December Newsletter

In the past month, I did a lot of driving, including today, December 30th, from Los Angeles to Joshua Tree. There is something about the road that makes me want to write, that makes me want to linger, that makes me want to keep driving.

When my mom left, after Ben’s procedure, at the beginning of November, I knew that I would have to drive a lot, taking care, on my own, of Catherine’s drop off and pick up daily, as well as of Ben’s visits, birthday parties, playdates, afternoon activities, whilst working on the busiest season of the year.

When my mom left, after Ben’s procedure, I didn’t know that I would want to linger, to keep driving.

 “Buckle up, love of my life,” I’d tell Catherine as we headed to school at 7:40 in the morning. Music always changed, but starting November 24^th it was mostly Christmas. “Yes, mama,” she always smiled, beautiful, in her uniform, a few weeks shy of turning 6.

I would then drive back home, to drive somewhere else shortly after. 

A week went by. 

After dropping Catherine off, I would often switch from Christmas music to LAist for the news, or to First Wave on Sirius XM – tired, not showered, in fear, with so many thoughts buzzing in my head, that they all began to no longer matter, suffocating each other with their stories, importance, reasons to be. 

One day, mid-December, traffic was particularly slow on the 134E, so I decided to take the Forrest Lawn Drive exit, and drive through Griffith Park to return home. It was 8:20 in the morning, I took a sip of my collagen coffee and played a random album on Tidal, that I had downloaded a while back. 

I was so distracted then
I didn’t have it straight in my head
I didn’t have my face on yet or the role or the feel
Of where I was going with it all
I was suffering more than I let on
The tropic morning news was on
There’s nothing stopping me now
From saying all the painful parts out loud

Tropic Morning News, from The First Two Pages of Frankestein – The National

How had I overlooked the profound beauty of this album? What else was I overlooking? 

I began to slow down.

I began to take the Forest Lawn exit every day, even when traffic didn’t require it. I began to pay attention to the details of my drive, the imperfection of the road, people getting ready to play golf, the dog walkers, the empty playgrounds.  

Day after day, I found myself being inspired by lyrics, by the people walking on the path, and even by the grey KIA ahead of me who went impossibly slow – a very old man at the wheel – why did it bother me so much? I was surrounded by green in many shades, the window, rolled down just enough, let in the brisk air of a beautiful Californian winter; I wasn’t in a hurry.

***

This month, I came to recognize that I had judged a person only recently met. Not only had I judged, but I had also built an entire (and quite intricate) narrative around them.

“Maybe there’s something you have to learn from them,” Ben laughed one day, after once again hearing me complain. 

“I don’t think so,” I had quickly brushed him off, very secure about what I saw, thought, and felt. I was irritated at the thought that someone who bothered me so much would have something to teach me. 

I am writing all this with a bruised ego. For not only was I wrong about this person, but the entire narrative that I had built around them, for fear, mine, of inadequacy, was so far from the actual story that it forced me to take a serious look at my behavior: “Why did I judge? What was I afraid of?”

I was ashamed.

“I do this all the time,” I told my friend Marthe just a few days ago. I felt a sense of relief as I shared the burden, and began to understand where I hurt. We sat at a café on Sunset Blvd., in Echo Park, eating a delicious fish sandwich. “I do this with everything in life,” I said, enjoying the tingle that the pickle covered in mustard seeds had left on my tongue, cutting through the oil of the fried sea bass.  

I judge everything that happens to me. I judge everything that doesn’t happen when and how I have decided is right; I build narratives around every event that occurs (or that doesn’t). 

I was wrong about that person.

So what if my narrative about everything that doesn’t match my requirement and demands is wrong as well? What if I can be pleasantly surprised when things don’t go my way? What if I can learn something new from them, just like I did from that person? 

I judged the drop off and pick up from school, only to later understand that those long drives had allowed me to continue writing my book in my head and on iPhone notes, to discover new inspiring music, and to carve out that quality time with myself that I so longed for. 

A few days before Christmas, I attended a beautiful party, hosted by one of my best friends. 

“I can’t really knit,” I said to another guest. We were talking about art, and hobbies, “I tried so hard!”

“Maybe it’s because you tried so hard,” she said with a smile on her face. Her beautiful, long, white hair seemed to sparkle, in the magic of the warm room decorated to perfection for the holidays. 

I am not one for resolutions, but there is one thing I know I want to change moving forward: I want to stop trying so hard! I want to keep it simple, judge less, be more open to what comes, what is, what isn’t… I don’t have the energy to build narratives that crumble like shortbread, but that don’t feed me or even taste sweet. 

I want, as my friend Jaclyn says, to stay the course and keep following the breadcrumbs…

“I wish I could soar like you, Pegasus,” said Mae Mae D. “How do you do that?”

“Sometimes less is more Mae Mae,” said the great horse. “You flap too much. Flying is about catching the wind and moving with it, not beating it to death.”

From The Fantastic Adventures of Mae Mae D & The Clownfish by Ian Jack (a book I read to Catherine a few evenings ago, right before writing this newsletter)

***

– I have opened new winter cooking classes, sign up on Venmo. 

– Thank you for helping me selling out the entire 2023 cookie mix production. I am working on new, improved labels and more and more stores will be carrying them in 2024!

– Happy New Year, my friends! 

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young

Forever Young, Bob Dylan