Ill Seen, Ill Said

What you do for yourself

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Thu, 16 Apr 2020 00:11:00 +0000

I have a memory of an old episode of Oprah. I think Elle Macpherson was on it. And she said one thing she does for herself is wear beautiful lingerie. The point was simple, compelling: I feel beautiful and “more myself” when I do this thing (nevermind that she had/has her own lingerie brand).

“Do it for yourself” has become a powerful marketing message. Don’t get a boob job for a man, do it for yourself. Wear this push up bra, but for yourself. Cinch your waist, become a domestic goddess, paint your nails and find the right shade of red lipstick. Be house proud. Do pilates. Wax. For yourself.

Quarantine has laid the truth bare. The things we’re doing now… those are the things we really do for ourselves.

Every morning, I still put on perfume. It comforts me when I smell a waft of familiarity on a sweater or on the collar of my coat. Or even, sometimes, on Beau’s fur.

I blow-dry my hair and care for my skin. I enjoy face masks and face massage. I will dab a little blush on my cheeks and comb my brows. But I don’t curl my eyelashes for myself. I don’t conceal for myself.

I can now confidently tell you that I do not ever wear uncomfortable shoes for myself.

I’m sad to say that I do not dress up for myself. I have worn leggings every day of quarantine. I have thought about buying dresses. Flowy dresses which are so impractical on streetcars and rolling office chairs might be perfect for these days. I fancy myself floating about in this one.

I crave flowers and will take the supermarket variety over having nothing. I will even take my shears on a late night dog walk and snip a magnolia branch from a neglected park to have it for myself. To watch it slowly unfurl fed in my window. I daily wish I could grow roses for myself.

I don’t bake for myself but I will buy a bar of dark chocolate and eat a square or two after dinner every night. I remarkably cook the same recipes over and over again, though I could choose to try something new from the many cookbooks I own with the time I have right now

I will roll out my yoga mat for myself but only when body gives me an extra nudge. A back twinge? That will do it. But, I do meditate every day for myself.

I have friends who bake bread for themselves and friends who wear Hermes scarves for themselves. It’s not a competition. I’m intrigued by this individuality opening up. The usual implied ‘should’ seems trivial now. We always all said “you do you”… But is it just me or does it feel more sweetly indifferent right now?

I dress my bed and clean and tidy and arrange and rearrange my apartment for myself. But we already knew that about me, didn’t we...

But the best thing I do for myself is read. I crave it like putting my hands in earth or making a footprint on fresh snow. My mood, when dark, is mended by this most enduring pleasure of all.

I walk for myself. And for Beau too. At night time especially when I think I can see more stars than usual and I can stand on a quiet street and throw my head back. And it occurs to me that the things I do for myself are very simple things. And I want to remember that when the marketing men light the billboards back up and the influencer bloggers stir to tell me there’s some new thing I should buy or try or apply to become more myself.

That when nobody cared and the catwalk of life was paused, I was content to do simple, beautiful things. For myself.

Grieving...

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Mon, 06 Apr 2020 22:42:00 +0000

2-3 months ago, I fantasized a lot about working for myself, from home. I would set my own hours, walk my dog, eat healthier, and exercise. I’d avoid the daily commute and the office ogres.

I keep thinking, be careful what you wish for.

But, of course, I wasn’t wishing for this. Because what I was wishing for was freedom. And this is not freedom. The fact that I’m working from home and walking my dog is not a freedom I’ve gained, it represents a loss of so much.

And that’s just one of the many small mindfucks of all of this. There’s a lot about it that I should ostensibly love. But of course I don’t. Because of course this is all terrible. And even introverted spinsters like me are grieving. Our friends and freedoms. The many small interactions that make up a life.

Beau is forlorn. This is not what he signed up for either.

He witnesses moments of frustration with work. Moments of just staring. Bursts of manic energy, dance parties. More phone calls than he wants. He comes charging when he hears my voice on calls, sure that if I’m talking, I’m talking to him. Confused when I’m not.

I’m working way too much.

The machine continues oblivious in its white, male self-absorption. I have a flimsy detente with this machine at the best of times. It pays my bills. I get to pay for things. We play our roles. My version of it isn’t the worst version of it. But now this feels more ludicrous. I keep thinking “surely not now” when it asks for another powerpoint.

Other kinds of obliviousness feel puckish and reassuring. The spring flowers keep budding like some mischief-maker wearing a ballgown to a funeral. The moon waxes every night and I find its aloofness reassuring.

I am thinking MASSIVE things. But struggling to do the smallest things. I am thinking about dropping out and moving and the importance of building a garden. How have we constructed entire existences that don’t touch saltwater and soil? I need to urgently correct this for myself.

How do I move, how do I reinvent, how do I buck it all?

But also: How do I roll out my yoga mat and just stretch? My back is killing me. Is everybody’s back killing them? How do I read just a few pages of a book? How do I eat?

I might just let my hair be grey when we’re done. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel the same way about a some purse again. A purse for god’s sake. It's hard to imagine that lust now. I’ll be disappointed if we just bounce back to the exact same spot.

I want it to be over. But I also don’t want it to be over until something has changed forever.

