the next thing
standing at the right distance
unedited journal entry vibe today friends, trying to get back to consistently writing!
Last week I walked around Golden Gate Park for most of Saturday, phone on airplane mode.
Every time I spend time alone in nature I wonder why I don’t do it more often. How beautiful it is. The curled splendor of the Monterey Cypresses. The variation of soft, deep, greens that expand outward: through the cracks in the pavement, the empty parking lots, the sprawling open space. The weightless golden light that collapses on the Panhandle in the evenings.
The dreamer inside of me out-negotiates my internal realist very often. I wrote this in my journal when I got home:
I really do love how being in SF makes you sincerely believe that everything is possible. That the future gleams just beyond reach. It makes me want to strive toward it, throw my whole heart toward it. But I also know that placing too much emphasis on the future makes one neglect the present. I’ve seen the ugly side of it. People who constantly hoard joy for a projected future: a forecasted world where the next thing is the source of satisfaction, success, importance. How some people become obsessed with the metrics, the trajectory. The human impulse to reach a hand into the void for the next thing to grasp onto. But it’s futile because there will always be a next thing, closely followed by the next thing after that. We graduate from one wanting to the next. It’s hard to accept where you are right now when you’re always barreling towards the future, when you place joy in the future tense.
Sheila Heti: To find the right distance from everything in life is the most important thing. Like God standing back from the canvas — you can’t see anything when you’re too up close. I realize I’ve been standing so close, nose-to-canvas, my whole life. I often forget to yank myself up to the surface to situate myself, give myself context. All my mind wants to do is think, when what I really need is to feel.
So I’m setting myself some goals to disconnect from the world more often (aka stop being so goddamn terminally online). I’ve been trying my hardest to stand back. See the bigger picture. Tend to the current moment. Be calmer, less anxious, less neurotic. Learn to love the current me, despite knowing I have so much I want to change, build, do. I recognize all this is much easier said than done lol.
But I really do wonder. I wonder what it feels like to walk through the long grass, reap in the sweetness — not to build anything or do anything, just to exist and know what that feels like. Lie down and look at the clouds moving in slow motion. I wonder what it feels like to suspend time in this quiet, intimate moment, where I don’t have to think about the next thing at all.
Things I’m consuming
Over the past 2 weeks I re-read Art as Therapy by Alain de Botton (so good!), Pure Color by Sheila Heti, and This is Your Mind on Plants by Michael Pollan
“I won’t be damaged, I won’t be overstretched. I know what really matters and what doesn’t. That too, is love”
Upcoming: The Fruit Thief, one way journey into the interior by Peter Handke, No One is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood, M Train by Patti Smith
French song of the week
Obsession of the week
I’ve been obsessed with diving and exploring unique architecture and interior design recently. Sharing Tas Careaga’s 3 year project in renovating an ‘old church in ruins’ and turning it into his dream studio/loft and Alexandre Betak’s parisian home.
Photos of the Week
Feature of the Week
Many of you know my dearest (and very talented) friend Justine who I used to write Kopi Club (our old newsletter) with — I deeply miss our co-writing on the couch. I wanted to feature some of her beautiful photography here in honor of springtime coming around again: