Throwback Edition: The Fleeting Nature of Things

Plus, Toni Morrison on work and identity, the overdue rise of the unlikeable female protagonist, and a movie you should watch

Oct 20, 2022

Dearest Readers,

Last night I dreamt I was an inappropriately dressed wedding guest. There was a psychic at the wedding, too, and she was going around to a group of eager women sharing bits about thier future. “Congrats on the new job,” she said to one girl. To another, my friend whose bed I was sleeping in that very night, she said, “Things are only going to keep getting better for you because you love the world so much that it loves you back.”

The psychic went around to more women, dropping bits of joy. Everyone’s futures seemed pleasant, nothing but good news on the horizon, and I anxiously awaited my turn until I realized it wasn’t coming. She walked out the door without a glance in my direction; it must’ve been the green sequin down I was wearing. I wondered whether that meant I had no future at all, that my life would come to some abrupt end, or if whatever she saw wasn’t as sunny as the rest of the futures and that is why she chose not to disclose it. But that’s the best thing about the future, that it is impossible to know. It might be sunny or it might be bleak. Probably, it’ll be both.

I write to you today from a perch of change, something I’ll get into in a forthcoming essay. I was drawn to this throwback edition today because in many ways it reminds me of the shift I’m about to have in my life; moving my body somewhere physically distant from my comfort zone in order to see how I come out on the other side. The scariest thing about these sorts of moves, or about the times when you don’t move at all, is the idea that they will last forever. One month, three months, six months can feel like a lifetime when you look at it in isolation, but as I realized in October of 2020 when I initially wrote this essay, everything is passing and passing, making way for the next thing. Forever is a fallacy, so we can only sink our teeth into a present before it slips into the rearview mirror.

Here’s to the next thing, until next time.

A Note From the Editor

I’d never been to Vermont before last Friday, and now I live here (through October 11th, at least). Since my lease ended in July, I have been flitting around like a safe, responsible butterfly, spending a little time with family and a little time in remote areas of the Northeast, visiting places where you can go days or weeks without seeing another person if you feel like it. Where I am now sits on 700 acres of conserved land, meaning I wasn’t able to sleep for the first few nights because of the engulfing silence, paired with the total blackness that blankets the house each night. Looking out the windows after sundown feels like staring into a cavernous abyss somewhere in space, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

This month in Vermont may be the last stretch of nomadic time for me and the two friends (plus one Boston Terrier) I’ve been with these past few months, and we all feel a quiet determination to make the most of it. Last weekend we got breakfast at a place called Sissy’s, where you order at a non-fussy outdoor counter and take your meal on mismatched antique furniture in the middle of a modest, flower-filled garden. We got to meet Sissy in the flesh, and she gave us each a warm chocolate chip cookie grabbed straight off the baking sheet with her bare hands while doling out advice on where to hike in a bored, flat tone (we, on the other hand, were giggling like school children on the back end of the free cookies, complimenting her food and her garden and her sour cherry jam). As we clamored into the car, we continued to gush about Sissy in private — did you notice how she didn’t smile, not once? How utterly charming! She felt like a character from a Hallmark movie about a small country town, and her root vegetable hash tasted like a miracle.

In the days that followed, we discovered more rural charms: Toby, the man who owns the dairy farm a mile away, whose two dogs roam without leashes and jog alongside us during our morning runs, knowing exactly when to stop and turn back to their home. The dizzying, wide-open fields, so green and expansive that I’m beginning to realize I have never seen a real field before, the quaint general store with maple-flavored coffee and a smiling cashier who exclaimed, “My mom just made those yesterday!” when we purchased a container of Oreo truffles. We are willing to overlook the occasional “Keep America Great!” sign, the lack of cell phone service and oat milk, even the porcupine whose quills pierced the Boston Terrier, Watson, after an unfortunate run-in one night because it’s all in the name of country charm. We experience what is ordinary, everyday life for the people who live here through the eyes of bewildered children. “It’s so cute!” we say about everything because we have no other words to say what we’re trying to convey: that this is so different from our regular lives, that being here feels a bit like an alternate universe. That it is special, and bearable because it is temporary.

In Esther Perel’s Mating in Captivity, she inspects the fleeting nature of the things we tend to see as fixed. In this case, she refers to the idea that, in order to sustain long term interest in your partner, you must acknowledge that your time with them is, in fact, temporary, as is the reality of being a mortal being. When you’re able to let that sink in, you may be able to recognize that no matter how faithful or steadfast your partner is today, they will not always be by your side. She says:

Eastern philosophers have long known that impermanence is the only constant. Given the transient nature of life, given its ceaseless flux, there is more than a hint of arrogance in the assumption that we can make our relationships permanent, and that security can actually be fixed.

