being your "selves"
on containing multitudes
This will be a long one, but first and foremost, happy birthday to Charli XCX—you’re not reading this, but I love you. Thank you for your genius and wisdom. And also thank you so much for Brat.
August is my birthday month, so this and the next post (which will be published on my birthday) are sure to be a bit reflective.
I know you’ve probably heard Walt Whitman’s famous quote (referenced in the subtitle of today’s newsletter) many times if you exist on social media or in the literary world in any capacity. This is not an original conversation, but one I think is necessary to revisit if you’re feeling a bit down on yourself (I am projecting).
The last few months have brought a lot of confusion and chaos (why I’ve been slow to hit your inbox with a funky-fresh newsletter twice per month as I had initially endeavored). At the end of May, my aunt passed away. She is a pillar in my childhood memories and one of the adults I turned to for essential wisdom. She was also a huge supporter of my writing, and she was a loyal reader of this newsletter. I didn’t picture my summer starting off with a funeral for someone I love, and I feel like I’ve been going through the motions ever since.
I think the combination of barreling towards 30, experiencing the changes and emotions associated with aging, and living through recent events have left me feeling a bit…empty. That sounds grim, but hear me out. I sort of feel hopeful because an emptying lends to a replenishing, or at least makes room for it, right? This is, at least, the delusion I’m choosing lately.
I’ve spent so much of my life figuring out who I wanted to be and how I wanted to present myself, and in the last few years, I’ve really tried to exhume a version of myself who never even understood she was being perceived. In my youth, I thought of nothing but the worlds I could build in my head. I devoured the The Magic Tree House and Secrets of Droon series. At one point, I pretended to be a witch and made everyone call me “Spider” for a week. I was obsessed with airplanes and being in the sky. I was an athlete and a ballerina and a budding classical pianist, and I explored new landscapes within each. I was also clumsy, and my clothes were constantly covered stains from the foods I heartily enjoyed. I didn’t care that my friend’s mom asked why my hair was always messy.
Sometime in middle school, I understood I should hide the goofiest, “weirdest”, messiest parts of myself in order to assimilate. I traded my beloved swishy Adidas pants for the skinny jeans I swore I would never wear because they were “too girly”. I straightened my already pin-straight hair. I got blonde highlights and wore thick eyeliner. I felt I had to be a certain kind of person, as a lot of us do, and adopted trends or assimilating behaviors through my formative years, and that never really started to taper until I hit my late 20s.
But I don't want to discount these experiences that deviated from and followed the carefree nature of my youth. Part of growing up is learning you are not an invincible center of the universe. I also don’t think we would change so much if some part of us didn’t need it on some molecular level. I have spent enough of my energy on criticizing or cringing at the adolescent and younger 20s versions of myself. Now, I want to express my gratitude for the people I used to be and for the pieces of them that assemble the mosaic of my identity.
I learned I can love things that seem at opposition with one another—”opposition” stemming from some antiquated gendered perspective—and I learned I can love parts of who I’ve been while also outgrowing the identity to which they were anchored. I outgrew the thick eyeliner of my tween years and learned I love playing with simple makeup in my adulthood. I learned I actually do love fashion through shopping so much as a teen, and I’ve returned to a style that feels the most “me” it ever has, complete with track pants and chunky knits. I still love reading for hours, and I love rotting in front of a screen. I loved sports and ballet as a kid, and now I love running (and, okay, let’s be honest, I also love not running). I love woodworking and I love learning how to do gel nails. We can and should exist in this multiplicity, this andness—no buts and no ors.
A handful of things that make me feel like myself:
Living near a large body of water
I moved to Cleveland after college, and I fell in love with Lake Erie. I’d go on my saddest days and celebrate my happiest moments there. I lived in Columbus for most of my mid-late 20s, and I craved the lake like nothing else. The summer before we moved back to Cleveland (2022), we would drive two hours north to the lake for a day trip, sometimes weekends in a row. I was essentially inconsolable until I was waist-deep in the water. There was just something so unnerving about being landlocked. My brain chemistry changed when we moved back, and now we live just 10 minutes from the water. I still spend my worst and best days here. There’s some truth to that old prescription of sending an ailing woman to the seashore.