Quarantinetunes

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 22 Mar 2020 16:01:00 +0000

I made a playlist for these grim times.
Cover image by the wonderful Shawn Downey.

2020 Goals

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Tue, 31 Dec 2019 14:36:00 +0000

2019 was a survival year for me. I hope 2020 is a thriving one.

Some of my 2020 goals are “keep going” but some involve doing things differently.

The most controversial goal is weight-loss. I guess it’s a cliche sort of resolution… the kind that seems destined to fail. And I suppose it’s not fashionable to want to lose weight; the prevailing message is self-acceptance. But I think it's okay to strive to change something you're not happy about.

But it seems natural for me to focus here now: My body went through hell last year. I didn’t push it to perform as much as just get through it. And sometimes that meant rest and food.

I think there’s also a loss of trust in your body when you get sick. And you have to trust your body if you’re going to ask it to run, or stretch. I’m ready to get back there.

Okay, so here’s the full list:
1. Keep reading more: I’m always a happier person when there’s a book on the go
2. Start running again and stretch properly
3. Lose weight, but also just listen to my body about what feels right…
4. Keep up 4-6 week facials
5. Increase my pension contribution %
6. Use all massage, acupuncture benefits
7. Tack somewhere in Europe (Aix, Vienna, Rome, Paris, Bath, Edinburgh?) onto my next trip home
8. Unsubscribe from retail newsletters (to minimize impulse spending)
9. Unfollow retail Instagram accounts (also to minimize impulse spending)
10. Save SUPER aggressively
11. Work A LOT on side hustle stuff
12. Find an accountant
13. Keep up Beau’s training - his “off” command needs more work outdoors
14. Watch a lot less TV - maybe unsubscribe from some streaming services?
15. Keep up daily meditation - I fell in love with Headspace in 2019
16. Go vegan when eating at home (vegetarian eating out)
17. Shop a lot less this year - replacing, upgrading rather than adding…
18. Wear more of the shoes I have in my closet!
19. When spring/summer rolls around, spend more time in the ravines
20. Find more ways of minimizing plastics in grocery shopping
21. Paint kitchen!
22. Replace mattress with organic one (maybe this brand?)
23. Incorporate more writing on Instagram, which means slowing down & being thoughtful about what I post and why
24. Add one new recipe a month to my “everyday” cooking arsenal
25. Forget what others want/expect from me and be brave enough to take some risks
26. Don’t worry so much if I suck at something I really enjoy doing….

Checking in on 2019 Goals

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 29 Dec 2019 21:12:00 +0000

I've spent a lot of time this week thinking about 2020 goals, which I'll document in a separate post. I feel really optimistic about 2020, and the 2020's more broadly. But it's not so much turning a new leaf as continuing. Life is good and I count myself lucky in many ways.

2019, though, was an up-and-down year... for many of us it seems. For me, the first half of the year was focused on a major surgery and recovery. I came out of that craving change and reinvention but with no idea what I wanted.

And so I puttered along and did little things. It doesn't make a great Christmas card headline, but most of living happens between the headlines anyway.

Checking in on the goals I set this time last year...

1. Get through the health stuff I need to get through - Done! I feel 100%
2. Continue training Beau - Yep! He’s doing so good these days :)
3. Get more acupuncture, massage and self-care (use those benefits) - Yep, yep, yep!
4. Set new professional goals - Sortof. Not the change I had in mind when I wrote this, but there's an exciting plan that needs more time
5. Figure out work wardrobe (I’ve been in a rut) - Yep :)
6. When I can, start running again - Didn’t do this. Exercise will be a huge 2020 focus.
7. Be a better listener - Work in progress…
8. Drink less alcohol (it increasingly bores me to get drunk) - I quit drinking almost altogether!
9. Visit Ireland - Yep!
10. Visit Lake Louise - Nope…
11. Travel somewhere new - Nope…
12. Continue making my home a home I love - Yep! Home will always evolve, but I accomplished a lot this year!
13. Keep more to myself (I can be too much of an open book) - I think so???
14. Make purchases with great purpose - I think I made good purchases, but I made too many of them...
15. Save more money - I actually did this! I want to save even more in 2020
16. Find new positive ways of understanding self, life, choices; live freely - Work in progress, but I feel more free from past bullshit
17. Read more books & poetry - Reading slowed down in second half of the year, but I read a lot more this year, which I posted about here and here
18. Spend equal time teaching & learning - I think so?
19. Get more facials - I mastered facials in 2019
20. Stop TV marathoning (no more than one episode at a time!) - Broke this when recovering from surgery but overall did an okay job at this
21. Keep bringing lunch to work - Did this in spurts but want to be more consistent
22. Stop swearing (or at least, swear a lot less) - I think I made a dent in this, but can keep working on it
23. Cook a new recipe every weekend - Utter failure
24. Have people over more! - Hmmm… about the same. I'm not sure why I even wanted to do this?
25. Eat mostly plant-based but don’t be rigid about rules - Yeah, went through phases of being vegan and definitely feel better
26. Don’t let people I dislike cause pain - Working through some of this, but I'm becoming more confident saying "fuck them"
27. Wear sunscreen (find a sunscreen I'll wear first) - Yes! I wear sunscreen daily now (Supergoop!)
28. Switch to natural deodorant - Failure! I’m scared of the stinky phase
29. Push work to a higher quality, every day - Feel proud of my work right now
30. Watch more new movies and documentaries - I think I did okay on this, but would rather read more
31. Make fewer, better, more meaningful photographs - Nope, just Instagrammed my dog too much
32. Less screen time (esp. Instagram) - Nope, Instagrammmmmm
33. Relearn how to single-task - I think I did a good job at this overall
34. Stop saying "you guys" - I still slip occasionally, but have more or less eliminated this!

