He is going through life and everyone is just teaching him lessons left and right. I used to hold my breath walking past tarot shops and hope they didn’t notice me. I thought if I went in there a woman in a shawl would tell me I was going to die tomorrow. But tarot is not scary, it is actually so amazing, awesome, and fun! It has all the ingredients of a perfect activity: something in your control, something out of your control, and colorful drawings.

I wish I could do a Yelp review for tarot as a concept. If I could, I would give it 5 stars and say “scared of tarot? Only a fool would be…”

Not to mention that I can barely make it to Trader Joe’s every other week. My aversion to time management and consequent malnourishment runs so deep my DENTIST had to PRESCRIBE me a MULTIVITAMIN and then said “matter of fact, take two.” Let that sink in!!!!! This is not a flex, but it is the truth.

I’m not saying I love partiful. I don’t particularly love any app on my iphone. But I am working with what I’m given. I’m feeling the pulse of the present. I’m ceding to technology in every way possible (EXCEPT GENERATIVE AI!!!!!!), so I still get called young at work.

I also think any party invitation can be made to feel intentional and special if you put enough thought and effort into it. Ways to make your partiful invitation feel special and singular as your existence:

1. Make a collage. Use this as the cover photo. DO NOT engage with the suggested images from Partiful. They are ugly and void of life. Those should ONLY be used as a place holder in the early stages of the invite. I personally like to haphazardly pile 15-20 images on top of each other, then add gold stars, red hearts, or other vibe evocative shapes. See the images throughout this post for examples.

2. Don’t invite everyone in your contacts. Be intentional. Be meticulous. But cutthroat, even. If someone slights you, make note of this. If someone surprises you, make note of this. Some events are for everyone. Others are for only the nearest and dearest. Every partiful invite list should be treated with the care and attention of a met gala seating list.

3. Send the link itself IMBEDDED in a text message. Don’t you dare send the invite through the app. Put the invite link IN CONVERSATION with another vessel for conversation whether that be a text, an email, a dm…

4. Utilize the text blast feature. YOU SHOULD BE SENDING UPWARDS OF THREE TEXT BLASTS A WEEK!!!!! Near constant. DAILY EVEN!!!!! Treat these like you are texting a dear friend updates on your life. No detail is too small. If a thought crosses your mind, text blast it.

5. In the days following the event, allow the invite to die a slow death. Let the community mourn what was surely an iconic event. Let your friends admire the beautiful polaroids you took of each other. Share them generously VIA TEXT BLAST along with any other notes of gratitude, signs of life, etc. Everyone will either look bad fondly on the memories or seethe with jealousy bc they chose a different (worse) path that Friday night. Either way, you spark an emotion in another individual, and THAT is a win.

   

So, I wrote this whole funny thing about how to engage with Partiful so that I could include my fun collages and also just be funny about something for once. And then I googled “Partiful bad” and this came up.

So… don’t use Partiful…. and then chuck your phone into the ocean…

But still please tell me this substack was good and funny :)

“I’m just cold,” she muttered. I grabbed her hand and assured her I would help her. I thought about offering her a ride home, a warm meal, or finding us a 2-bedroom with ramp accessibility under $3k a month in a good location. She cleared her throat, “I just want to go inside, please, where it’s warm.” She raised her eyebrows, gesturing to the café behind us. So I put my phone away (hard for me) and took her hand.

“Of course, let’s get you in there,” I tell my grandmother (woman I met two seconds ago). I helped her to her feet; her knees shook as she stood. She shuffled her feet while I dragged her walker inch by inch closer to the door. With NO help from any male passersby, I might add… In fact, multiple people watched us through the window of the coffee shop. I smiled at them, but they averted eye contact. Eyes wide, gawking at us, like they were watching a car crash but not rushing to help. I held the glass door open for Ms. Bethany (not her real name, never asked), and we both made it inside.

How do you take your coffee? What’s your story? Are you lost? I’m prepared to ask all these questions and more, but I never get the chance because a barista came barreling toward us. “Finally, someone who cares about my girl here!” I shouted to the barista as he approached rather rapidly.

“Ma’am. This woman is not welcome here.”

“Oh! She was just cold. I can buy her a drink if that’s the issue.”

He grabbed her walker and started pushing it out the door.

“MA’AM. THIS WOMAN IS LOUD AND RACIST, AND SHE CANNOT COME IN HERE.”

I was like a baby who needed glasses and could finally see my mother’s face for the first time. And my mother was a monster. She had me exactly where she wanted me. Quite literally, I was standing right in front of her. Blocking her, protecting her.

I turned around and came face to face with the woman I loved most in this world (met 5 min ago) and realized I didn’t really know her at all. She smiled at me and touched my arm. “BUT I’M WITH HER,” the old woman screeched for the whole world to hear. Her voice was louder, angrier, than her frail body led me to believe possible.

“THEN BOTH OF YOU GET OUT.” The barista screamed back in her face.

That was all I was to her: a vessel for her to spew her loud racism in this Blue Bottle Coffee. And in that moment, I was in one of the worst positions any person alive can be. I was standing between an old racist woman and a service worker. I needed to make my stance on this clear. And fast. I could feel phones being pulled from pockets, banana loaves going cold, eyes narrowing.

“I – I didn’t know. I don’t know her like that,” I squeaked.

I turned around to confront the racist old woman, but she was gone. Not only had she fled the scene faster than a woman of her age and stature should physically be capable of, but she also left me with her baggage in every sense except physical. Her walker, tiny purse, and the single tissue she was clutching were gone. So now I couldn’t even make a buck off this catastrophe of a morning…

The lead barista walked away shaking his head. “Everyday..” he mumbled. Ok, so I wasn’t even special. I was literally just a warm body (if I had a nickel).

At this point, instead of leaving like a normal person, I decided to go further into the Blue Bottle. I approached the barista at the counter. Surely not everyone had seen that debacle. So, of course, I decided to lead with it. “I didn’t know she was racist. I thought she was just old.”

