I lost my zeal for national pride somewhere in the 2010s, far later than I should have, after learning about colonialism and what it means to be a white person in a settler state.
And yet I do not want to be in a settler state occupied by a bigger, more powerful settler state.
You can like where you live and still see the problems with that. I criticize because this is my home, this is the land my ancestors thought would give us a better life, and hey, I don’t get my hands dirty and have oranges more than once a year.
I live three blocks up from the navy shipyard.
Will someone tell me when the worst has happened?
The 2020 of it all, I say to my therapist, trying to describe the existential dread. She tilts her head, waiting for me to expand as I always do, but how I can describe the feeling of reading about an unknown pneumonia in the paper after Christmas, and knowing it would change everything? And recognizing that same feeling now?
We agree that I need to throw up some guardrails to stop the doomscrolling.
There are limits on my apps, and limits on my phone after a certain hour. It works.
Knitting has become one of my main hobbies. I made a mini shawl. Wrist warmers. A headband. Dishcloths. And now, pursuing new techniques.
I buy a pattern book at my local yarn store, the weekend before Lent.
I make some notes in my journal about what I’m fasting from this year.
I will stumble during the week of the time change, my head swimming in exhaustion.
“Exhaust ion” is the auto-correct term for exhaustion, and I’m further exhausted by the enshittification of everything.
I don’t check to see what the lavender cold foam is made of in the drink I order one morning at Starbucks. It’s cream. My body pays for it later, but it tastes like spring.
I take some Lactaid and get another one the following day, with extra lavender cold foam.
There is something radical and beautiful about wearing something that you made yourself.
My dad texts to ask if I can pick up two 6-packs of drinking glasses next time I’m at IKEA. He stresses that it is not an emergency.
There are few emergencies in life, even in an emergency environment.
I could go for an IKEA hot dog.
I’m taking wins, and the little pleasures, as much as I can these days. So, the extra lavender cold foam. An actual win, in the form of an Instagram giveaway from a local bookstore where I got a book and a movie download. A radiant 12-month progress report at work, where I’m still a little untenured librarian III. The intense satisfaction from seeing the roosimine pattern come together on my current knitting project.
A month ago, I was on a Caribbean cruise with my family. My in-laws, to be more precise. My blood family would never get on a cruise ship, and to be honest, I didn’t think I would either and I didn’t fall in love with cruising but I liked it enough to say I’d go again.
I’ve been thinking about that oasis of calm we had - not because cruises are exceptionally relaxing, but because we deliberately cut ourselves off from the world for a week.
I did get a sunburn, though. I kept sweating the sunscreen off on my hairline.
My beautiful and precious kitten hated her catsitter and was overjoyed to have us home. She behaved perfectly for almost a week after.
I love my cat and I missed her on the cruise.
Yesterday the weather was in the double digits and everyone is as outside getting sun. We had a drink on the patio at the brewery downstairs, the first of the season.
An early patio day always unlocks something in my brain.
I asked my partner what kind of fruit he wanted at the grocery store, and he replied “Not American.”
My youngest nephew looks at me across the table at the restaurant for his family birthday party and tells me he loves me, spontaneously.
Later, he’ll tell me I’m not his best friend. His brother, who maintains that I’m the best person in the whole world, announces he’s my best friend when I say I have an opening for one.
I keep waking up with a headache.
I keep dithering about moving this newsletter off of Substack, which is part of why I haven’t written since Christmas. I remain undecided about what I want to pursue, but I still want to write.
I think I’ll get another drink with lavender cold foam tomorrow, to stave off the dread.
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This post reminds me of another I read this morning about finding the good. Creating our beautiful pockets of life because too few people are willing to do what needs doing to stop what’s happening. So instead of the doomscrolling(guilty) or trying to throw yourself into helping as many people as possible, just trying to rest and help yourself. To find the joy even when it feels so unnatural. So that’s what I’m focusing on in this 2020 of it all time.
Alison, the form you chose for this piece is perfection. I have missed your words. Good to have you back regardless of circumstances. I feel everything you wrote.