you’re now a mountain
yet what you’ve, we’ve, needed was || to become a tree
A shorter set, with some weird ones—the dentist, meaningful German words, struggling to cook rice. I wrote these between Friday May 17th and Monday May 20th, and I’m leaving them chronological. There are more footnotes than usual, to give a peek behind the curtain. But to kick us off, a song from this week’s Discover Weekly on Spotify that caught my ear:
best sob of the week
tears slide down while maintaining
a long, long fist bump1
-
in the dentist’s chair
notice my hands tensing up
will them to relax
-
i love the dentist
i find it meditative
oddly comforting2
-
grapefruit and mezcal
hit my tongue while i’m reading
gabrielle zevin3
-
i’m moving backwards
my sleeplessness has returned
feeling discouraged
-
i know you meant well
but your questioning left me
defensive, uptight
-
two a.m. vista
indirectly traffic lights
paint my living room4
-
i found the right word
for the way i’ve been feeling
it’s torschlusspanik5
-
verschlimmbesserung
when encountered, makes me just
want to stop trying6
-
sometimes when the tears
start, i’m not sure what it is
that’s making them come
-
eucalyptus leaves
komorebi reminds me
it’s all so fleeting7
-
measure rice. wash it.
add water. close lid. turn on.
keep moving. don’t break.8
-
teardrop narrowly
misses the rice. good. i’d hate
salt to ruin it
-
i’m an npc
i’m in a cut scene that i
can’t control or skip9
-
the mother of pearl
and abalone inlays
were a sign: “pick me”10
-
you say it’s kinda
nothing, but to me it is
kinda everything11
-
Whenever my coworker Charles and I make eye contact, it’s tradition that we walk over to each other and hold an uncomfortably long fist bump. Last week, while I was at an emotional low, I made the mistake of thinking it would help cheer me up. But when another coworker with us asked me how I was doing, I froze and then admitted, “Terrible.” He looked worried and said, “What?” and then I burst into tears, all while still maintaining this stupid fist bump. It was embarrassing and strange, but also comforting to have these two people care for me in a time of need.
I have the nicest dentist in the world! But also, a couple years ago I started seeing dental check-ups as an opportunity for focused breathing and mindfulness. I do body scans throughout to notice when I start feeling tension, and I try to let it go.
Specifically, reading Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow.
When I can’t sleep, I move to my couch to sit quietly, read my kindle, or write. In the early hours of Sunday morning, I spent most of the time watching the traffic lights change without looking at them directly and seeing how the few cars that drove by three stories below threw light onto my living room wall:
Torschlusspanik—literally “gate-shut panic,” or the anxiety about getting to the gate too late that it closes in front of you before you can pass. A worry that you’re running out of time, that you’re going to be left on the shelf, that you haven’t done enough with your life.
Verschlimmbesserung—when your attempt to make something better only ends up making it worse.
Komorebi—literally “sunlight leaking through trees,” or the dappling that comes from the sunlight that passes through leaves. But more important than the light and shadow itself, it’s the acknowledgment that because of the wind, because of the movement of the sun, because of the growth and decay of the leaves, each moment that you see it only exists right then and there, and it cannot be replicated. You will never have it back again, so you must cherish it while it’s there. It’s an example of the Japanese concept of wabi-sabi.
I was so scared that if I lost my momentum, I’d fall back into my sadness and not be able to get moving again. I was literally muttering to myself under my breath, “Keep going, keep going, keep going.”
This haiku came about from the bleak mood I happened to be in as I was reading Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, but funnily enough I have been called an NPC before, and I also do sometimes refer to others as NPC.
My coworker once called me an NPC (not derogatory) when they were trying to describe my role at work. They said, “I feel like you’re like the friendly NPC that’s holding a sign that says, ‘can I help you?’ and that we adventurers can come to for anything.” I adopted that and now have this in my official staff directory listing:
I often refer to strangers as NPCs (derogatory) when they say things that sound like shittily written video game dialogue. For example, while in line at Golden Boy Pizza on Saturday, I overheard someone get into line behind me with their friends and say, “Best in the world, huh? We’ll see about that.” Then, when it was clear that his friends hadn’t heard him, he repeated it verbatim 10 seconds later, with all of the same prosody. If that’s not NPC behavior, I don’t know what is.
I gifted my guitar I’ve had for 15 years to my childhood best friend
, so she could have a stationary hobby while recovering from ankle surgery. When she reached out asking if she could borrow “Murphy,” (what I had named my guitar when I was 14), I knew that Lauren deserved to keep her forever. Much like Lauren, she’s quirky and beautiful, a wonderful guitar with mother of pearl and abalone inlay:
Lauren came to visit me this weekend, to support me while I’ve been wrestling with a tough season, and she brought Murphy. We sang together, something we relished doing as children. I recounted her the tale of a tender memory, of which a core part was a specific song that she hadn’t heard of. She asked me to look up the chords and play it, so I did. I played the chords and sang, only to find that I suddenly couldn’t get through the fourth verse, my breath catching in my chest as tears leaked out. I let myself cry, then started the verse over, wearily finishing out the rest of the song. Then I cried and cried as she held me. I needed the catharsis after spending a couple days feeling pretty numb and detached.
As she was leaving to drive home to Mammoth, she asked if I needed to keep Murphy. I urged, “No, she’s yours now. I’ll find another.” I went to Guitar Solo in the late afternoon, and the shopkeeper helped pull options based on what I was looking for. I made it clear I did not need anything fancy, that I’m not trying to become a guitarist, that I just want to play enough to sing along to and get some catharsis.
I felt like I was in Olivander’s wand shop, the way he told me about the different woods and sizes and how they impacted the guitars’ character. He brought me down a few options, talking me through their merits and their drawbacks, but when I saw a cutout guitar that also had mother of pearl and abalone inlay, I knew it was the one for me:
She felt like Murphy, but more grown up, more subdued. Like an homage to my youth with a recognition of adulthood. A bright sound that lifted my spirits while still somehow conveying warmth. The right size. I trusted my gut, and she came home with me. I’m still kicking around a few names, but I’m sure the right one will come to me soon enough.
A lightly edited version of a message I sent to a friend this morning, while texting about plans for meeting up in New York this coming weekend.