2019 Reading - Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 27 Dec 2019 20:22:00 +0000

My reading slowed down a lot in the second half of 2019. Still I managed to read 33 books in 2019 so I think that’s pretty good. (Honestly, I don’t really measure the number of books as much as I hope to read things that are memorable and meaningful.)

20. To Throw Away Unopened by Viv Albertine
To Throw Away Unopened was super raw, timely read for me. It cut a little close to the bone in some parts.

21. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
I set On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous aside. I could tell it was good, the line-up was just all wrong of On Earth, then Viv Albertine and this. I needed something lighter.

22. Eventide by Therese Bohman
Eventide was the light interval I needed. Forgettable but did its job.

23. No One Tells You This by Glynnis MacNicol
Cast No One Tells You This aside. If you’re looking for a book about spinsterhood, I much preferred Spinster. This grappled with questions I don’t care to grapple with (much handwringing over children, turning 40 etc.)

24. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
First time I read a book while also watching a TV production of it. I love both versions of The Handmaid’s Tale - it made me appreciate the updated elements of the TV show better. Sometimes, I can feel when Atwood feels chuffed she’s written a great line and that bothers me…

25. The Land Where Lemons Grow by Helena Attlee
So beautiful, sensual, Italian. I would watch a documentary made out of The Land Where Lemons Grow. Prepare to google images of places and art as you read this.

26. Night Boat to Tangier by Kevin Barry
Godot meets In Bruges. I loved Night Boat to Tangier. Kevin Barry is a national treasure. This is my favourite from this selection.

27. Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens
Where the Crawdads Sing was just lovely to read. I would reread.

28. The Testaments by Margaret Atwood
Gobbled The Testaments. Thought Atwood did a good job evolving the story, incorporating all the fan speculation and still writing something that stood apart from the TV show.

29. The Friend by Sigrid Nunez
Read The Friend on a flight. Thought I would love it (dog!) but if you want a good dog novel, Paul Auster’s Timbuktu still holds a special place in my heart.

30. Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane
Ask Again, Yes was a nice little yarn. Nothing too memorable but enjoyable to read.

31. The Water Dancer by Ta-Nehisi Coates
The Water Dancer had such a good opening, but what Coates has in writing, he still lacks in character development. A long book of people proselytizing at each other rather than truly interacting. Some special moments that kept me going. Glad I finished despite its flaws.

32. The Dutch House by Ann Patchett
The Dutch House was sooo good but I felt the ending was abrupt and too tidy and didn’t do the story justice.

33. Lampedusa by Steven Price
Wrapping Lampedusa right now. December's been a manic month so this has felt like a slog. But when I'm actually reading it I enjoy it tremendously.

If you want to follow along with what I'll be reading in 2020, Instagram provides more "in-the-moment" updates. Follow me here.

Moonchild Mix

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Wed, 26 Jun 2019 10:59:00 +0000

June 26 is my birthday! So I’ve made a playlist of 26 songs for you, me and all the moody moonchildren. We’ve got all the Cancerian feels in here; homey, romantic, moody, mutable, nostalgic, soft.

Yes, even a little unforgiving (we moonchildren don’t forget when people hurt us! Grudge much!?) We’ve got a tough and scrappy shell protecting our soft, soft underbelly. These songs have all that…

I even managed to squeeze in Dolly’s giggle — surely one of the best sounds in all of nature. And because I think Cancerians are gigglers, but maybe that’s just me…

Enjoy!

2019 Reading - Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 26 May 2019 21:12:00 +0000

Reading more was one of my 2019 resolutions. I've always read a lot. But sometimes I just stop and - during those times - reading becomes a mystery to me, a vague ritual I once followed, like an exercise regime long forgotten. But even when the ritual is forgotten, the feeling is missed and I've loved reclaiming that feeling this year.

One of the things greatly abetting my reading is that I've started using my Kindle a lot more. I initially purchased one for business books, and the like, that I didn't want cluttering my shelves. But I've become a lot more ruthless about what books I want to own a physical copy of, and reading on a Kindle has allowed me to buy books without having to weigh and measure that part of the decision.

I also just read faster and more often with it. I had always hated the idea — yet another screen. But, for now, this is working for me. Here's what I've read so far this year, in order of impact.

1. A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

I have the most to say about A Little Life as I just finished it last night and have spent the morning mopping up my feelings about it. A few people told me they felt this book manipulative. At worst, an episode of This Is Us — emotional porn, fetishistic in its desire to layer suffering and elicit wrenching responses. Yes.