This barista stared back at me, a blank look in her eye, twirling her hair. She didn’t care if I lived or died. And when someone gives me that impression, unfortunately, I am legally obligated to convince them to care about me. “Like I promise, I didn’t know that woman. Like I didn’t know who she was or what she did. I just met her outside a few minutes ago. You know how it is…”

She nodded slowly, then looked past me, gesturing for the next customer. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t serve racists here.”

“No, no, no. See, there’s been a misunderstanding,” I begged. If I were to become ostracized from my local Blue Bottle, I wanted it to at least be for something I did personally.

“And please tell the rest of your racist family that they are not welcome here either.” Cue the atomic bomb ear-ringing sound effect…

“I’m so sorry. I promise I am good.” I muttered repeatedly as I trudged towards the door. The barista was already talking to her coworker in low-rise cargos. I thought about calling 911: “I’m being misunderstood in the Blue Bottle on Polk Street.” But I stopped myself. Call 911?? Maybe I am racist... How will I explain this to the kids? (I have none).

“I promise I am good!” I shouted as I stumbled outside, to anyone in earshot. BTW literally everyone looked at me worse than they looked at the old woman. Maybe the only thing worse than being racist is being desperate.

Tomorrow, that racist woman will choose her next victim. I thought of leaving a note for the next naïve queen on the bench outside the cafe. But I didn’t. We all must learn our own way. Make our own mistakes. Be called racist, fight it, and make it so much worse in every way possible. But in the end, I chalked it up to experience. I made a mental note that if I was ever going to help an old woman into an establishment again, I would always ask how she feels about the Green Book first.

The AMC theater is an amazing space to observe what people like and don’t like. Sour candy or pretzel bites. Center seat or balcony aisle. Sweatpants (normal) or jeans (freak). JK I don’t judge. I just mentally clock every detail for my substack.

It’s nice to observe the collection of choices that make up a personality. It gets me thinking about what I like and how if it’s not an outward observable choice, it can go unnoticed and unknown for maybe ever. This is why when the conversation lulls, I like to ask people what is something you wish someone would ask you but no one ever does?

Things people wouldn’t know about me if they saw me at my local AMC:

• I like watching true crime documentaries while Karl snores and I try to write a really amazing short story about the time I accidentally opened the door for an old racist woman (maybe I’ll send it here when I’m done).

• I like eating the same ham and cheese and pickle sandwich from the french deli down the street and leaving half for Aaron.

• I like eating three to five sour gummy worms every three days.

• I like petting Karl’s pink belly when he wakes up from a nap and is warm and tired.

• I like ordering iced vanilla lattes and never being satisfied with what I am given.

• I like listening to the same song for a week and then never again.

• I like walking Karl to the top of a hill so we can see the bridge and think about all the times it was too foggy to see and how amazing it is that right now we can see it. I lift Karl up so he can see it too.

• I like leaving Google reviews and yelp reviews and completing the USPS surveys and calling a company headquarters when something about them is particularly wrong or right.

• I like when cars drive through my neighborhood with their windows down, so I can hear what they are talking about or what songs they are listening to.

• I like breadcrumbing things for myself throughout my life, so I always have something new to look forward to. Such as movies that everyone has seen but I haven’t (Lord of the Rings) or iconic food pairings (oreo & peanut butter) or popular travel destinations (New Zealand).

• I like making tiktoks that show cool items I find on FB marketplace and then thinking what if I become famous (NOT IF BUT WHEN) and people think it’s weird or lame that I made these…

Someone asked me recently what emotions I experience in a day, and I think a lot of it is enthusiasm and happiness and peace and of course my old friend stress, but then, as I was considering this, I was reminded of a moment from college. My improv group used to practice in a basement where important people like MLK Jr. would give lectures. But instead of giving lectures, my improv team would eat candy and play games called “Captain Hook” and “Answering Machine.” It was the most fun ever and to start each game we always needed a word (classic improv). We would ask any range of questions to inspire random words and one time someone asked “what is the most confusing emotion” and my friend ML answered “doubt.”

It’s true. It is so confusing to feel doubt. Especially because we are the only ones who know what we want and don’t want. Except for the guy at the donut shop. He always knows what donuts I should include in the dozen I’m bringing to work or a party. And except for Karl, obviously.

A good way to combat doubt is by looking at yourself in the mirror and recognizing that is who you are and who you have been and will be. You might not be the same all the time but you are always you. Did y’all know that?

And then make a list of things people wouldn’t know about you if they didn’t ask. And then maybe try to incorporate them into your life and conversations. Or don’t. It’s fun to be the gatekeeper of your own personality. And to let people in even if they don’t ask.

Here I go writing another short substack because I want to say something, but I don’t have a lot of ideas. They come and they go. This is the best I can do at the moment.

It’s a very beautiful and brave choice to operate on island time when you do not live on an island. It can look like a lot of things, but for me it looks like being in a one bedroom apartment in san francisco wearing a sweat seat watching love is blind season 10 and letting yourself not feel bad you’re not writing something amazing instead of watching love is blind season 10. The world can wait. I’m on island time <3

In Puerto Rico, we swam so much that our swimsuits were perpetually damp. I read Normal People while I tanned (burnt) and salt water dripped off my hair onto the pages and now the book smells like the carribean sea and pina coladas.

We swam with schools of fish and watched them dart around coral and sea urchins. They know that ocean floor like the back of their fin. Some were bright colors like purple and yellow and some were basically transculent with almost no color at all.

Some of the fish would swim together for awhile then dart dramatically off in the other direction. Sort of like me when I don’t get my way. One time I saw two fish swim towards each other at a rapid pace. They got so close to each other’s faces and I am not lying they almost kissed. And then at the last minute they totally freaked out and regretted it because they thought it would ruin their friendship and nothing would ever be the same again. All the other fish in their school didn’t even flinch. I got the sense they do this a lot.

Just a few feet above these fishy love triangles, I saw tourists in floaties. Medallas resting on their freshly sunscreened bellies. Feet to the sky. I saw a dolphin who decided to put on a one-man show in the middle of the ocean, just for us. I saw sea turtles, heads bobbing in the water, leisurely and frequently coming up for air. Our boat captain told us that because of their shape and color, the sun would reflect off their heads, making it easier to spot them. We scrambled across the deck of the boat, pointing eagerly to any shining beam in the water. If you weren’t ready, you’d miss it. They only surfaced for a moment, like shooting stars in the sky.

