Edition #148: The Girl Who Lived on Mars
Plus, 30 pieces of advice, a really good TV show, and Thalassotherapy
A Note From the Editor
The first thing you should know about her is that she isn’t a Martian. Not full Martian, anyway. If she were to do one of those 23andMe tests, she suspects it would confirm that she is at least 10-12% Martian. Sadly, those tests are not yet sophisticated enough to detect extraterrestrial blood, but I’ve heard it’s a priority for Q4.
The girl knew, since she was quite young, that she must be part Martian. Her first clue was the warts. It started with one—a small, unassuming speck of imperfection sprouting overnight on her pointer finger. Not so bad. Within weeks, however, the warts took on a life of their own, spreading all over her small fingers, beneath and around her nails, then jumping onto her knees, which she took great care to conceal beneath bandaids. When the warts continued to multiply, evicting what was left of her untarnished knee skin, band-aids could no longer cover the affected surface area. She took to wearing pants—which she didn’t prefer, by the way, because they were quite hot and felt constricting.
The Human kids in her class called her a witch on account of the warts, and she considered this possibility for a number of years. A witch, perhaps that was what she was. To test the theory, she attempted to summon her witchy powers. At night on her knees, she prayed for wicked, unspeakable things. She sat in front of the mirror and inspected her young face, thinking of all the improvements that could be made to make her beautiful enough that her crush would like her back and everyone would be dying to be her friend. Fuller lips, for one. Blue eyes, maybe, and that flowy sort of hair. Surely, her witchy powers should have been strong enough to alter her appearance or, at the very least, to turn her wicked dreams into reality. None of it happened, though, and one day the warts disappeared as quickly as they’d come. It turned out she was not part witch after all.
The idea to move to Mars didn’t come until much later in life. Once the freedoms associated with childhood wore off, the girl learned she would need to be way less strange and way more normal if she wanted to make it on Planet Earth. She swallowed a part of herself, put on a big smile, and quieted the voice in her brain that demanded she do a little jig in public when no one was watching. When her mind said, “What would you find if you could freeze time and look through everyone’s bag right now?” she shoved the question away and instead, ran for Homecoming Court at her high school (she lost; the girl was not universally likable). When she met other young women and felt tempted to ask whether they ever sniffed their floss or if they hated anyone in their family, she let the curiosity seep from her soul and instead joined a sorority. The girl became so good at playing Normal Human that she had everyone convinced, including herself.
You see, there was a trick the girl learned as life sped up with the passing years. It was a Human trick, and it seemed to the girl like all the grown-up Humans learned it when they reached a certain age: If you go fast enough, you do not have to think or feel. Or, in the girl’s case, you can ignore that weird little voice for so long that it almost goes silent.
Because the girl was, in fact, part Human and not full Martian, she was born with the special Human power of knowing. The voice always told her the truth—this doesn’t feel good, you can trust that person, that isn’t the best idea. Sometimes the voice wasn’t a voice, but a feeling burrowed deep in the girl’s stomach. But the girl didn’t want to listen to the voice, she just wanted to be like everybody else. That seemed easier. So she ignored her special Human power. She moved fast, thoughtlessly, and she got a Gold Star for staying right in her lane. To cope, she drank a lot of wine and spent time with Human boys she didn’t find very interesting.
It isn’t a sad story, though, so don’t feel bad for the girl. For eventually, another special Human power activated: the wake-up alarm clock that screams when denial has continued on for too long. Irritated by its ruckus and unable to turn it off, the girl knew something needed to change.
Slowly, slowly, the girl started crawling back to her original state. Freedom and weirdness, embracing the fact that to be herself, she’d need to be a touch less likable to a handful of Very Normal Humans. She considered that distant 12% Martian blood flowing through her veins—that could be why everything had been so hard, she thought. She was denying her origins. The girl decided, right then and there, that she would move to Mars; be among her own. She’d spend enough time with the Humans and they were squeezing her dry.