But I mostly thought it a book about friendship. The seeming opposites of beauty and suffering, of love and self-hatred commingling, not negating each other but orbiting our lives, rising and setting in turn. Never fully retiring though - always there on the other side.

I thought it too a book about hard work and male friendships and friendship in general (taking centre stage, for once, instead of side-kicking romance). I thought it a book about the beauty all around; in architecture, in math, in painting, in philosophy and law, in food and plants and music and singing. Beauty - and passage describing that beauty - that could almost be cloying if it were not for the ways we all find to punctuate it with pain of varying degrees.

The pages that made me weep were not the pages of abuse*. They were the pages of tenderness. Of constancy found in wavering thoughts and feelings.

If you read this book, don’t gobble it propelled forward by what happened, what will happen. Go slow and savour the present moments of beauty. For me, this is where the book caught my mind and my heart, perhaps changed me even.

*In contrast to Women Talking, I never felt like this book tipped to sensational descriptions of abuse, (disturbing, haunting yes).

2. Ghost Wall by Sarah Moss

Ghost Wall was accurately reviewed as a "short, sharp, shock of a book". I read it breathlessly and turned it over in my mind for days. This is one I'll likely reread. There was something here of early Maggie Nelson (something of Jane, perhaps?) I'm excited about this writer and what she'll go on to do.

3. Once Upon a River: A Novel by Diane Setterfield

I need a certain amount of escape in my reading. Not from every book, but I need it in the mix. A little magic, the sort of improbable symmetry you get in Dickens and so many of the classics. Once Upon a River: A Novel filled that gap for me. This book was a lovely escape, read at the perfect time.

4. Angel by Elizabeth Taylor

Ahhh Angel. I loved her pompous obliviousness, her assurance she was destined for better.

Elizabeth Taylor is a dab hand. One moment, she's serving Angel with the biting twinkle of Jane Austen, the next with the deep, cooling empathy of George Eliot. In those latter moments, Angel reminded me of Middlemarch's Causabon — a character I despised in youth but have felt more poignant and sympathetic towards on every reread. I'm glad I read Angel now, at this age.

This book predates any references to Grey Gardens, but there's something of this kind of wonder in it too towards the end. A completely satisfying read.

5. Days Without End by Sebastian Barry

I went into Days Without End not expecting to love it. I was craving a voice and style that had more poetry in it and I knew Sebastian Barry would deliver that (maybe too lavishly, as he sometimes does). But the description of the story left me indifferent. I imagine we all feel at times that we have enough "America" in the news. It's not a time I feel drawn to engage with its history.

But perhaps it was Barry's very lyricism that saved this book. Were it plainer, were it less melodic, it would have been brutal to read. Instead it became a staggering read, the heady language carrying the reader aloft, above the gruesomeness, rendering the implausible plausible and the hideous strangely mesmerizing, if not beautiful.

6. Unsheltered by Barbara Kingsolver

A book I loved while reading it, Unsheltered was another book I initially didn't have much appetite for. I honestly can't remember what made me decide to start it regardless (maybe a recommendation?) but I'm glad I did. The to and fro, past to present made me think anew about what we're going through, its echoes in time. But, while it was a fast favourite as I finished, the book itself hasn't left much of an echo with me.

7. My Brilliant Friend

8. The Story of a New Name

9. Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay

10. The Story of the Lost Child by Elena Ferrante

Reading Elena Ferrante (My Brilliant Friend, The Story of a New Name, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay and The Story of the Lost Child) made for a memorable winter, where I was happy to soak in Neapolitan sun.

This was deep immersion in another world that felt consuming at the time. Now, with some distance, the impact has lessened significantly. These are unlikely to be books I'll reread. But I enjoyed occupying their pages and picturing and thinking about the lives within.

(Another bonus of the Kindle: I didn't have to think about these hideous covers!)

11. Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor

As I was reading Reservoir 13, I thought a lot about Under Milk Wood. The voices were almost audible to me at times and the rhythm of shifting perspectives kept me interested but also a little adrift, bobbing on the ocean of a town I wasn't part of, clasping at identities and back stories. It was finely wrought and a pleasure to the mind.

But there was a humour missing for me too. I weirdly kept transplanting the story to Ireland and imagining the glinting humour it would take on in that setting (an unusual and perhaps unfair way to read a book, but I couldn't stop the thought occurring). And so it left me wanting more warmth, more humour, occasions of a twinkly eye or a suppressed smile. Just wanting more humanity.

12. Women Talking by Miriam Toews

Women Talking felt like the kind of book one ought to read right now. The "Mennonite me too" as it's been called.

While I was recently off work, recovering from a major surgery, I couldn't handle anything too "real". I would turn off the radio when it turned to coverage of war crimes, or rape or abuse (or all three). And I found myself wondering about the importance of bearing witness versus protecting oneself from what you can reasonably handle.

Women Talking was, at times, more than I could reasonably handle. The book, like the topic it covers, is a complex quilt. I questioned constantly why I didn't just abandon it (something I've become more comfortable giving myself permission to do). But by the end, I was glad I didn't.