While Aaron snorkeled in deep water, I walked along the shallow end. I dug my hands into the sand and let the tiny rocks and shell fragments slip through the cracks of my fingers. I judged the remnants, put my favorites in the palm of my hand, and repeated the process. I could have gone on like that for hours. My collection grew to include sea glass and coral, and I shared my findings with anyone who asked (or didn’t).

As I walked along the shore, I thought a lot about letting the ocean decide what it gives you. Having so little say, but still hoping to find what you are looking for. And sometimes you could, if you were there at the right time to receive it.

The sun set on our week in Puerto Rico as it does every night everywhere. My luggage was full of sand and souvenirs, and yet it felt lighter. I didn’t struggle to zip it shut. I didn’t even use the extender.

It was relaxing to let my days revolve around low tide and daily menus at restaraunts written on white boards. There was little you could plan for and so much to be surprised by. In fact, it was crucial to be flexible and rely mostly on advice from people you met during the day. Heading the advice of strangers telling us to shut the gate so wild horses don’t get into the yard. A man in the elevator offering his advice regarding when swimming is safest. It felt good when someone would suggest a restaurant we’d already been to. Like a secret code was unlocked, a new language learned, even for just 7 days.

But last night, my friends were coming over, and I had accidentally turned the heater on too high. Nobody wants their guests to be too warm. Too cold? Here’s a blanket, too warm? There’s simply no cure.

I live in an old building with character, so there’s no thermostat. (Because thermostats have no character.) Our heater just has a knob you crank side to side. An arrow to the left ← open, an arrow to the right → close. I turned it to the right, but it was already so hot. I needed an immediate fix. Our dyson (flex jk I got it for free with my work from home stipend during covid) by the door whirred to life with a click of a button. But it just circulated the warm, stale air, as fans often do.

I thought about the last time we opened the kitchen windows, for my golden birthday. Ya there were so many people in my house that we had to open a window.. don’t be jealous just be happy for me!!!!!! It took Aaron climbing onto the counter at 2am, me bracing his legs so he didn’t fall, for us to finally close and lock them again. But tonight, Aaron was at frisbee, and without his strength… the kitchen windows simply weren’t an option!!!!

I hurried back to the living room, surveying the space as if I had never seen it before. The far window was too close to the tree on the corner. Home to many bugs. The windows behind the couch made me scared that Karl would not be used to them being open and would try to escape. I DON’T EVEN WANT TO THINK ABOUT THAT.

So I unlocked and gave the corner window a shove, and it opened instantly. Hardly any fuss at all!!!!

The gush of air sent the curtain fluttering. I grabbed a paper towel & cleaning spray, wiping away the months of debris that had grown accustomed to being left undisturbed. Karl was sniffing the air, surprised and curious about all the new scents suddenly available to him, right here in the comfort of his own home. This is like his Netflix!!!! Karl, your walks are the movie theater, and the open window in our living room is your Netflix!!! I screamed. Just wait til you hear about the acquisition… I muttered. Karl Barx, despite his namesake, doesn’t seem to care much about corporations or monopolies; he just loves his newly opened window. BTW it is far enough from the couch that I know he is safe when it is open. I’m not a helicopter mother!!!!! Ugh, but so what if I am?

In with the new air came the sounds of the neighborhood. The two little doodle dogs that bark at everyone and everything. The nannies talking on the phone while pushing strollers filled to the brim with anything a baby could ever need. The whir of electric cars California stopping at the nearby intersection. And in return, I offer the neighborhood some dialogue from a B-movie Thriller I found in the depths of Hulu. Turned up a little too loud (sorry neighbors, I like to be immersed!!!) I offer the neighborhood my choir’s current setlist as I practice my parts (Choir girlies singing the soprano part of Linger, let me hear you!!) But a lot of the time, I offer a mostly quiet living room. A snoring pug. The clacking of my keyboard. I offer a landing pad for the neighborhood sounds to come in and stay awhile.

Last night I woke up at 3am to racing thoughts. Of course I don’t remember what I was worried about and of course that’s because whatever I was worried about totally worked itself out. I will learn no lessons from this <3 I will continue to have anxiety at 3am <3

After a while, I decide to lay on my back and do the military breathing thing until I fall asleep clutching Karl’s foot. Because we’re soulmates… literally 😂. I wake up 5 hours later and lay there until Karl tells me he needs to go out by sitting at the edge of the bed. My baby is a genius. I put his clothes (harness) on and piecemeal together my classic dog walking outfit. This consists of whatever sweatshirt is on the floor next to the bed, my Uggs, my wool scarf/bonnet, and a pair of sweatpants that are just mismatchy enough with the rest of the ensemble to be innovative.

Aaron and I provide a lot of unconventional spice to our neighborhood. For example, I cut his hair on the front steps every couple of months. Sometimes I wash his hair over the street drain. I am always hauling loose laundry in my arms instead of using a basket. People love to comment on these behaviors, which of course, I welcome. And in this way, we are harbingers of conversation. And therefore community. I know exactly what I am doing. As one of my uber drivers once said, women are always one step ahead.

So I take Karl out, and he goes both ways like clockwork. My little genius <3 We scamper together to the garage where I grab last night’s laundry from the dryer. Karl begins his morning routine (solo chew toy time) and I begin mine (coffee, bagel, finishing the movie I nodded off to the night prior).

I pack my carry on somewhat methodically and remind Karl to eat his kibble so he will be big and strong. I kiss Karl and Aaron goodbye and am off to the airport in my car listening to sirius XM. 70s on 7 plays a lot of the same songs, but ultimately it is soothing like a sort of meditation retreat in my car every morning and evening.

CJ calls me as I’m ordering a latte, and we talk about how it feels so good to have a smooth brain. No worries or fears, just smooth nothingness and pure joy. I only seem to achieve smooth brain when I forget whatever it was I was hyper-fixating on.. When I forget, I am totally blissed out. Until I remember..

