love.life.eat
a relentless pursuit of the perfect home + dish
there is so much magic in the world, still!
Posted on March 13, 2013
The clocks are sometimes tricky, always cruel. Sometimes they’re fakirs, whispering about time, how much has passed, how much of it is running out, and you start to believe the voices in your head until it’s all you hear. And then you succumb to the fiction and live your life trapped by voices that convince you that as time passes the magic fades. All the beauty of roots breaking ground, of water getting caught in our eye, of tumbling in the green with the one you love, of the we’ll never know another day such as this, of watching pink skies settle into the ocean, of tickling feet, of singing from the rafters — all of this, we’re told, suddenly dulls as we grow older. It loses its luster, becomes grey and cold, a photograph worth shredding. But I’m telling you that it isn’t. Whether you’re five, thirty-five, fifty-give, one hundred and five, there is magic in the world, still. You just have to open your eyes to it. You have to find it.
Two years ago I stood in front of the Indian Ocean and took this photograph. Back then I was obsessed with doing the maths. How much time I spent grieving a mother who was my first love and hurt, how much time I lost trying to ruin everything it was that I had, and so much time, so much of it, trying to figure out who that woman was — that woman who kept staring back from looking glasses each and every day. I was a house of regret, and all the while I was fixated on the losses that had been mounting, I didn’t open my heart to all that I had gained. In front of ticker tape of blue, grey sand and billowing trees, I could only see the magic, partially. All because I was determined to keep some of the dark in the kaleidoscope that was my heart, my life.
Funny how time sorts things. Undoes it, rips it apart, builds anew.
Today I found myself hugging my friend, telling her that she deserved this great happiness, this great life after so many years of loss and heartbreak. You deserve every moment of your happiness, all of it, I said. I thought it was a common thing to say, until I looked at my friend who blotted her eyes with tissues. Here was my friend, weeping with joy, and I was present to witness it. This is magic and a few simple words, unbeknownst to me, created it.
And I found myself coming back to this photograph and I can finally see it. Thirty-seven years later and I can see it as if I were newly born.
Two months ago I resigned from my job, and I don’t know what’s ahead of me, But I know this — I can finally see.
love.life.eat. of the week: inspiration, everywhere
Posted on February 22, 2013
Can I tell you that it feels as if I’ve been in a deep sleep from which I’ve only just woken up? All bleary-eyed, arms outstretched and groggy, I’m feeling my way through this new, strange world, trying to make sense of it. Trying to bring it all into focus. So imagine the magic that I’ve recently uncovered only because I’ve open my eyes to it.
When I was small my world was the anthesis of magic, so I would close my eyes and try to knit together a fantastical world that inspired. From Canadian pen pals to collecting colorful Lisa Frank stickers to writing stories likening my mother’s voice to thunder, magic was solely of my invention. I had to seek it out. Decades later I’m realizing that this is true too. You have to do some of the work to ferret out beauty, but when you find it, it’s truly a site to see.
love.: I always complain about going “uptown”, but I shut my trap and made the trek to the MET, and it was worth it. From the Matisse and George Bellow exhibits, to marveling over digital photography, my day was an invigorating one, and today’s post has a few of the photos from my visit.
Inspired by these 10 Essential Feminist Texts (Maxine Hong Kingston’s classic is a must-read). Friends have also recommend Karen Russel’s Vampires in the Lemon Grove, Caitlin Moran’s How to be a Woman, and Sheryl Sandberg’s much-hyped Lean In. Forever an ardent evangelist of literary fiction, I’m starting to creep out of my comfort zone by tackling smart non-fiction (btw, Reading Going Clear {an expose on Scientology} is infinitely more frightening than any horror movie).
life.: Karina’s simple + vividly fashioned post on taking risk; Frankie’s glimpse into the magic that is Marrakech; Windward’s post on magic, visualized; and the journey of one lawyer to travel writer and nomad is awe-inspiring.