13. A Manual for Cleaning Women by Lucia Berlin

A Manual for Cleaning Women is a collection of finely written stories that I admired while reading but never quite lost myself inside. I never lost the awareness that I was reading and, although it's just occurring to me as I type, that seems a requirement for me to love something.

14. An American Marriage by Tayari Jones

An American Marriage was a solid page-turner that I could easily imagine being turned into a Netflix mini-series. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this book, but absolutely nothing that gripped me either.

15. Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine

Eleanor Oliphant played a perfect role for me between two really good books (further up the list) that I needed a buffer between. Sometimes the difficult thing about continuously reading is coming off something that feels massive and wondering where to go next. This gave me something to read without asking anything in return.

16. Life After Life by Kate Atkinson

I'm always a little wary when there's an effusive pile-on when I start new book. Maybe that's me being a jerk but in the case of Life After Life I just was left scratching my head. The book felt cold, the characters veneer thin; roles rather than people. I kept waiting for the clever temporal hook to sink deeper. For me, it never did. And because of that, it ended up boring me.

17. Conversations with Friends by Sally Rooney

Okay we have 3 in a row here that I'm going to say the same thing about in essence: I didn't get it. Conversations with Friends was obviously good. And it's always lovely to be back in Dublin. But I felt too old for it. I felt the way I felt when I tried to watch Girls and instead missed something way more earnest (though, if I'm truthful, also way more dishonest).

That said, there was something more here. I want to keep my eye on Rooney. I'm not sure if/when I'll read Ordinary People. But I'm interested in what her writing will become with more time.

18. My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh

I will simply say that I did not feel any of the things so many people felt about My Year of Rest and Relaxation. Don't take my word for it, I feel like it just wasn't for me.

19. Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi

I love what Boy, Snow, Bird was setting out to do. Everything points to a book I'll adore. But its execution was just too heavy-handed for me.

P.S. If you want to keep up with what I'm reading right now, Instagram is the best place to follow me (I post in stories what I'm starting and some thoughts when I finish).

2019 Goals

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Mon, 31 Dec 2018 23:32:00 +0000

As we close out 2018, I'm both nervous and excited about what 2019 will hold. I know there will be some personal challenges ahead, but I'm also hoping to come out the other side of some difficult things I've been going through.

I always set some intentions for the new year. Personal goals and commitments. I'm not fond of the word "resolution". It conjures too much "reform" for me and I don't feel that way about my life. But I do embrace change and growth each year and try to make those things happen with intention.

Most of these won't begin right away. Indeed, January always feels like the worst month to do anything different. But hopefully throughout the course of 2019 I can make these lovely things happen.

Get through the health stuff I need to get through
Continue training Beau
Get more acupuncture, massage and self-care (use those benefits)
Set new professional goals
Figure out work wardrobe (I’ve been in a rut)
When I can, start running again
Be a better listener
Drink less alcohol (it increasingly bores me to get drunk)
Visit Ireland
Visit Lake Louise
Travel somewhere new
Continue making my home a home I love
Keep more to myself (I can be too much of an open book)
Make purchases with great purpose
Save more money
Find new positive ways of understanding self, life, choices; live freely
Read more books & poetry
Spend equal time teaching & learning
Get more facials
Stop TV marathoning (no more than one episode at a time!)
Keep bringing lunch to work
Stop swearing (or at least, swear a lot less)
Cook a new recipe every weekend
Have people over more!
Eat mostly plant-based but don’t be rigid about rules
Don’t let people I dislike cause pain
Wear sunscreen (find a sunscreen I'll wear first)
Switch to natural deodorant
Push work to a higher quality, every day
Watch more new movies and documentaries
Make fewer, better, more meaningful photographs
Less screen time (esp. Instagram)
Relearn how to single-task
Stop saying "you guys"

2018 Tree Project

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Mon, 31 Dec 2018 23:12:00 +0000

In 2018, I decided to make a monthly photograph inspired by Irish tree mythology. I shared them on Instagram each month throughout the year. But now that the year - and the series - has wrapped, I want to put them all somewhere for memory.

And it occurred to me that I still have this place and it is *my* place, independent of the vagaries and algorithms of social media. It can also exist independent of any self-imposed commitments to post with any frequency or routine.

So I guess I'm reclaiming this little spot a little, without any strategy or design for it. But when I need a place for something of my own, it can live here.

January: Birch

In Ireland, birch is traditionally associated with birth - it was used to make cradles and its purity was considered a deterrent to evil fairies. Birch was also made into brooms for sweeping away the old and purifying the home.

I made this photograph of birch branches with various things I foraged over my Christmas walks. I’m especially drawn to foliage and flowers that are suspended in their flowering state and never fully wither. I added some crocus bulbs, just starting to sprout, to represent the hope of new growth in an impermeable winter.

February: Rowan

For reasons both seasonal and of personal history, February is a sad month for me. The twinkle of Christmas is long gone now and, though it draws closer, Spring feels farther than at any other time. At home, daffodils will be well up by now. But in Toronto, it’s still winter and we need signs of life.