I board the plane in the A group with my iced latte and pink Labubu keychain. I’m that bitch.

The guy to my right reads a newspaper as we take off. The guy to my left proceeds to order two strawberry lemonade vodka shots for him and his wife. The duality of man <3

I’ll be in Vegas by noon. I hope Auntie Annes is open. I hope I hit the jackpot.

I’ve been working on a vision board. I’ve been eating three handfuls of popcorn a night. I ordered The Midnight Library on thriftbooks to read in a book club I audit independently (my friend is in the book club and tells me what book they are reading and I order it and read it on my own).

Here is my vision board so we are on the same page:

AKA more drawing on tables and less spiraling in my brain as I stare at a tiny screen inside a dark room.

On the plane back from Kansas City, I refused a refreshment and smuggled Karl out of his carrier so I could hold him to my chest. Anytime a flight attendant passed me, I pretended to be asleep. It worked like a charm, and I do recommend bending corporate rules if it doesn’t hurt anyone and would ultimately make you and your dog happier.

Lately 2026 has been more difficult than I expected. Especially considering it is only ten days old. A FedEx package got lost and I got heated with the customer service agent. I keep timing my days poorly so I have to buy food when I’m out instead of eating a yogurt bowl at home and saving money so I can buy a house or whatever. People who were here in 2025 are no longer here in 2026 and it feels weird to go on without them.

In 2026, I’ve been listening to Taylor’s album from 2022 and watching movies from 2001. I am existing somewhere else even as I repeatedly say happy new year to my coworkers in the hallway.

It’s hard to know what you want when it all feels impossible and far away and the years changing don’t seem to change a thing. I guess I want a house and a career but I also just want to drink a diet coke lime (yes I got the last 12 pack in SF) without feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders.

My podcast (I only listen to one) says that there is no big joy awaiting you. There are only the small joys of our everydays at work, at dinner, in the line at the local walgreens, etc. I have also been watching Star Wars and there is actually a lot of wisdom there. Do not make fun of me it’s ok to watch things at your own pace and realize things when you feel like it. Remember when I hadn’t truly, intentionally tried mustard until 2020? It’s like that. Maybe I will write a substack about revenge of the sith and all the wisdom I have gleaned from it. I don’t think a 26 year old girl has written about revenge of the sith with an emphasis on anakin and yoda as her fav characters in it and so maybe that’s how I will find my joy one of the days this week.

In 2026 I have also been reading more, and I recently read a great book called The Correspondent. I saw a vague headline from the New York Times that said it was good, so I bought it without investigating further. I had no expectations, and I’ve decided that is the best way to engage with art when you are feeling lost or disconnected from a medium. I spent a week with Sybil (the main character) and learned the names of her close friends and her relatives and what she likes (gardening, reading) and what she doesn’t (technology, chaotic energy). She wakes up every morning and writes at her desk in front of the lake. She is made up, of course, but after our week together, I will think about her often, just as I would any real person.

I’m glad I didn’t read beyond the NYT headline. I’m glad I was able to be surprised by Sybil and her letters. It’s not very often we are left to our own devices to decide on something. There are too many billboards and 1.5 minute ads and movie trailers and AI suggested email replies. I almost added flyers taped to telephone poles into that group, but those are pretty much always safe to trust and a good idea to take suggestions from. I want to decide to read a book or watch a movie based on almost nothing. It might end up being bad, but at least I made a decision.

I hope to make more decisions in the new year because a friend or stranger suggested something and less because I am scared of being left behind. It feels like our collective desire to be ahead of the game has led to a society that doesn’t know when to call a time out. I am a victim of this because I get upset when drive-thru lines take too long and when a car goes really slow in front of me. There are ticking clocks everywhere, and it takes a real concious effort to silence the noise. Re: drinking diet coke lime without the weight of the world on my shoulders. Yoda says something really wise about this in ROS (Revenge of the Sith for all y’all fake fans 😂) but I will be saving that for my really good essay which I will write and distribute in 3-6 weeks.

Until then here is a screenshot of a video I took on my camera of a couple who loved Karl and told him he had long beautiful legs!!! XOXOXO!!!!

Here’s a picture I took of a classic NYC yellow taxi cab!!!!!

I didn’t let the car crash of it all stop me from having the new york experience every girl dreams of. I bought a souvenir magnet and went to the rockettes and walked through central park for a perfect 30 minutes. I also ate the best pizza and got rained on and made 1 enemy and 2 new friends. The woman in the red scarf pictured below does not fall into either category, but I wish she did.

I took the subway by myself and also the bus. On the subway, everyone wanted me dead. On the bus, I had the whole place to myself and the bus driver asked me to do him a favor. I said of course. He said can you tell me if it’s warm enough back there? He looked back from the driver’s seat and pointed to the air vents. I am obsessed with asking for a favor that benefits the other person. I told him the temperature was perfect and documented so via Google Maps. Yes I fill out their questions about if the bus is empty or full / if it’s chilly or just right / if I’ve seen any police on the highway lately. I will do anything to maintain a community even AND ESPECIALLY if it involves the google maps app.

I didn’t run into any past lovers like I thought I would but I did somehow manage to have a good time. I finished off the last of a celebratory cake with julia and laid in bed for too long with katherine and sat on the same bench twice with two different sets of people even though I was only there for 2 days. I’m a taurus, always finding my home wherever I go, a creature of habit, that sort of thing!

Here’s another picture I took in central park. I also took a picture of a park bench plaque that talked about growing together in a marriage like two redwood trees. I put it on my instagram story because duh. But then I realized at the top of the plaque it said “For Donald & Melania” and panicked and deleted it. Do you like how I could have let that just be my little secret but instead I’m saying it here? I love embracing my mistakes and in fact promoting them via my substack.

The week before I went to the big apple, people kept telling me that New York was a really far place to go from San Francisco. Especially for a weekend. I will admit, I kind of spiraled over this. Is New York too far a place to go? But ultimately I decided it is not. It is just where it is. This reminds me of when I was talking to this amazing girl named Mara in a swimming pool a few summers ago. We were saying how we liked living in San Francisco and how when she lived in New York she realized she wasn’t acting like herself. She said “This is not me. This is New York.” I loved that.

