I didn’t think it would take me to the middle of February to post, but rather than explaining why, I’m just going to dive right in. First, let’s start with this fun little thing people are doing on Substack:
Five Things I Could Talk About Without Any Prep
Iranian cinema
Bill Callahan
Reality Bites
Cookbooks
Joanna Newsom
I could add a few more things here (like how to cobble together a great meal out of odds and ends), but these are what immediately come to mind. It’s a direct link to the psyche. I just asked my husband to name his five things and they are so accurate to him, and cute and different from mine (Fredric Jameson, movies [he has seen everything], Marxism, Zen, the Grateful Dead). What would yours be? Share in the comments section if you feel like it. I would love to know!
Recently a friend and I went to see Thelma and Louise at a repertory cinema. Is there anything better than Geena Davis’s entrance in the diner the morning after her romp with a young Brad Pitt? Her laugh, facial expressions, and nearly-falling-over-with- delirium physicality. It is so funny and contagiously joyous.
SINGING!
I have loved singing and performing since I can remember. I am pretty good at it, too. And apparently it’s healthy or something? So, I have been making it a point to sing with intention, in addition to the more habitual act of singing along to music that is playing. Let me tell you, this feels amazing, like I am giving myself the gift of enjoying a thing that makes me me. I’m making karaoke plans with friends, I’m thinking of picking up guitar again after a very long hiatus. Mostly I’m making singing part of my daily life.
LONDON FOG, or, how to be a beautiful, unbothered little snail in the sun
You know what’s unsettling? When after years of psychoanalysis and psychoanalytically-informed psychotherapy (that’s a mouthful, etc.) the analyst says “your neurosis is —.” Like, whoa, wait, what? You’re just being direct now? Thank you very much for your service. Anyway, my point is one I will make in a necessarily oblique way. I feel best when I put in a lot of effort, often unnecessary effort, aka the Persian concept of hoseleh, as discussed in my most popular post of last year:
Hoseleh as a personality trait that is a wellspring of energy is a hopeful orientation to the everyday; its target is a world endlessly remade. But this effortful beauty-making is absent within me when it pertains only to me. “Me” often becomes little, old me. “It’s just me.” But on many levels, it’s actually important to orient most effort outward. This is a sign that one is not an acquiescing neoliberal subject, living only for oneself. In this reflection, I am getting at something else—a realization I’m having that somewhere within me exists a foundational premise that I can do without. I don’t need anything, I can endure discomfort, I am not worth the extra little bit of effort to have a beautiful moment or day, just for me. A more extreme version of this is sung by my friend Jennifer Castle in her song, “Sailing Away”:
When you don't need nothing
It's a certain type of game you play
I don't need a home, don't need a lover
No friends around me to support each other
A few lines later this turns into something sadder, “and then I’ll take what I get and won’t want for anything.” And that eventually becomes, “I’ll be out on my own, come hell or high water.” So, this figure who doesn’t need a home or human contact is not me, or one with whom I identify. I certainly need all these things; I have enormous needs, to quote Mia Farrow’s character in Hannah and Her Sisters. But the idea of not wanting for anything and operating from that position resonates. It is a profound disconnection from one’s being, and it’s a lack of attunement that left unchecked becomes something like a game of deprivation.
All of this to say, I have realized I need a little more hoseleh when it comes to just me. I need to give myself the care and generosity I give lovingly to many others. And care, as so many feminist thinkers have articulated, often emerges in the everyday acts that sustain life, but that are immediately undone and therefore not seen. I’ve been caring for myself in a lot of new ways lately and one simple example is that most days I punctuate the afternoon with a London Fog—not the coat, but the drink. It’s Earl Grey tea, with steamed milk, and vanilla syrup. When made at home, it takes much more hoseleh than just a cup of tea because I have to get my little milk steamer out and wash it after. I had to buy vanilla syrup to have at home. When taken out at a café, it’s an intentional break and tiny indulgence. It takes time out of my day to do, and it is absolutely unnecessary. It slows me down. Its unnecessariness is what makes it necessary and an act of care. An acknowledgment of myself as a being worthy of excess needs, who is a deserving recipient of my own imaginative powers of worldmaking. The serving of the need is finding out what the need is, in a loving loop of listening closely. And in this utterly banal example of a hot beverage there is a path to deeper forms of attention and service.
I’m sure most of you have figured this all out already. That’s okay. I’m not ashamed to be in a state of becoming and unbecoming. I’m surrendering to the beautiful, unbothered little snail in the sun, waiting patiently for me to stop and bask in it with her.
Thanks for reading. xoxo
You're baaack! I always love reading your posts. It's like shopping in a fun store for words and ideas—one worth making a separate trip. That's great that you're taking up singing! I noticed I stopped as my kids got older. But after interviewing "Wired for Music" author Adriana Barton and learning about the benefits, I've been trying to sing more. And I hope you continue giving yourself the care and generosity you deserve :)
Love it, Sara! So glad you're back (although I hope me saying that doesn't stress you out). I love how effortless-seeming yet beautiful your writing is. It feels like sitting down over a hot cup of coffee or tea, chilling with a friend. 🎁