eat.: My doctor gave me some woeful news: I have to cut down on carbs. But! But! What will I eat? How will I live? He responded to my usual dramatics with reasoning. Don’t cut them out completely {of course!} but just balance. A coworker pointed me to this yummy Turkey Quinoa Meatball recipe. I’ve also learned about Underground Eats {exclusive haute dining experiences}, City Grit {a store that converts to a culinary pop-up} and Cook + Go {culinary classes for the newbie cook}. This is what happens when I open my eyes and my heart to new friends and experiences.
prepare yourself for the giant…
Posted on February 16, 2013
Do you know who I am? I’m alive you understand, the life, the life, the life…Are you prepared for the atom bomb, are you prepared for my aching arms? Are you prepared, are you prepared? Are you prepared for serenity, are you prepared to disagree? Are you prepared, are you prepared for me — The Bird and the Bee’s “Preparedness”
We were a family of lottery players. We sharpened our pencils, selected numbers at random, and stood on a line that snaked the length of a city block, because we believed that all we needed was a dollar and a dream. Come nightfall we’d sit on the stoop, still wet from the johnny pump and the spray of Colt 45 that matted our hair to the backs of our necks, listening to the elders trade stories of what they’d do if they hit it big. Sadie said she was going to buy me a house where all the white people lived. Promising us that she’d stand on her lawn, defiant, knowing that they couldn’t get rid of me, even if they tried. Some mused about giant boats settling sail in a blue ocean. No one had ever seen waves swell, seen the beauty of them rise up and warble like a long note held. No one bore witness to the descent, to the waves crashing onto the shoreline. Back then the only water we’d seen poured out of spigots and sprayed out of pumps on the street.
Others hatched plans about taking a trip around the world although they secretly knew that the whole of their world would always be Brooklyn. Their prison was a ten-block radius, yet once a week they’d shuffle to the market with their dollar in tow, plotting escape.
Back then we were naive to believe that money bought you freedom. Back then we wanted the life we saw on our black and white television sets; we raged war with the wire rabbit ears to bring this life into focus. Back then we wanted the giant.
Recently, someone upbraided me for my decision to abandon a comfortable life. Think of all the money. Think about what you’re walking away from, she warned. Shaking my head I sighed and said that what I was running toward was infinitely richer. It was the ticking that was the bomb. Granted, I’m being smart about things. I’m squirreling away as much money as I can. I’m buying only what I need. I’m ridding myself of the unnecessary, the things that only bring me anxiety rather than sustenance. I’m making my preparations for the day when I’ll walk away from security to something other. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t worry about it, fret over my decision, a little. I’m pragmatic, cautious, but then I recall a conversation I had with my friend Kate a few years back. I considered renting a more expensive apartment than the one in which I’d lived, but worried that I wouldn’t have the money to pay for it in the long run. Kate told me that I should always bet on myself. I was my biggest investment and that I should nurture myself. The rent line would be stable and my potential could only grow — all things being equal, of course.
Ever since then I try to remind myself to bet on myself. To believe in myself. To know that I am the ticking that is the bomb. To know that money is actually the prison, not the thing that sets you free. To believe that I can break from third person and rush to first. That I can be the giant.
All this while having lunch at Campo de Fiori.
love.life.eat. of the week
Posted on February 10, 2013
love: Alexander Stille’s take on memoir writing: After all, in writing about my parents, wasn’t I something of a body snatcher? | The world through a child’s eyes: Bianca Giaever asked a six year old friend what her movie should be about, and this is the result | Alice Munro’s heartbreaking, soulful story collection, Dear Life | The glee I feel embarking on a book-buying blitzkrieg: Lawrence Wright’s exhaustively researched book on Scientology, Going Clear (read his New Yorker article, which was the impetus for the book), Matthew Sharpe’s You Were Wrong, because Matthew is our new Don DeLillo, and Ali Smith’s There but for the, because her writing is surprising and always puts me on pause.
life: my extraordinary life change | Discovering Frankie Thompson’s blog, an ex-Londoner who decided to leave it all and travel the world | Design Sponge’s really smart round-up on social media etiquette, do’s + don’ts.
eat: chocolate profiteroles with passion fruit | brown butter rosemary sage cornbread | white chocolate coconut banana s’mores