I love a lot about New York, even though I am fragile and it is hard. I loved all the employees who work at Jeffrey’s Grocery and how they sang along to every song playing in the background while effortlessly serving a table burgers and oysters. I loved all the tourists in Central Park and the locals who were on their morning runs in their crewnecks and sweatpants. I love the employee who helped me buy a ticket 2 minutes before the rockettes took the stage and was completely unphased by my chaotic appearance (huge bag, wet hair, oversized frumpy raincoat!!!!!) Cause that’s just another day in new york babe.

I like San Francisco where you ask for the daily fish at a restaurant by the ocean and I like new york where you pretend to know where you’re going so you don’t die. Both places are good for their reasons and seasons. They are both far from each other and that’s ok!! It is ok to go the distance and to want to go somewhere far! You do not have to stay there forever and you do not have to even know why you want to go there. We do a lot of things because we have to or need to so it’s important to do some things for no real reason at all. You never know what could happen….. if you’re lucky you just might get hit by a car!!!!! XO

The cheese toastie was more out of desperation and there was an open table at the tiny cafe above a pretty bridge, so I took my chances. The bun on the other hand was an extraordinary experience altogether. I went downstairs and passed right by the long line of people waiting to be sat for the restaurant. I felt like a local who knows that you don’t have to wait in that long line, you can just go downstairs to the “museum and shop” to get a cinnamon bun with butter to-go. I learned this fact from speaking with the hostess, NOT FROM ASKING AI!!!!!

The “museum” was a tiny corner with a fake fireplace and a mannequin dressed in colonial garb. The shop had some OK looking magnets and postcards, but ultimately I passed (personal growth).

There was a woman in the museum/gift shop/bun ordering station who said she knew the lady working the register for ages, but I could tell the lady working the register couldn’t wait to be rid of her. She kept flashing me eyes as if to say “I’m sorry about this lady. She says she has known me for ages but it’s an entirely one-sided relationship.” I chose not to comment on the situation (relationships are complicated) and instead said I liked the museum. I asked if that’s how they still made the buns today. “HAHHA NO SILLY, THAT’S HOW THEY USED TO MAKE THE BUNS 500 YEARS AGO!” shouted the register lady’s arch nemisis from the top of the stairs. The lady behind the register and I waited with baited breath to see if she was coming back down the stairs. The stair creaks grew fainter; we were safe. I chose a cinnamon bun from the small hand-written menu of 3 options and went outside, waiting in the rain for my bun to be ready.

I was joined by a few other American tourists and eventually a man who said he was a tour guide for Bath. He started giving a very animated history lesson to us about chamber pots, but no one really knew who he was talking to so we all avoided eye contact. But I still listened.

In England, I saw big dogs with smush faces and tiny dogs in sweaters and trinkets being sold out of car trunks and horses in fields next to tiny cottages that I wonder if anyone lives in. I’m back in San Francisco now, and this morning I saw two couples with matching haircuts. I like to change my personality based on where I am (did a british accent for 2 weeks straight in London) and what movie I watch (currently writing manifestations in my journal aka just watched practical magic).

I don’t know if we change more than we stay the same. I often wonder if people I knew in high school and haven’t spoken to in a long time would be surprised by how I am now or if they would say “you haven’t changed a bit.” But I need a reminder every morning that everyone has the right to act different. To change their mind, be upset for a second, be happy the next, to listen more than they talk, then talk more than they listen, etc. Maybe I will write this mantra on a post it note and put it next to my alarm clock (for fashion, not for use).

In high school, I used to keep post-it notes on my bedside table because I would wake up in the night with amazing invention ideas. A lot of the time I would read them back in the morning and realized all my inventions had already been invented. The other night I woke up in the night and wrote in my notes app another amazing invention, “a portable book.” I guess I am not so different from my high school self after all.

But I am still capable of change!!!! Today was randomly the day I ended up cleaning off the kitchen table and hanging up a framed ceramic tile I found at the thrift store months ago. Maybe tomorrow will be the day I clean the fridge and write something amazing in my journal. Or maybe I will go on a walk and find a piece of treasure on the sidewalk (Karl will find it and I will take it out of his mouth and say don’t eat treasure karl!!!! give to mommy so mommy can list it on her depop and turn a profit!!!!!)

*Karl please don’t read this next paragraph mommy is not feeling like herself and is having a fit of wifi-induced anger.*

I’m currently writing this on a plane with horrendous wifi which is so fucked up and should be illegal. If the wifi doesn’t work within five minutes of takeoff, the plane should be grounded and everyone gets a complimentary stay at a five star hotel and put on a PJ the next morning. I’m sorry, but I just find it funny that when passengers are boarding the cabin crew is like literally if there is anything at all we can do for you, please just let us know. We are here for you and want you to have the best plane experience of your life. And then twenty minutes into the flight I ask them if the wifi can work and they’re like wait why are you asking me we’re literally in the sky and we can’t control what happens up here??? Get away from me!!!!! They get on the intercom they are like please stay in your seats and DO NOT APPROACH THE CABIN CREW that is ILLEGAL and we will come to YOU. I can see them whispering to each other “there is a woman in a kansas city chiefs shirt and Amazon basics compression socks asking about the wifi do NOT engage - please alert the captain if she presses the issue.”

Anyways. It takes a lot of work to remain sane and not crash out on an airplane about the wifi. To calm myself down I listen to the five playlists Aaron saved on my phone and draw on my iPad. Then I think about my puppy karl. I love thinking about him.

My puppy reminds me of the work it takes to live, and he reminds me of a scene in won’t you be my neighbor where tom hanks says take a minute to think of everyone who loved you into being. I hope Karl thinks of me and his daddy aaron and the neighbor kids who stomp by our window, inadvertently teaching him to be calm even at the sound of a rogue basketball (something I am still learning).

Every morning Karl and I sit on the stoop and watch the world go by. We watch rich couples walk by with double-decker nuna strollers. We watch old labradors in saggy t-shirts trail behind their owners. We watch pedestrians jaywalk. I buy a tiny t-shirt online for Karl to wear on our next outing and whisper in his ear to always wait for the pedestrian walk sign before crossing the street. It’s just not worth the risk, I tell him.