I picked the rowan for February because it’s a tree of energy and protection. It’s alternative name is quicken, refers to its “quickening” or life giving powers. In Irish folklore, rowan in the home was believed to prevent house fires. And a sprig in a milk churn would prevent it from spoiling. It’s a time of year to protect what is dear, and to hold tight to every hopeful sign.

March: Willow

The willow tree might be associated with grief for many of us. But in Irish myth, its symbolism could not be more different. It’s a tree of fertility noted for thriving near flowing water. The willow is also called the sally - and a sally rod is a lucky thing to carry with you.

Even more cheerfully, the sally is also associated with an uncontrollable urge to dance. So it seems like a very light, springlike tree to me. More practically, the willow is often used for weaving and basketmaking. It has me thinking about the strength in pliability; in learning to bend without causing yourself to break.

April: Cherry

Is there anything that says spring more than cherry? It will be no surprise that the cherry symbolizes youthfulness, beauty and love in Irish mythology. But just as the cherry is a fleeting delight, so she also symbolizes the passing of those things too.

I had hoped these branches would be blossoming for this photo but they kept me waiting, just as spring seems to linger on the horizon as a straining hope. I paired the cherry branches with some bulbs and moss. When the tree buds start to form, the earth is moist and moving too. Everything is coming back to life.

May: Maple

The maple is not a native tree of Ireland so has no Irish mythology. But if this project is about trees and their mythology and what they mean to me, the maple very much belongs. And of course the maple tree and maple syrup have deep significance in Canada and to the Algonquin people, who believed maple syrup was a gift from their Creator.

In July it will be 15 years since I moved myself to Canada. But even chosen homes can be hard and I’ve been struggling with Toronto lately. It seems to have become an angry city... A maple tree was downed in yesterday’s fierce winds and I pulled these branches from the felled tree and found this abandoned bird’s nest there too. Contradictory things can come together; sweetness and destruction in one tree.

June: Oak

The oak (dair) is the highest class of tree; a noble of the wood in Irish mythology. It is a symbol of strength, fertility, wisdom and endurance. The oak is also the protector of the forest and its animals. It was a tradition of midsummer to burn and unwanted object with a sense of occasion and purpose. Like the oak, what’s brought in should be solid and enduring… now’s a time to make changes to stand by.

June is my birth month and the oak is at the heart of the Flanagan family crest so I’ve always felt an affinity with it - my favourite tree in the world is an old oak on the grounds of Malahide Castle. June is also the month of roses (the full moon in June is the full rose moon) so I paired my oak branch with my beloved rose as well as other foraged seasonal bits and pieces.

July: Ash

The Ash in Irish mythology is a Tree of Life, springing back wherever it is cut down. Ash was burned to banish the devil and an ash staff protected its bearer against evil. Ash trees also have a strong link to healing, holy wells (as does the Hawthorn, though this tree is much more fearfully regarded — so sinister indeed that I couldn’t bring myself to cut a branch for this series).

The ash tree is covered in bright green foliage right now. The last week in both Ireland and Canada has been searingly hot. I paired the Ash branch with Bells of Ireland, hydrangea and Queen Anne lace, the plants that seem to love this heat. There is a feather from a swan and one from an owl in the mix, both carried carefully from home. Healing, transformation and gathered wisdom are on my mind this month.

August: Hazel

The hazel is a noble of the wood - a tree whose damage is met with the most severe penalty in ancient Irish law.

And for good reason… a well of knowledge surrounded by hazel trees is at the centre of Irish myth. Nine hazel trees are said to have grown at the source of the Shannon or Boyne. The nuts would feed five salmon in the well below and any person who ate such a salmon would acquire a knowledge of all things and poetry - as did the hero Fionn Mac Cumhaill.

Part of great wisdom is knowing that there aren’t always easy answers. There are some questions knowledge alone can’t answer. And we must summon something deeper, more ineffable, in the face of such questions and decisions. Remember, though, that’s where you’ll find the poetry too.

September: Apple

This time of year, work is recommencing; back to school, the busy season at work. There’s a touch of melancholy in the air as nights become cool and days are still warm. And the apple tree is bearing fruit now, offering renewal and restorative powers.

In myth, the apple tree is a symbol of the delights of the otherworld. Its fruit can give hope when despair sets in. Now is a good time to register what has been accomplished already, before plunging into the world ahead. It’s a time to breathe, reboot and replenish. To enjoy the remaining sunshine and look up at the trees as they begin to turn.

October: Yew

The yew represents the goddess of land in her dark aspect, protecting both the living and the dead. It’s for this reason that yews are often found in church and graveyards - they were often planted to mark the boundary of consecrated ground in Ireland. With Samhain/Halloween nearly upon us, it is time to think of loved ones who have passed.

While the yew is associated with death and the afterlife, it is also tied to ideas of sanctuary for those feeling a hostile world. Perhaps most appropriate for the last few week’s news, the yew is also associated with war-like women. At this time of year, the yew wears a crop of pink berries, a sign of hope. Let us not lose our hope, women who’ve been through the wars.

November: Pine

Being evergreen, the pine is a symbol of eternal life. It’s a month when many of us can feel on the wane, drawn from dark mornings and shorter evenings, caught in the in-between of autumn and winter before the glimmer of Christmas imbues us again with warmth. So this steady tree can bring us solace.

