(the sequel to “06. Trying to Collapse…” and the prequel to “(XX). Trying to Stay on The Wagon Forever…)

Everyone seems to want to make it out

to Europe mostly but also to America and sometimes even to Canada and no one who is from here can seem to fathom why I would want to come here, to a place from which everyone is trying to escape, apparently.

But having more money means you will just want more money and moving to exactly where you want to live will probably mean that you’ll move again not because you were wrong but because you were exactly right in that moment and now is a new moment so let us make a deal that we just get present forever and keep expanding like the concentric circles of a ripple in the water with the understanding that it is exactly the point that everything collapses inward and topples over from time to time.

It is good to imagine and to plan.

It seems that I am some version of a person who some people wish to be — there are some people who wish their daughter would act her age and pick up her life and move to some far away land to live out the regrets she herself faces and cannot bear to carry any longer — that’s why you raise kids — right? so they can right your wrongs?

It seems also that I am some version of person who plans too much.

It seems I am a person who came to a place where people ask, “Why would you come here — to this small circle?” And I respond — I left my own small circle and came here for the same reason you want to leave yours —

Everyone, every young person has a duty to expand outward, lengthen her radius. Everyone has a radius, themselves the center; every person’s respective world has an edge, one to approach and sometimes one off of which to leap jump plummet topple collapse and start again from one small point.

I keep reaching out, extending my diameter — every time I walk a new route, see a new sight. It means I am touching one more corner of the Earth that I had not yet touched. I am drinking in some never-before-breathed air. I am EXPLORING. And I am finding that exploring does not always look how I imagined it to look; it is not always so glamorous or curated. Not always so dangerous. It is quite everyday. Or at least it ought to be —

Each day an exploration

of self

of surroundings

of self again

back to surroundings

cicles

concentric circles, scribble circles,

Our lives are just constant circles — cycles. And if you graph a circle, it looks like a roller coaster. And that feels absolutely true.

The Grass is Always Greener on the Other Side: an observation of people, always seeming to want to be where they are not

to want the things they do not have

only when they are shown what they do not have, though; when they see what they have not seen. Globalization and the increasing inter-connectedness of our world means that I was sitting at dinner tonight in Auckland with people who were 4 months previous completely unaware of my existence, and I of theirs, while they showed me videos of their friend, who I at some point met here in Auckland and who is now in Ft. Lauderdale. And my dinner company is ooo-ing and ahhh-ing and wishing to just switch places with this other person. And this the same day that I ate vegan okonomiyaki in the Japanese café down the road from the apartment I am house-sitting, an apartment which belongs to people who happened to be on the same ship as my parents 17 years-ago, while Justin Bieber plays through the speakers above me so no, I will absolutely not be needing my headphones this morning.

Also maybe it is the writer in me but some things just look better from across the street — like the $11 vegan dark chocolate brownie with caramel in the middle from the corner café on my walk to work seems lovely in theory but maybe, just maybe, I am meant to just observe that sweet couple sharing one, indulging on this Monday morning. Maybe that is where me and this brownie intersect for now.

Some poems are meant only for the ears of others. And that is okay.

It is okay to witness and not engage. It is, in fact important to observe without interfering — you can watch things play out. Some authors are meant to write the stories I wish I wrote and I am meant to write exactly what I write. And I learned somewhere along this journey through circles that there is a period of literature dedicated to the removed observer, one in which the technique we study is one employed by someone who attempts to capture the essence of a moment without applying the filter of their own voice, without imposing themselves on their precious subject.

If I were a winemaker, for example, I would not oak my chardonnay; if I were a writer, which I am, I commit myself to the integrity of the moment, letting it flow through me, unadulterated.

This observing is a meditative practice.

As in — not every thought deserves my attention.

Maybe this is why I wish to always show up so consistently — my neutrality,

Equanimity I think she called it ?

my dependable demeanor ensures that I make no waves that could possibly through the scene off-kilter. I am here to be steady, offer flat ground and clean air; to collect stories, as a vessel. I am merely a bullhorn, elevating the voices of others. This is my service to the world.

So, yes, I will stay here, water this ground so my roots can grow deeper, so I can stabilize, so I can be nourished enough to keep my eyes open and my ears sharp and continue to pay attention.

What a privilege it is that I feel I am writing my own life — what a different fate that is for each person.

What a delicious delusion it is to feel that I am writing the lives of others.

When I was about to graduate and the best question anyone could manage was,

“So, what are you going to do with your life?”

and all of those anyone’s

I looked at them

and all I wanted to say was —

what are you doing with yours

and if they uttered some perfect answer

well

time has a way of passing, my love — water this ground because there is depth and nutritious soil here and it is worth digging

and it is worth staying.

And I always wanted to be on the team poster — and then I was on the poster and I barely looked at it. Every day of my junior year, I looked at the poster I didn’t make and I wished I was on it. Then, my senior year, I made the poster, and I forgot about it the next day.

Sometimes, the magic of the thing is in the wishing for it.

Unfortunately, what I’m saying is: it’s the journey, not the destination

maybe

And also, tragically, what I’m saying is: keep your eyes on your own paper — they don’t have the answers either

maybe

*note to self: you said you wanted to set roots, my love. it is no wonder you are feeling called to nourish this ground upon which you stand and walk and run. Thank Goodness every chance you get, for She is always on time.

xx

Until You Know Better

THE NEWEST SEASON OF SEX EDUCATION IS OUT *at least on NZ netflix!!!!

Only take as much as you can carry

then try only taking 75% of what you can carry

Great Artists Steal

Read “87. Loitering,” a specifically moving chapter from Ross Gay’s The Book of Delights — about the art of the essentially superfluous and excessively vital phenomenon of just existing

Last year, I attended a dear friend’s probate and someone stumbled or hesitated and one of someone’s family members, I don’t think hers, hollered out from the crowd, “Take your time, baby! This is your show!” and that is why I believe in magic.

Watch Alicia Keys’ 2019 Grammy Performance – oh, the songs I wish I wrote