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.
One of the major things I miss about living close to my friend Erin is our little (and big) projects. We were just constantly deciding that we wanted to try things, and then doing them. All by ourselves. And they usually worked out! (I'd venture that our success rate has far more to do with Erin than with me, but I'm happy to bask in the residual glory.)
Like remember that time we just went ahead and transformed the exterior brick on my house?
Oh my god I LOVE THIS STORY. I'm in San Jose right now, plopped down at Alisa's dining room table, and I was all "ugh what should I write about today that involves NO FEELINGS WHATSOEVER."
"Food!" Alisa said. "You haven't written about food in forever!"
...This is true. So - and this is how I know Alisa is a true friend for the ages - she and I immediately set about figuring out what kind of brilliant recipe we could make right here and now, using ingredients that she already had. We dragged out her (perfectly organized, laminated, ughhhh) recipe binder, and started flipping through...and then we arrived at the Shasta Dip.
For those of you who've been following on my IG, you may be aware that I've been going through it a bit (ok, a lot) these past few days. I'm currently in San Jose because K has the kids for the next couple of days, and being with my girls seemed like a better idea than being alone. I know I'm being opaque, but it's simply because I'm not ready to write about what's been going on. I will when I can, though.
Couch rehab in progress
A few important points, before we begin:
Now. Recall the Ikea couch I bought shortly after I moved to LA? The one I was so excited about for a minute, before I realized that the words "white" and "couch" should never, ever go together when a house is inhabited by a) children, b) animals, and c) me?
Baby Me, baby Lucy
Going to be a bit Grinchy over here for a minute - shocker, I know! - so hold onto your hats. I care about the Fourth of July approximately as much as I care about New Year's Eve, which is also approximately as much as I care about Ivanka Trump's thoughts on the 'male-dominant' defense industry (which is to say: very close to zero, apart from the potential for mild entertainment via trainwreck).
Peruvian Vintage Frazada Pillows
I just ordered a few of these one-of-a-kind pillows for my couch, and think they're spectacular. They're made from vintage frazadas - durable wool fabrics hand-woven by the Aymara people, an indigenous nation located in the Andes. They're dyed using natural pigments created from plants and insects, and are all woven freehand into one-of-a-kind patterns. You can find them transformed into pillows (as shown here), rugs, wall hangings, blankets, and furniture coverings - but if you're in the market for pillows, you have to check out Moon Water Co.'s selection.
I LOVE coffee. I need coffee. Like, in my bones. And if you had told me - as Francesca did - that there was a drink out there capable of making me want to wake up and drink it more than I want to wake up and drink coffee, I would have said you were lying.
(Have I mentioned how much I hate having to admit I was wrong? I hate it.)
Anyway, I was staying over at Francesca's house and she was all "let me make you this amaaaaaazing drink with unsweetened cacao powder and raw honey!" and I was all "no, I need you to give me my caffeine and stop trying to make me a person who ingests things like unsweetened cacao powder." But then I - reluctantly, obviously - tried it anyway, and there you go:
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?
