It’s been a while since I’ve written, which is a reflection of both what is happening and also a creative dry spell. I’m not someone who has cultivated a writing “practice” so to speak, in the past it’s been that the need for creative expression has come over me and I’ve rolled with it, and that hasn’t happened in a while. But I also think that I’ve been holding my life in close.
Last December, I bought a house in Durham, North Carolina. This was a not a feat of my own economic achievement. It was overwhelming, an interesting experience to do alone, and an experience of serious privilege. It's been a year of developing a sense of what matters to me and letting myself figure out what it means to be connected to a new micro-world. I have, though, experienced many home related joys. I am proud of a weekend of couch shopping that resulting in buying two perfect, oversized, cozy green couches. I loved the way the black and blue salvia that my friend helped me plant in my garden in the spring thrived and then was constantly swarmed by bees. And I’m grateful for the abundant natural light, the magnolia I can see through my bedroom window, and established, hardy grass.
I’ve also spent the vast majority of the last year single. One of the things that I hoped for when I moved to Durham two and a half years ago was that I would find romantic partnership. I have gone on dates, I haven’t been single the whole time, but romantic, monogamous partnership hasn’t happened. It’s a bummer. I don’t spend a lot of time talking about my, at this point kind of extensive, experience with being single. Sometimes I spend mental energy feeling sadness about it, and sometimes I really don’t. I simultaneously don’t know how to deal with the lack of control I feel to change the situation, nor am I convinced that I’ll be single forever. It is also the case that being single and so much of my 30s are deeply intertwined, and the flexibility of existing "solo" and the ability to lean on friendship and family has been at the core of the defining experiences of this period of my life. I try incredibly hard not to feel sorry for myself, not to feel ashamed, and not to worry about other people being worried about me; but sometimes it’s hard and heavy.
I’ve also spent the majority of the past year pregnant. This is perhaps the scariest thing to share in a public, social media way, although it’s obviously not a secret in my three-dimensional life. I have had in so so many ways a straightforward experience thus far, and yet it’s been a demanding emotional experience, much more than I anticipated. It’s the understatement of the 2020s that to have a body that is in a reproductive period is scary and fraught. I also feel lucky and happy to be pregnant. And completely and constantly amazed by the biology of it.
[ The morning of November 13th my daughter Doris was born. I love her so so much. ]
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