Listening to instrumental music
I grew up playing piano and guitar, and I’ve always loved classical and folk music. Over the years, my love of those genres has grown into a love of ambient, contemporary instrumental, and jazz. One of my favorite records of all-time is Romantic Piano by Gia Margaret. We also have a small-but-mighty collection of jazz records, and while I gravitate towards João Gilberto & Stan Getz in the summer, I seek the richness of Thelonious Monk with John Coltrane when the weather turns cooler.
Reading poetry
I feel like the internet maybe doesn’t know this about me, but poetry is a huge part of my life and has been for over a decade. I had a creative writing minor in college and completed an honors thesis which was essentially a manuscript of 50 poems with an analytical introduction. Poetry and writing are an essential tool I use to recalibrate. I absolutely love writing, reading, and sharing poetry (though never my own). You can peep some of my favorite poetry collections here.
Playing with makeup
One of my favorite parts of my day is the meditation of putting on makeup. I’ve played with different intensities and iterations of my “daily face” for years. In the last year, I’ve found the most comfort in a simple, dewy face with Merit’s noncomedogenic (+ vegan + cruelty-free) products.
My routine is a few swipes of Clean Lash mascara (it’s a tubing mascara that comes off easily with water at the end of the day—I’ve gone through three of these), Day Glow highlighter in “Cava” and a little of the Minimalist Complexion Stick in “Dune” for my dark circles on particularly bad asthma days. I love pinks, so I’ll add some Flush Balm in “Cheeky” (I also just finished one in “Raspberry Beret” last month) and Solo Shadow in “Social” (which is one of the only eyeshadows I’ve tried that doesn’t irritate my eyes). If you’re interested in trying some of my favorite products, you can shop a discounted summertime glow set here (+ first orders come with the makeup bag pictured above)!
Drinking coffee with my husband
This is so simple, but there’s nothing like spending time with the person who knows you best in this world on a free weekend morning. One of my favorite things is having a cup of coffee with him in the morning. Some of our favorite roasters are Heart, Blind Tiger, and Coffee Collective. I was a barista for many years, and he developed a deep interest in specialty coffee before we even met, so coffee has always brought us together. We’re also lucky enough to live within walking distance of at least three excellent coffee shops. If we go out for coffee, we usually grab an oat cappuccino and an iced americano, but sometimes we split a single origin espresso and a pour over if we’re sitting in. Plus, I feel my most creative when I’m adequately caffeinated.
Making things with my hands
I love hobby hopping, and I love making things with my hands. It makes me less anxious and removes me from negative cyclical thought patterns. A few years ago, I worked for a little while hand-building guitars, and it reignited my excitement for learning new skills. I learned how to crochet shortly after I quit that job. I recently took up sewing again, and I’ve loved making clothes that truly fit me (I love The Essentials Club for free sewing tutorials). I learned how to knit and do gel nails last year, and both have been a welcome lesson in patience.
We are allowed to be all of the selves we have accumulated, and they can cohabitate. As much as I adore Sylvia Plath, her idea that we have to choose one fig—one version, self, or path—and the rest of the figs (paths) shrivel and die seems to undermine that idea that we are mercurial, flexible, adaptable humans (not to mention that, a page later, her protagonist [Esther Greenwood] also admits that she was just hungry and the fig tree didn’t seem so bleak after all).
And now, as I feel so lost, I have the opportunity to grow the best parts of these versions to fill this pocket that this last bit of life has left within me. I know what I love, I’m constantly learning to love new things, and I can bask in the fact of that until I feel upright again.
Thanks for tuning in <3
This is so beautiful to read.
Reading this today on my birthday and it was just what I needed! Thanks!