I recorded this interview with Leo Flowers for his mental health podcast on the same day that I published the post about my breakup...and to say it got interesting would be an understatement.
He - meaning the host of the podcast - did this. To a woman he was dating. Like, RECENTLY. So I think it's safe to say that I had a few questions to ask him.
Go ahead and give it a listen.
I’ve been writing and talking a lot these past few weeks about vulnerability. Authenticity. And the realizations I’ve had about myself as a result of all this writing and talking have been pretty fucking humbling.
So. Because I cannot write or talk about anything else, I'm going to tell you what happened.
Listen to the podcast interview in which I discuss what I learned from this here.
Sometimes I read older posts of mine, and I can't remember having written them; it's the oddest thing. I remember the feelings, of course, but then I read the words, and it's like they were typed out by someone else. Someone who understood me intensely, yes, but certainly not me.
That's been happening a lot these past few days: I'm looking for a recipe, or a reference, and I happen across one of these older posts...and it feels less like a memory than like a letter from a friend, telling me everything will be okay.
Me, in a beautifully produced video, being open. Or something.
A few weeks ago, my therapist said to me something that left me reeling. Jordan, she said, I have known you for years. And you are one of the least authentic people I have ever met.
How's that for a compliment?
Tarrytown, New York, with Dad on Friday
Something has been in the air these past few days, and I've been having one beautiful little experience after the other. So I thought I'd tell you about them.
It started on my flight to New York, where I currently am for my high school reunion (more on that in a mo'). The woman in front of me was traveling with her kids, and one of them - the baby - started fussing, and immediately the woman next to her said, "Oh, let me hold him," and then just...helped her. The whole way to JFK. I passed stray toys that I found at the bottom of my backpack to the older one through the crack in the seat, and the flight attendant brought extra snacks and helped fill bottles, and there we were: A miniature village of women at 36,000 feet.
