A few years ago, I was in Paris visiting a friend on a weekend trip while studying abroad. We walked past an old stone building surrounded by chain link fencing while wandering the streets in search of gluten free pastries. They turned to me and said, “you like gained glass right?” I nodded, and they suggested I head inside the stone walls. As my feet travelled the spiral staircase worn from antiquity, I found my heart heavy with a beauty I had not experienced in some time. I had saved a photo on Pinterest very similar to the one I took that day many moons ago, hoping that one day I would be able to bask in the purple glow in person. Being caught off guard by this ethereal dream was especially impactful given how difficult life was at this moment for me. The summer after my freshman year of college, I was coming to terms with the need for professional support for my mental health while living across the globe from my family and friends. I was unfamiliar with who I was, and struggled to remember who I had been. It was a reminder I needed desperately.
When I was younger, I had a list on my phone of things that I liked. At the top of it was stained glass, and the list continued on to butterfly wings (like stained glass in nature), cloudy days at the coast, the smell of old books, the feeling of grass between my toes. Smaller comforts that I needed some reminding of every once in a while. Weird that one might need reminding of the things that they enjoy, right? But I think I’ve floated away from myself many times, and that list could bring me back to center. It brought me back to joys I had forgotten, grounding me in peace I often felt when surrounded by them. I don’t find it invalidating to need a reminder of who we are sometimes, when the world is trying so hard to make us into certain kinds of people. We face so many external pressures asking us to enjoy our free time in certain ways, to seek pleasure in certain ways, to experience awe in certain ways. We have so much stimulation to parse through as we move through the world. You can be both stretching into new spaces and grounded in yourself - these things are not mutually exclusive. People have told me that I’m flighty, and have complained that I’ve changed over the years from the brown-haired horse obsessed ball of energy I used to be. I would hope I’ve changed. I’m an intelligent graduate student who is passionate about my career and hobbies, still obsessed with horses but prioritizing other sectors of my life right now. And as I do evolve, that list might change, but that doesn’t mean I’ve totally lost myself. I have learned to let go of the idea that I have to be complete at any stage of my life. I don’t have to reach peak self awareness at 25 - I might not even reach that by 60. I have not yet met all of myself, and I can’t wait to be introduced.
I made my 2022 mood board the other day, pulling photos from the world wide web and taping them into my bujo. I realized that it looked a lot like my 2021 mood board, even using one of the same pictures. I was surprised by that consistency; I was so used to finding myself trying new ways of life at beginnings like a new year. I was a bit put off by this surprise - I felt like I should know who I was. I should see that consistency because I am who I am. I thought back to the people who told me I had changed, as if it was a bad thing. Because i was starting to believe them. I have recently been frustrated by my lack of groundedness, my inability to think before I act, my emotional excitement getting the best of me. But here I saw who I was. I saw the fruition of internal reflection coming in to focus. I am fusing who I have been with who I will become, settling in to who that might be, because I haven’t met her yet.
what I’m working on: I’m making an ilford jacket in big sur canvas for my brother!
something local: christopher’s books is a small bookstore in potrero hill. this holiday season, patrons could purchase books and toys for benioff children’s hospital’s family house (I bought banagrams)
something to read: currently reveling in the magic of film for her by orion carloto
HAPPINESS SINGS, BUT GRIEF COMES SCREAMING
Violent waves come crashing
somewhere in between sincerity and the coast.
I’ve never felt less wise
in this ode to growing old.
Naked in these arms of mine
veins injected with regret
peeling back this swollen flesh
cries for help in this roulette.
something to listen to: songs that taste like nature valley bars