I. dull roots spring rain
The city is blossoming, and it seems that everyone is going through it.
April is for rekindling: it’s been ages! I say over and over at dinner, drinks, walks with friends I haven’t seen since the fall. I’m always surprised at how much has changed and even more so how much has stayed the same. Underneath the new plot developments, new side characters, new sets, the familiarity is there. Co-workers I’ve known are the same at 29 as they were at 22.
There is something it seems in april that we all feel. The teases of spring, the biting cold, the days of rain. It feels like we’re at the precipice. Somethings is shifting beneath us, eclipses and earthquakes, literally and existentially
II. proof of life
I’m on the 5pm acela to Washington D.C. watching the blur of midatlantic town scenes. There’s a baby that hasn’t stopped crying, and the train car is packed and too warm. I had been looking forward to this train ride all week for some undisturbed time to write but now I’m in a bad mood with nothing in my head.
The elderly woman next to me spends the entirety of the train ride staring listlessly around us, with seemingly nothing better to do except watch and wait. I stare down at “train ride to-do list” on my screen and wonder if she’s actually the sane one.
All week I’ve been filled with inspiration — fragments of dinner conversations I’ve texted to myself, ideas I’ve compiled into a notes app, waiting to be picked apart. I’ve been writing lately in spurts and starts where every post feels like a herculean effort. I thought maybe I was exiting my creative block, but 3 hours and 90 words later “finish substack” is still an unchecked box on my to-do list.
III. entering the whirlpool
It’s pouring outside and I’m sitting in damp clothes at a small brooklyn seafood place catching up over a crisp bottle (or two) of wine. We’re talking about the dreaded topic of aging, and finding meaning in your late 20s. T presents a theory: How much of our existential dread would be wiped out if we had children?
He continues, if you were to ask me what the meaning of life is, it would probably be some convoluted answer threading relationships and fulfillment and impact but if you ask my parents what the meaning of life is, they’d answer simply, ‘their kids’.
His point isn’t that we need to all have children, of course, but more about fighting things that we are biologically wired to do.
On the train back from dinner, I glance over at the subway mosaic in bryant park. Every time I see it I find it unnerving: “nature must not win the game but she cannot lose”.
IV. shall we dance?
When was the last time you were drunk, Rhys asks me at a birthday dinner.
I don’t remember, and neither does he. There was a time where I’d be going out to places like this every weekend, but after a certain point none of the nights became new anymore.
On the way there I had capped myself at one drink so I could have a productive Sunday, but now I’m tipsy enough to change my mind. Shall we have a crack, he laughs.
Two hours later, I’m 2 martinis and 1 or 2 vodka sodas deep in a room with heavy beats and no lyrics. It’s familiar, nostalgic even, to see your friends in a room making questionable decisions and drinking enough to feel regret in the morning.
The next morning I wake up to a sunday miracle: i’m not hungover.
V. memory and desire
On a late night google, I learn that the subway mosaic is an art installation referencing an excerpt from carl jung’s work. There’s a nytimes article where a reporter interviews commuters trying to parse through its meaning. Some people think it’s a reference to physical nature, how civilizations will rise and fall while others believe it’s a reference to human nature and a call back to our biological wiring.
The full quote goes like this: Nature must not win the game, but she cannot lose. And whenever the conscious mind clings to hard and fast concepts and gets caught in its own rules and regulations - as is unavoidable and of the essence of civilized consciousness - nature pops up with her inescapable demands.
As I get older, I find myself inventing more rules and regulations that I make myself beholden to. Sleep early on weekdays. No more than 2 drinks at dinner. Keep a clean house and declutter your mind. Spend less time scrolling, more time working. Little tasks that refresh every 24 hours to feel in control.
In finance, there are black swan events, acts of god, divine intervention, acts of the universe. So much of our lives are out of our control. It is good to have routines that make us feel productive, that keep us grounded, that make our lives easier. But nature tends towards entropy and we are part of nature — there is merit in holding fastly to our rules but also value in letting go.
this felt so weirdly parallel and comforting - late 20s feels like the pocket of time little expressed but heavily felt ... too old to disregard rules entirely and act on whim, too young to live by them and leave no room for spontaneity
I always love reading your work! I found this one to be riddled with synchronicities from my journey as well. The photos at the end seem to serve as a nice reminder that beauty can be found if we only remember to be receptive of what's around us.