#85 Life's Nudges, the Paris Review, LA and Love

Prompts and Storytelling and Pamela Anderson. xx

I keep seeing a graphic circulating—welcome to the 72nd day of January. I’m two days behind. I'm rushing to cross my T’s here so that it’s posted today, Friday, not too close to Sunday’s usual share, but it’s not Friday; it’s Wednesday. I’m reading articles and perusing art from the 1970s. I’m scrambling from volunteering to an appointment and sorting 10 texts in between. I’m anticipating how I’ll sort out more for myself before I turn the chapter of a new decade. Booking trips. Buying groceries. My body—exhausted. I fell asleep on our wool rug midday while my daughter sat nearby yesterday—I’ve napped perhaps 5x in the last 15 years, primarily due to the days of pregnancy, yesterday just because my body said no more. Maybe it’s my soul that’s tired. Pulling me to the floor to offer rest to myself. She’s mulling over too much lately.

On my 30th birthday, my friend’s friend came to the party. She gave me a gift wrapped in pretty paper. It was thoughtful. We liked each other—we weren’t close, but I felt we saw each other in a way that was true and kind. The Paris Review. A purple cover with a floral pattern. “Thank you.” Later that week, my friend who introduced us asked, “Do you know what The Paris Review is?” “No.”

It’s interesting, really—the way a nudge comes. The way when you pull yourself outside of your own way—when you put yourself somewhere you don’t belong, or maybe do, the way things can happen.