The scent of pine is considered to have purifying powers against evil influences. There are two pines in this arrangement, a white pine and Scot’s pine. When I stood beneath these trees to pluck a branch, a waft of scent surrounded me and I imagined the shadows around me retreating, if only for a small moment.

December: Holly

A winter champion, the tough little holly is a symbol of strength and ability in the harshest of circumstances. I can’t think of better tree to end this year on.

The holly is also a protective tree and used to adorn houses for this reason. However unlike other protective trees, it’s not associated with fertility. Indeed if planted near a house, it was said to mean the daughters of that house would never wed (fun fact: There used to be a holly in our back garden).

Despite this, the holly also strikes me as a happy tree. Maybe it’s the associations with the holidays, but it feels benign to me. I feel a kinship with this stout little tree, it’s formidableness and cheerfulness combined.

Sunday

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 22 May 2016 14:33:00 +0000

As I alluded on Friday (and before), I've been thinking about this blog. It feels like every Sunday I sit down and write a Sunday best, with the best of intentions to publish other posts throughout the week, but then I blink and Friday rolls round and it's link round-up time.

I've also been thinking a lot about integrity. I mean, I know integrity became this awful term marketers use in ways that strip the word of real meaning. But I mean the way we talked about integrity before: the gut-check, I'm doing this for reasons I deeply care about and treasure way.

The truth is, I'm not blogging with integrity.

When I started this place, it was somewhat about reconciling disparate parts of myself. I believed that we had been forced to compartmentalize ourselves; smart or stylish, deeply reflective or profoundly shallow. But those things weren't so at odds for me, they were equal parts of me. Bluntly, I wanted to get comfortable having a brain and having an aesthetic sensibility, being sometimes prone to frenzied fits of lusting after shoes, or a new sofa. I wanted to reconcile all of this, but also to represent it, figuring many women my age felt a similar friction between being smart and being style-oriented.

I still believe this must be a friction for many people. But for me personally, the reconciliation has been accomplished. I don't really need the outward show of a blog to force these things to become comfortable parts of me any more.

But there's another part; at the same time as accepting these disparate things, I've also matured. It's not that I no longer care (I'm still thinking a lot about sofas), but frenzied fits certainly don't happen as much any more, if at all. My style has become settled, banal, just mine. It's not really worth editorializing. My home is eminently important to me, but not a design feat worthy of feature or comment. My style is unremarkable. Not in ways that make me unhappy — precisely the opposite; in ways that I don't need to examine and proselytize about.

I think this has even become evident in my Sunday bests. I mean, they're totally basic. And I don't say that in a way to dismiss my style; the simple, effortless look I love. But part of its being basic, means it doesn't really stand up to telling and retelling or to deep reflection other than the occasional trend thinkpiece (which I'm certainly not going to write).

I think too about how so many of us have grown up blogging. So many of the bloggers I first started following have been on journeys of marriage, divorce, having children, moving cities or countries, changing jobs, book deals, quitting the cubicle, shop launches or turning their small personal blog into a media empire. It's been remarkable to watch (mostly) women go on these very public voyages. Some bloggers I once featured here have become mega-stars. Others, have quietly quit or sidelined their blog into something else. If there's anything I've loved it's how this label - blogger - that bonded us and was also often used to dismiss us - could grow to mean so many things.

But back to me and my integrity: I don't think blogging is the most value I can share with the world any more. Which isn't to say that I'm indifferent to the fact there are people who value what I write. But I don't think I'm putting the best value I can share into this medium any more. There certainly isn't a business case for what I do here, so if I'm not both transmitting and getting tremendous personal value from what I do here, the point is hard to see.

As you likely know, I turn 40 in June. And as you also likely know, I'm subject to moments of deep reflection when I'm approaching milestones. Lately, I feel that my integrity is much more found in my smaller world, in my connections with individuals (not excluding online friends — this intriguing form of modern friendship). It's not in broadcasting to a vague group of people I don't really have equal exchanges with. It's not in making my quiet style seem remarkable, or turning my quiet thoughts essays for public examination.

If you're one of the people who has come to consider me an [online] friend, please feel free to stay in touch through e-mail jane[at]janeflanagn[dot]ca. Of course, I'll also always have a connection with the online world, through social media and other outlets. You can also follow / connect with me on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn.

Thanks, you guys :)

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 20 May 2016 18:30:00 +0000

Happy Friday, you guys! It's a long weekend here (which in typical Flano-style I only realized on Wednesday) so I'm chipper as can be.

I'm going to spend this weekend working for myself the way I usually work for others and come up with a strategy for what I do here. I feel it's time for a rethink. There's a part of me that's still hugely engaged in this space and medium, but there's a bigger part of me wanting to try something different, more daring and original, to create something that reflects what I do well rather than try to make what I do well work in a medium... if that makes sense.

So, I'm going to think about that this weekend.

Some links!

Sunday best: Fashion v style

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 15 May 2016 20:49:00 +0000

I went shopping today, the desire for something new a spring awakening (let's not mention the fact it was actually snowing).