The day the girl first arrived on Mars, it was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The colors! The textures! Everything was strange and wonderful, nothing was as it seemed. Her favorite part about Mars was the tunnels. She’d approach something that looked entirely normal, at first—the entrance of a grocery store, say—and she’d go inside. The music would be a low- consistent screech, not like any Human song she’d ever heard, and the store lights would be florescent blue instead of neutral white.
She might browse the store for a few minutes, but always, when her gaze lingered on a bundt cake at the bakery or a filet of cod at the fish counter, a tunnel would appear. In she’d go, and the tunnel would lead her somewhere else entirely—to an open field, an old-timey cafe, a war-ridden hospital. The tunnels were full of surprises. I don’t want to tell you too much about them, in case you ever find yourself on Mars. It’s better when they’re a surprise. But the tunnels made the girl love being on Mars, so much so that hours could pass, days, weeks, months, and she would forget that she ever lived on Earth.
She’d met a few other Martians over time. They were nice enough. Though they didn’t share the same social cues as Humans, they made her think more deeply, and they confirmed her suspicion that she was part Martian. Very Normal Humans, her Martian brethren confided, couldn’t access Mars if they tried. Half Normal Humans might make it past the planet’s magnetic field, but they’d be so afraid of what they saw that they’d go running and screaming back to Earth. Only Humans with a bit of Martian blood could make it there, even fewer opted to stay for so long. I heard Elvis Presley was living on Mars, as well as all those people from the disappeared plane, but I cannot confirm or deny that rumor.
Even though the girl loved life on Mars, even though she never tired of its tunnels, its silence and sound, the stimulation, she could not bring herself to abandon Earth altogether. She missed her friends, her family. When she shared this, the Martians were cold. They said this proved she was more like a Human and less like them. Too sentimental, they said. They wondered how she could miss Normal Humans, those who would never fully understand her because they simply did not share her part Martian bloodline. They were only Human, to no fault of their own.
How could she explain to the Martians the way it felt when she was lying on the couch, her head cradled in the lap of her sister as they gossiped and laughed so hard their eyes teared up? How could she possibly convey the warmth that filled her entire, mostly Human body when she thought about a visit with two of her very best friends, the way they’d all three cuddle in bed in the mornings after a sleepover to drink coffee and recount their dreams? How could she articulate the complexity of being mostly Human, of letting the faces and names of those she loved flicker in her mind every night before bed? She couldn’t, so she didn’t try. She only promised the Martians she would be back. She suspected they might miss her, though they would never admit it. Martians are more intellectual than sentimental.
If you ever find yourself on Mars, strolling through one of the planet’s many tunnels, keep an eye out for the girl. She still visits as often as she can. You’ll know it’s her because she’ll look you in the eye for a beat too long. She’s only Human, after all.
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Cheers, my dears, and as always thanks for reading. This week’s essay was inspired by one of my favorite poets, my talented friend Molly Zhu. Molly has been working on a series of somewhat sci-fi, somewhat autobiographical, and very much whimsical poems in this vein, and I wrote today’s essay after thinking about one such poem, The Girl With No Hands. Give it a read, it’s pure gold.
Have a lovely weekend! I am currently living my best West Coast life in Venice Beach, where I’ve been biking everywhere, grocery shopping at every overpriced neighborhood store and Farmer’s Market within a five-mile radius, and sitting at the beach holding in happy tears. I’m headed to Calgary Monday for a week-long writing assignment, so I’m going to spend this weekend mostly relaxing and hopefully getting a surf in. Get yourself a donut this weekend! Take a dip in the ocean, go see a matinee!
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And one more thing—I’m sure you’ve read about the fires that devastated Maui yesterday. The town that primarily got destroyed was Lahaina, a place I spent a year living in 2015. Lahaina is where the locals live, kama'aina that have been on Maui for generations.
