Hey. It’s been a while. March passed in a blur, punctuated by Nowruz celebrations, and then April passed too, slower and with less fanfare and pleasure. I’ve started several little essays (to be quite freewheeling with my terminology) with the intention of sharing them here and found myself holding back. The last few times I wrote here, I was fully immersed in the task, completely losing sense of time—a feeling I love—and I just haven’t been able to make space to do that here over the past two months. But since I do enjoy it so much, I will try to do it more, as I’m really trying to eliminate that which “doesn’t spark joy,” and it turns out, that’s a lot of things…
Cutting a lot of things out also leaves a big open space to be filled, and what goes there? I would have given different answers to that in my 30s, which was honestly a very confusing decade filled with a lot of conventional milestones meant to provide a clear trajectory. Some have a lot of meaning for me, others much less. But something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is what precisely I feel I have lost contact with, and I think a lot of my closest friends feel the same way. I have had a lot of conversations with people about how this comes up for Libby, a character in Fleishman is in Trouble.
I don’t think Libby’s crisis comes from being married or having kids or living in the suburbs, as a lot of the commentary on the show suggests. I think it has to do with the elision of some fulfilling aspects of her identity with her current life and responsibilities. I related to it because I think I’ve been so existentially dependent on approval that I’ve lost connection with a younger self who at some points was able to “go on being,” to use a favorite idea from D.W. Winnicott. I’m making my way back there, which feels like lifting boulders looking for crumbs, or chasing something that never was, or sculpting something that is inchoate but luminescent.
Earlier this week, I was driving with one of my kids and it was an awfully cold and grey late April day. I pointed out to him that at this time last year we were in Florida and maybe we should plan to not be here next year at this time, since it’s so rainy and damp. “Yeah,” he said, “but at least you get to see the flowers you really like.” Being seen and having someone so attuned to you remains shattering and revolutionary every single time, if it’s something you missed out on when you needed it most. I have a lot of extremely tough and challenging parenting days, but I feel like this circle of seeing, attunement, and being alongside each other in our differences is something I give to my kids and in doing so, get for myself, both from me and from them. It feels like magic.
Things I have been enjoying:
-Sarah Kmon’s newsletter about nonviolent communication in parenting. I’ve also taken a course with Sarah and learned so much from her generosity, warmth, and guidance. If you aren’t familiar with nonviolent communication, you can learn more about the work of its founder Marshall Rosenberg here.
-Sweet Old World by Lucinda Williams
-The book club I started with some friends and friends-of-friends. We started with Big Swiss and are reading Fear of Flying now (I understand it completely differently than I did in my 20s!)
-Walks. So basic it’s primordial, but I can’t get enough.
-Creamy purple nails
-Making time for thrifting
I’ll see you in two weeks with some thoughts on a favorite 90s feminist.
xoxo
“I related to it because I think I’ve been so existentially dependent on approval that I’ve lost connection with a younger self who at some points was able to “go on being,” to use a favorite idea from D.W. Winnicott.”
YES YES YES. I had never read or heard this feeling named, and you did it perfectly. Thank you for sharing 💖
I look forward to your writing for all the reasons that this essay clarifies. How you write so generously and rigorously all at once. Gentle and vigorous. How I'm still holding in my mind's eye the purple fingernails and the image of Lizzy Kaplan and my projected image of your child calling your attention to the blossoms. Thank you for this gift.