We watch an older woman named Akiko walk her daughter’s dog buster. Akiko tells us that her daughter is also named Natalie. I know I’ve grown a lot because I’m not jealous of this other Natalie who I’ve never met – in the 3^rd grade suddenly there were two more Natalie’s in my grade and I implored everyone that I was the original and first ever Natalie in the history of our grade so they should just remember that. I didn’t say that to Akiko. Instead, I said that’s cool! Akiko also told us that the couple who used to live in our apartment also owned a black dog. She said that they had a big dog and we have a small one. I’m not jealous of them either. Instead, I’m grateful they left us the keys so we could pick up where they left off.

Another woman walked by with two toddlers in a wagon and asked what my puppy’s name was. Karl Barx, I said. Awww like Charles Barkley!!! She yelled and promptly walked away. Oh Karl, welcome to the world of being a misunderstood. It is inevitable and actually a crucial element of the nature of being alive!

Me and Karl are both learning to self soothe even in the face of loud basketballs, shotty wifi, and being misunderstood. I reward Karl with freeze dried beef liver. I reward myself with a honey cinnamon brown sugar iced latte (homemade).

For the record… Karl is named after Karl Marx because we wanted to further the communist agenda but ALSO because when Aaron and I moved into our apartment there were only two items left behind. A bottle opener shaped like the Millennium Falcon and a keychain with the name Karl on it.

Sometimes I worry that I don’t take stock of my life enough. Who I am, what I want, where I want to go. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about myself like that. But I do spend time thinking that maybe that is a bad thing – to not think of myself. Maybe that’s why I got upset in the 3rd grade when there were other Natalie’s in my class. What if they had it figured out? What if they were the Natalie that knew exactly who they were, where they were going, and what they wanted? I had big thoughts as a 3rd grader. But Karl tells me it’s ok to work your way into yourself. This involves growing pains and baby teeth and learning when to eat our three square meals a day so we don’t get hangry and eat shoes. It’s ok to rely on each other as you are finding your way to yourself. Let a keychain name your dog. Let the barista tell you what drink to get. But please for the love of god do not ask the flight attendant to help you with the wifi.

On Tuesday, I came home from choir practice to Aaron watching River Monsters in the living room. This is the sort of show that only really exists between the hours of 1am-4am when you are twelve years old and in your childhood bed and can’t sleep so you watch whatever has somehow appeared on the tv and it is always river monsters.

Sometimes things appear out of their place or where you least expect them. Like river monsters oustide of the early morning hours. Like a tiny 4 month old chihuaha at the dumpling restaurant sitting in a tiny shopping basket. Like the outdoor cat waiting by your car in the parking lot of trader joe’s.

When I get out of bed before noon on a Sunday, anything is possible.

Lately I have been going to bed so early that I am basically asleep for more of the day than I am awake. Why is this? Is this bad? Google isn’t safe anymore as it has been infected by a disease known colloquially as AI. So I am forced to turn this thought over in my head daily without much of an answer. Or ask Aaron. Aaron says I deserve to rest, but sometimes I wonder if I’m overdoing it. But I really just love to sleep. Getting into bed is one of my favorite times of day. Other favorites include latte o’clock and the blue fifteen. Latte o’clock is anytime during the day when I decide I want to have a latte. The blue fifteen is the fifteen minutes after golden hour when everything on earth looks blue.

The blue fifteen is a nice thing to look forward to. Especially when the sunset is over and you didn’t see the green flash (doesn’t exist. do not start with me right now.)

Some things are repetitive in a not-as-fun way, but they are worth it and are symbolic of the never-ending waves of life. Like filling up my ice trays even though I know I will use them in my diet coke that evening and will need to keep refilling them ad infinitum.

The world keeps falling apart and sometimes i think it feels like a breakup (me & aaron are good tho). Things aren’t what you thought they were and everything is different. I deal with it in similar ways - listening to my music, talking about it to my friends, and leaving voicemails to anyone who will listen (my city supervisor, my senators, etc.)

Aaron and I have been doing jogs to this spot. On the run, Aaron asks me how I’m doing as I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I wear my thrifted blue striped adidas shorts and my snoopy shirt (also thrifted). Then I go home and lay in front of my dyson and eat minecraft sugar cookies. These are my days and I’m learning to love them. I’m getting better at running everyday and it’s easier with Aaron as most things are. Ok Aaron scored 6 goals at his frisbee game yesterday and all of a sudden I’m obsessed with him…

We muster on, through the days and nights and sunsets and blue fifteens. However we can. We jog there and back. We enjoy the sun when it shines (it always will). Notice the rain when it storms (it always does).

Recently my blue sunglasses and I went to London, England. Something I loved about going there was the souvenir shops. I wandered around them aimlessly, picking up keychains and hats and thinking - what if I just swapped out all my clothes for Paddington and Mind the gap merch? Would that make sense financially?

On my first day in the city, I took the train in from my hotel. It was something like 45 minutes on the train. I had to ask a few people where I was going, and after that I just got good at pretending. The trains were mostly busy, but I always found a place to sit and read my book. Or attempted to at least. When you’re in a train that’s above ground everybody talks to each other. When you go “underground” as they say, everyone puts their headphones on and pretends you don’t exist. In the light of day, on an easy ride in from the countryside, we are friends. In the darkness of a rushed commute home, we are strangers.

I was consistently floored by the details of my British peers. Their slang, their accents (j’duh), their clothes, their conversations. I took photos of pigeons and convinced myself they looked different than the ones in San Francisco or New York City even. I kept my wrappers and pasted them in my journal. See below. I wanted to remember every second. I was a tourist of life.

A woman at the Royal Horse Show helped me find an empty seat in the unreserved section and told me I was brave for being there by myself. But I have never felt unusual about going places alone. I enjoy my own company and have a lot of things to discuss with myself. A lot happens during a day being me so, me myself and I always have a lot to catch up on.