On Front Street, the main drag in Old Lahaina town, there was an old Banyan tree that had been there since 1873. Boats led by marine biologists would take tourists out to see the mother whales who migrate to Maui’s waters to fatten up their young every year as they prepare for the long swim back to Alaska. Surfers would catch waves at Lahaina Breakwall. Many of the historic buildings in the area were constructed from wood, which only made the fire more vicious.
It wasn’t a town with much nightlife, but every Halloween Front Street would close and the costumed masses would descend. You’d think you were in New Orleans with the amount of buzzy energy you’d feel that evening—but by midnight, everything would shut down and people would go home. Lahaina was for mornings; for strong coffee at a local cafe, sunrise surfs, the possibility of the sprawling day ahead. So much history, so much culture and life destroyed overnight. It breaks my heart.
There isn’t endless habitable space on the island—the coastline on the entire East side of Maui is protected land—so I worry about where these people will go, what sort of support they’ll be met with. Please consider donating to the Maui Strong Fund if you can. I’m praying hard for those Maui residents right now. If you or a loved one is currently in Maui, I’m sending light and love your way.
Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
30 Pieces of Unsolicited Advice. This is one of those pieces you’ll want to bookmark and revisit several times, as it is a lot of deep, thought-provoking advice that feels difficult to digest in one go. I appreciate Patricia Mou’s philosophically-rooted approach to navigating life’s complexities. I especially felt connected to numbers 5, 6, 14, and 26. but number 11 shifted something in me—I’d never heard of the concept before and it has been a supremely useful, grounding mantra when I’ve faced various challenges in life recently.
5 Things I Learned At a Drinks Party. I’ve learned a lot about entertaining from Cup of Jo over the years, one of the most useful bits being that you can simply put out a bowl of potato chips as an appetizer when you’re having people over for dinner. Genius This piece was equally joyful and useful. I love the chill, low-pressure approach of a drinks party, I adore the signature batched cocktail in a glass bottle, and I’m going to use the something-warm-at-the-end trick next time I host.
50 Rappers, 50 Stories. I grew up listening to rap music with my older brother and have always maintained a love for the poetry that is rap music. This project by the New York Times wowed me—such a cool execution. Reading about how some of my favorite rappers got started, the pre-social-media and internet world hustle, and the way they influenced and supported each other in this super digestible format was very inspiring. Imagining Eminem feeling like he should just give up after hearing an amazing new album drop when he was younger just tugged at my little heartstrings. Rappers, they’re just like us!
Perhaps You Should…Watch The Bear
I’m late to the party here, but I recently started watching season one of The Bear and I’m hooked. It’s a darkly funny, often high-stress show about a very sad classically trained chef attempting to rescue his deceased older brother’s crappy restaurant from imminent peril. He can’t bring his brother back or heal his family’s trauma, but he can save the restaurant is the crux of it. Last night, I watched episode four and it made me so happy. It’s one of those “everything is going well and things are coming together,” feel-good points in the season, which means shit’s about to go south. The episode opens with close-up shots of artisanal donuts being made, which inspired me to order a matcha lime donut from here today after yoga. Very delicious!
**Bonus Content** (Thalassotherapy)
Learning about thalassotherapy the week after venturing across the country to be nearer to the ocean felt perfectly fitting. Haven’t felt this validated since learning this was a real thing.
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“But every town had been promising. Every place at first had said, Here you go- You can live here. You can rest here. You can fit. The enormous skies of the Southwest, the shadows that fell over the desert mountains, the innumerable cacti- red-tipped, or yellow-blossomed, or flat-headed- all this had lightened him when he first moved. But as with them all, the same hopeful difference- they all became places that sooner or later, one way or another, assured him that he didn't, in fact, fit.”
-Olive Kittredge by Elizabeth Strout
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.
Oh man, I'm so jealous you're on your first trip through The Bear. And I can't wait for you to get to Season 2, Episode 7.... !!