A separate piece from TED suggests that in order to create more happy memories, one must experience more firsts in their lives, a task which can feel difficult when you become stuck in the mundaneness of everyday existence when the routine of wake up-work-sleep-repeat can cause chunks of time to pass by in an instant. I think that is why I can breathe easier here, why I could earlier this summer, too, and why I find myself avoiding the commitment that comes with a 12-month lease — partly for fear of the uncertain future, but also because this perennial newness is keeping me stimulated, getting me through.

We are wired to seek out novelty, and novelty goes hand in hand with the other thing we perpetually seek: action. We need a new job when we feel dormant in our current role, we need a new relationship when ours is wading through still waters for too many months or years in a row, and we need a change of scenery and a change of pace. I, especially, am built this way, feeling that there is no greater ill to be suffered than stagnation. Movement feels like a necessity, as primal as air or water. Stillness is synonymous with stunted growth, and so being in one place for too long makes my skin start to crawl.

And yet, everything is permanent until it isn’t. What chemical compound in our brain convinces us otherwise, whispering that the circumstances of the life we are living in now are eternal? Logically, we know this is not the case, and yet we can still feel trapped in the state of our current reality, unable to back away from it enough to realize that it, like everything else, is only brief, transitory. Parents of young children are best at realizing this because an infant transforming from a creature who physically cannot live without their mother to a toddler who can walk, to a child who loses a tooth and believes in magic, to a sulky teenager to a self-sufficient adult is the physical embodiment of the ephemeral state of things. While I am not a mother, I still want to remind myself of this truth often: that right now is only for right now, and if I can find a way to see what’s right in front of me through the eyes of a visitor, one who only has the chance to experience the fruits of this slice of life temporarily, I may be able to see things from a very different vantage point.

Cheers, my dears, and always thanks for reading.

Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming

Toni Morrison’s Wise Words About Work and Identity. When I first read this punchy, tender essay, I didn’t take note of the byline or the publishing date, and it felt like it had been written just yesterday, just for us. It’s no wonder that a piece that withstands the tests of a few years gone by without losing its poignancy would be penned by the late Toni Morrison. Read this if you’ve ever questioned the relationship between the work you do and the person you are.
The Overdue Rise of the Unlikeable Female Protagonist. One of my favorite characters growing up was Angelica from Rugrats. She was mean-spirited, selfish, and bratty, a bully who rarely showed weakness — despite her hard exterior, I always rooted for her. We may not realize it unless we're discussing fiction or character development at length, but even in fictional scenarios we tend to hold female characters to a certain standard, and as such, most female characters are written to be, in some way, likable, vulnerable, soft. We don't typically consider what we expect of these characters, why some sit well with us and others do not. Take Hannah from Girls, the unconventional, not traditionally "hot" female protagonist, or Molly from Insecure, beautiful, but tightly wound and generally infuriating, or Claire from House of Cards; vindictive, plotting, murderous. I rooted for all of these women, and I want to see more like them surface in our fictional explorations, both on-screen and in books.
On Pandemic Induced DIY and Doing Some Good. First, it was sourdough, now it is a windowsill herb garden or a retiled shower. I love anything Anne Helen Peterson writes (you might know her from coining the phrase “Millenial burnout”), and this is no exception. Some people are DIY-ing for sanity’s sake. Still, others are trying to do some small good in their communities, like building an outdoor shower for anyone who needs it or sharing homegrown vegetables with the neighborhood. This piece gave me a little bit of hope, though I’m not sure that was the intention.

Perhaps You Should…
Watch C’mon, C’mon

I do my best movie-watching on the plane—it’s undivided attention for a handful of hours with nothing better to do. Also, for some reason, my emotions are ripe on airplanes. I’m entirely open and ready to receive whatever emotional lessons are playing out on my little seatback screen. It was on a plane this summer that I saw C’mon C’mon, a beautiful, funny, heartfelt movie starring Joaquin Phoenix. I filled an entire iPhone note with quotes and moments from that movie as I watched, including the line in the photo above, which might just be my favorite line from a movie ever.

Bonus Content (Funny, Wild Animals)

Never have I ever been as delighted with a seemingly clickbaity headline as I was with this; the finalists of the Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards. The photos prove that 1. animals are magnificent, funny creatures and 2. bears are the most terrifying, intriguing animals out there.

A Quote From A Book You Should Read:

“But as soon as I was in the hall and then in Vittoria’s car, sitting next to her as, immediately, she lighted a cigarette with trembling hands, something happened that very often occured later in my life, sometimes bringing me relief, other times demoralizing me. The bond with known spaces, with secure affections, yielded to curiosity about what might happen.”

-The Lying Life of Adults by Elena Ferrante

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.

that's so interesting

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