My friend from the Royal Horse Show would tell me fun facts about the King in between showing people to their seats. She took a funny photo of me in front of the castle and then showed a group of three women to the reserved section. She helped me find the king in our own game of iSpy. A woman came in asking if she could go find her husband, my friend told her oh yes of course! If your husband is already sat, go find him, PLEASE BY ALL MEANS! And she meant it. In America, I thought to myself, the ticket person would’ve made you show your receipt and make your husband come to YOU. And they wouldn’t smile at all they would be ANGRY ABOUT IT!!! See this was a common theme.. I found myself wanting to generalize a lot. Maybe it was a British thing to trust that this woman really was going to find her husband in the Royal Horse Show arena. Or maybe it was just the trusting nature of this woman I had just met. Either way - I liked her and her way of being. As a representative of her entire country or just as herself.

On my last morning in the UK, I sat in a coffee shop and ate the yogurt granola bowl and latte that I had previously enjoyed on my first morning there. Hashtag full circle exclamation point. It was just as good as I remembered from two weeks ago which is a long time to remember about a yogurt granola bowl and latte when you eat and drink as much of those two items as I do. As I sat there in silence, the woman next to me said she would never leave her baby in a stroller on the street if she forget her croissant inside. I said ‘me either’ and shook my head (just to avoid conflict). She said she has 40 thousand followers on Facebook. I said what for, are you an influencer? She said “god no I just post my pictures.” Now she has 40 thousand and one.

So in the spirit of “just posting my pictures” and accumulating thousands of followers. I give you, my first youtube video.

Enjoy!!! And enjoy the last 9 hours of this three-day weekend!!!! There is still time for it to be everything you dreamed of and more!!!! There is always time!!!!!

In Moab, trees grow out of rocks, and there are wild deer at night that watch you as you drive home. At the entrance to all the major hikes, there are signs everywhere about bringing enough water with you (I didn’t).

In Moab, it feels like you are somewhere else. In Salt Lake City, it still feels like somewhere you could live there because there are gas stations and starbucks everywhere. There are taco bells and highway signs. In a place like that, it’s still possible to run into a celebrity (I did).

In Moab, there are no celebrities except for the rock that everyone wants to stand on and so a line forms. See below for Aaron and the celebrity rock (his hall pass).

When you are someplace that feels so far from your everyday landscape, it can feel like you are far away from other things too. Far away from stress and responsibilities and dishes and also good things too like your uggs and your favorite blanket to watch tv under and the good ice cream in the freezer.

When I was in Moab, my friend called me and told me something. I had lost a friend. My friends had lost a friend. I stood at the edge of a beautiful view, looked out over the canyons, and started thinking about my friend. I haven’t stopped since then.

I walked slowly with Aaron along the edge of one of these rock formations. I thought about parties and dinners and walks. I thought about how cold Dartmouth was in the winter and how it forges a certain type of person. A type of person I really enjoy being around. I thought about how groups of friends are like roads weaving across each other on a map or trees in a forest with roots that criss cross underneath the soil.

I didn’t have any service on these hikes. So I would think a lot and then I would talk to strangers. Aaron would go climb rocks I didn’t want to and I would sit in the dirt waiting to meet someone like Tina from Idaho. “My Dan, he’s like a walking map” she told me. We talked about being from the midwest and how it means we talk to people. “It means you were raised right” she told me. Tina says she has no sense of direction and that she wouldn’t know what was up from down if not for Dan. Tina told me I was smart for taking a break when I was tired. When Dan came back for her and they started to make their way off we introduced ourselves for the first time. “Were you close?” is a hard question to answer. Especially with people like Tina or my friend Ellie who made everyone close to them feel close to them. Tina from Idaho would probably say it’s because she was raised right. And I would agree.

As I sat in the dirt and ate just the chocolate pieces out of the trail mix, I listened to how everyone around me measured how much time they have left on their hike. Everybody had a different answer to the same question. 10 there and backs. 2 laps on a track. Half a mile. Whatever it took to reassure themselves that they could do it. Whatever it took to help them understand how much time was left.

We measure our time in a lot of different ways. Laps on a track. Songs on a playlist. Minutes, seconds, hours. Lately I have enjoyed thinking about time in terms of how close we are to my birthday. We are only one day away. I wish my friend could be there. She would love the theme. She was at my birthday last year, and she made it fun like she did with everything. It all meant something to her so it meant something to you. That’s just how it worked with my friend Ellie. I will be thinking about her on my birthday.

It was so hot in Moab I often exclaimed to Aaron “I hate this.” But I didn’t really. (Really, I didn’t). But my friends were far away and I missed them and wanted to be close to them.

I finally got to the front of the line for the local celebrity rock and told him I was a huge fan. He was honestly kind of distant and weird about it. Never meet your heroes. I got a picture anyways. See below:

Lately I have been wondering if this loss has made me more gentle. Willing to forgive. I’m being nice to people I don’t even like. In fact, I’m being nice to people I actively dislike. I’m doing yoga and talking to birds. I’m asking the city to send me gloves and garbage bags so I can pick up trash on my walks. I am noticing the dashboard of a mover’s truck - an inhaler, a burger king bag, and a gorgeous ombre hydroflask. I guess I like who I am being but I am sad about the reason I am being it.

I hope this wasn’t weird or bad it is just something I wrote because I have been feeling weird about writing and the only way to not feel weird about it is to do it I’ve decided.

I recently visited an estate sale with my friend Brooke. We discussed being in our twenties, her wedding, and my new obsession with the famous app Depop. We thumbed through posters and tried on jewelry, as I screamed “ISN’T THIS CUTE” across a dead silent 200 square foot living room. I gasped at an antique cash register. Brooke examined the oak furniture. In the first few pages of a book, I found a list of potential birthday gifts that the matriarch was planning to purchase for each relative. Solin was to receive houndstooth black & white socks and a small brass goose. Various children’s books for the twins and a pin for Irma & Jerry. This is what 2014 meant to the Winfield’s. 2014 to me was all about deciding what decorations to put in my locker and memorizing lyrics to One Direction songs. I think that was also reflected in the birthday presents I received that year. The first estate sale I can remember attending was for my neighbor who used to fix pianos in his garage. My mom and I walked through the garage - not a piano to be found. If you didn’t know, you would never know. I’m still deciding if estate sales show us who people really are. Are we defined by the things we collect? Sometimes that’s all you have to base your impression of someone. I bought a ring for a dollar from the piano man. It could have meant everything or nothing to him. I will likely never know.

