Fiction, Self-Compassion, and Staying on the Bike

Lena had begun to increasingly gain speed on her bike, and as soon as she realized she was balancing without training wheels, she threw herself off, straight onto the sidewalk.

It didn’t only happen once, but the first time was on an early summer afternoon, not far from Dowses Beach, in Osterville, where she was used to spend every month of July with her family. Her father was originally from Massachusetts. Lena was 7, tanned, her light brown hair in a loose ponytail, a yellow tank top and shorts.

Her right knee bled, the left one was only bruised, scratched, not as badly wounded.

But she did not notice the red trail that had almost reached her ankle; all she could visually focus on was the disappointment in her father’s eyes and one of her brown sandals that had fallen not far from where he stood.

As the physical ache grew stronger, a warm sense of relief followed; as she gave in and focused on the pain from the wound, for just a moment, for one brief moment, she forgot how disappointed she was, too.

One thing that I miss about writing fiction, is the distant depth with which I could explore the truth of my life, of my experience, of my feelings. By assigning Lena my experience, in this example, I was able to look at myself from a distance, with a level of self-compassion I am still incapable of.

I was Lena.

I still am.

It’s been one month since the beginning of my year of surrender, my year without pursuing, and after the initial high of my “newly found freedom” as I recall having called it, I began to throw myself off the bike in order to avoid feeling the fear, the frustration, and the discomfort of just letting go.

But I have not pursued nonetheless; I am still in it.

I have been reading a lot, I spent less time obsessing over the news and watched more good TV. I have been researching, tasting new food, creating new recipes; I have also been dealing with severe stomach pain (which I am looking into). I even took a nap, one day.

We went to Disneyland on November 11th; it was Catherine’s first time. While we were in line for Pirates of the Caribbeans, Ben and I began to talk about that time we were in New Orleans.

He reminded me of an awful fight we had. It was during the 2016 tour with Mudcrutch.

I did not remember what the fight was about; we had many back then, and they were dark.

What I realized, however, as we stood in line waiting to board the boat that would take us along a fun journey of drunk pirates, compelling music, and underwater explosions, was that these 30 days without the hustle of the pursuit, had given me some space to notice the details, those uncomfortable ones I am often quick to dismiss. I do that, because I don’t want to face the truth that little Lena was so scared of life that she repeatedly self-sabotaged herself in order to avoid failure.

Lena chose her own pain and its very precise timing.

These first 30 days of pause have given me perspective, also. So a couple of days ago, I allowed myself to gain some speed, and for the first did not throw myself off the bike.

I did fall. And it wasn’t as bad as I had feared.

Updates:

– I will be at the Hollywood Farmers Market this Sunday, December 4th from 8 am to 1 pm at the corner of Ivar and Selma. I will be selling signed copies of my book at a special market price, as well as offering samples of some of my favorite recipes in it. Come see me, I have candy canes for the kids!

– I have opened winter classes: sign up on my Venmo (@culinaryselfcare)! We will be making dessert in January, and authentic Italian farinata in February. Alternatively, DM on Instagram for payment options. 

– I deleted my Twitter account.

– I finished a beautiful book by Jacqueline Woodson — Another Brooklyn — and continued Fanny Singer’s Always Home.

– Loving Wednesday on Netflix, Dead to Me, Somebody Feeds Phil, and The British Bakeoff.

Happy Holidays, guys.

I love you very much.

See you next month.

Alice