Inspired by this list and the sun coming out, I took a long walk and examined the homes of my neighbors - trying to figure what to get them for their birthdays. I forgot what the wind felt like on the back of my legs. I mistook the feeling for a bug taking interest in my calves or a stray hair sticking to my ankles.

Going on a walk with nowhere to go, nowhere to be, and no designated return time is a drug that I plan to prescribe liberally and frequently.

I like taking advice from strangers. And offering it too (unprompted of course). I like gathering intel from my community. What we leave on our window sill, tape to our front door, or post in our front yard shapes the neighborhood culture. The items you leave by the trash, the signs you paint and post, how you choose to (or choose not to) decorate for the holidays all play a role in what I think about you as I walk by your home. And all of these decisions WILL inform what I get you for your birthday.

Take this gorgeous speckled stop light for example. Next time you lose something, consider taping a homemade sign with important details about it on your local street lamp.

Next time you’re expecting a package consider leaving a handwritten note asking the UPS driver to leave it with the dry cleaners next door. And if you don’t live next to a dry cleaner, consider moving closer to one.

Now this is an interesting case. This house has a long walkway that wraps around the back, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. I think it’s funny when people change the entire landscape of their home to ask (or force) people not to do certain things. There is a quiet need to control, it’s a low hum at times but it’s always there - in myself and others. I remember in Scotland one of the first things I was told is that there is that I have the “right to walk.” You can walk pretty much anywhere you want. I didn’t see any no trespassing signs, no peddlers or agents allowed, this dog bites! Instead, I would see sweeping views, open doors, and low fences. I would stomp through parks and up hills and across bridges in backyards, eating wild blackberries offered to me by a woman filling her tupperware with the ripest ones to eat throughout the week. Instead, I would take the bus to the end of the line and watch the bus driver change from his work coat into his casual coat like Mr. Rogers. Instead, I would walk until I got tired, stopping only to enjoy a latte and a chapter of my book.

There is a lot out of our control, so I think when we get a little slice of something just for ourselves - we often feel the need to protect it, defend it, control it. Build fences around it, plant taller and taller trees so there is no way to see in, or out. But what if all that peddler wanted was a view of the Golden Gate Bridge? What if that agent was actually going to offer you the biggest role in the next Hollywood blockbuster!!! What if your neighbor found your wallet and it was sitting untouched on their window sill, all you had to do was ask?

When I was really scared about the election I watched a video of a man saying the best thing to do is to offer to make 2 times the pasta you normally would make for yourself and then offer half of it to your neighbor. When I was really scared about The Big One I ordered a hand crank radio meets battery pack meets flashlight because someone online said you should own something like that. I think taking advice from strangers is not always a bad idea. Aaron used the hand crank radio battery flashlight on a camping trip last week. My neighbor gave me a bag of m&m’s for valentines day. I found a green beaded bracelet on a no-parking sign, I left it there for its owner to find. The world is your lost and found.

See you later!

This year I would like to bend towards the light. I would also like to sit in empty theaters scrunched up in my big coat with my crazy hair and bob dylan sunglasses (can anyone ID the ones timothee is wearing in A Complete Unknown? you would be saving me a lot of toil and time spent on niche forums). If you need me, I will be eating cheerios in the lawn chair I keep in my trunk and playing my guitar barefoot and wearing my ambition on my sleeve'/shoulder like my favorite tote bag.

I like the holidays because it’s all about bringing the extra chairs up from the basement and making a little more food than you think you’ll need and giving more away than you take for yourself.

This year I would like to gather and collect and cluster. I would like to take every opportunity to stay a little longer and ask another question or two. I’ve already offered one ride and asked three questions and it’s only mid January. Everyone say good job to me.

I am excited to find out more about the inner workings of the people I live next to. Aaron and I now frequent a restaurant on our block we used to consistently pass by and never go inside. One night we asked for the table by the window. The corner table was taken.

There sat 20 people who sang and read speeches and told jokes and recalled memories. They topped each other off with wine and waited to start speaking until someone was recording on their iPhone. They laughed loudly and clapped and sang.

Aaron and I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. So we sang along.

I’ve also been doing my daily walks to battle ennui. And yes I have been getting up 45 minutes earlier to do them. Ugh guys please don’t treat me different. And please don’t be jealous, just be happy for me okay? I am not even doing this for me. I am doing this for you. Because I haven’t had a single thought other than “I’m tired, what’s on tv” for the last 2 months. And now that I’ve been walking.. I hate to brag but I will.. I’ve had at least 3 really good thoughts. See below:

Sometimes my walks take me to the farmers market and people watch. Here were my top 3 people.

1. A boy laying on two coolers at the farmers market. He was blowing bubbles while his mom sold olives.

2. A woman wearing a bold red lip in line for croissants.

3. A man cradling a toy poodle waiting at for the crosswalk to turn

All 3 of these people seemed to be experiencing ennui in their own little worlds with their own little coping mechanisms. Gum, lipstick, toy poodle. I find it extremely hard to focus when bad things are happening. Maybe I need gum? or a poodle?? All I want to do is lay on the floor and draw with my markers that are popular on the currently famous TikTok app. This substack is nothing if not topical!!!

But when I do go outside I always am happier for it. Even when I went to a cafe with my friend and was cursed with being the customer after the barista’s favorite. But I asked him if I should get chai or a latte and entire world opened up for us. He did a whole joke about the system he uses to organize silverware haha you guys just had to be there.

I guess what I’m trying to say is there are a lot of reasons to feel like laying on two coolers and dissociating while you chew bubblegum. I hope you find your red lipstick or save those junk magazines for a collage - if you don’t have either (or if you’re like me and just waiting a littttle longer for the perfect time to adopt a tiny baby black pug), please stop into the restaurant that has faded into the background of your life, ask the waiter what they would order!!