I left most stores indifferent to almost everything, with a feeling that I've outgrown fashion. It's not the I'm indifferent to style; there's a list of beautiful basics I'm constantly coveting. But fashion seemed like another thing altogether, aimed at women whose lifestyles are something I don't relate to.

I did end up buying one thing, a Mansur Gavriel bucket bag, which seemed to instantly settle in among my other possessions. More and more I like those brands that just create label-less perfection, basics that feel timeless and well-made, products that perform for me in expected ways, not requiring breaking in or holding in, or any kind of discomfort, physical or psychological.

It's funny, I feel my Sunday bests are getting more boring and repetitive. And yet I like them more and more too.

Products: Lip Slip by Sara Happ | Formula X Polish from Sephora | J Brand Jeans from Net-a-Porter | The Waffle Knit Tunic from Everlane | Earrings from Satomi Kawakita | Bucket bag from Mansur Gavriel | Woman by Common Projects' Achilles from Gravity Pope

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 13 May 2016 20:38:00 +0000

It's Friday. I'm starting to feel better. I've got a hair appointment tomorrow. All I need to do is get through today. Head down, nose to the grindstone.

Some links!

Common cold reset

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Thu, 12 May 2016 22:31:00 +0000

I was down with a cold all week. The good news is that even a stupid common cold and all the feelings of vileness that it somehow brings, reset me. Maybe it was the fever, but I started to feel that after the sickness recedes I'll have this lovely blank slate.

Positive as I am of late, I've been struggling to accommodate everything; writing and running, Beau and work, errands and friendships. (I know stacked against people with obligations - especially to little humans - this must seem like a breeze, but I've been feeling like whole weeks evaporate and I'm left clutching at vapours. I won't lie about that because of some form of spinster guilt).

So, a few days at home helped. I beavered away at the kind of work I find hard to get done, even though each task was punctuated by sneezing fits that alarmed poor Beau to no end.

For me, change is a slow boil and is always preceded by a great deal of introspection. I won't say I'm not impulsive; my introspection is often governed by feeling as much as argument. But when I go to write something, the thoughts are usually in my head. And when I take a step in one direction, I've usually considered what the next 5 or 6 look like. Sometimes then I can run to get there faster.

Still, trusting yourself on the best of days (never mind days fogged with sickness) is a leap of faith. We're so fickle, really, us humans. Our memories are notoriously untrustworthy, our perspectives fragmented by a billion mental blinks, with gaps bridged by vague feelings, unconscious biases, assumptions and misrememberings. We are wholly untrustworthy.

And yet, there's nothing else to go on except this bubble each of us occupies, occasionally punctured by another. And often the reasoning, the structures we construct around that bubble, seems like nothing more than defensive shape-throwing. Because we're still going to follow our own ideas, coloured as they are in our own subjective light. And we're going to construct those arguments that complement and accentuate the hue of our choosing.

Which is all to say, certainty does not exist except in the depraved minds of dogmatists and fanatics and those capable of terror. Understanding that you're unreliable but making your decisions regardless is far more interesting. Just don't let that process become dogma. And whenever possible, let others puncture your bubble, debunk some things. Whenever possible, puncture it yourself by reading and watching things that are hard and challenging and teaching.

Or just catch a cold and feel like you've figured out new shit with your fevered mind. That works too.

Sunday best: Ravine days

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 08 May 2016 14:06:00 +0000

Yesterday, I took Beau on his first big ravine hike. It was everything I dreamed of when I got a dog ad we both came home, exhausted and happy.

My dreams of late have been very vivid moving dreams, full of checklists and logistics to be sorted. I'm struggling to understand what it means, what kinds of decisions I should make in the next few years and where those decisions might take me.

The big changes of the last year sent out so many ripples, so many little learning moments still happening; so many sudden, strange, new desires suddenly springing forth as if from nowhere. I'm just working through it right now, not yet ready to do anything, waiting for calmer waters.

I find all of this easier in the warmer weather. I honestly feel like I get closest to the truth when I'm out in nature. Cities are so loaded with imperatives and ideas of self, constantly projecting in and outwards. Nature isn't like that. I think these ravine days will help me figure all of this out.

Products: Sweatshirt from Province of Canada | Warmup Legging from Outdoor Voices | Gulpy Pet Water Dispenser from Wooftown | The Modern Snap Backpack from Everlane | Leash from Found My Animal | NIKE Free TR 5 Flyknit mesh sneakers from Net-a-Porter

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 06 May 2016 13:33:00 +0000

A new moon in Taurus today, so we should all be feeling very grounded, especially physically. It's the perfect weekend, then, to kick off my spring / summer running routine. Beau and I have been working our way up to longer runs together and I can't wait to hit the ravine with him and go on those epic adventures that motivated me to get a pup in the first place. It's supposed to be 22 degrees today. All day, I'll wait to leave, to go home and run with Beau. That's all :)

Your links for the weekend!

Sweet and modern bedroom

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Tue, 03 May 2016 12:23:00 +0000

I fell for this Ligne Roset bed when I saw it — the perfect blend of modern and sweet. I'm one of those people who, if I do something sweet, I need to offset it. In this case, with dark charcoal and black and lots of organic textures. But the overall mix is still cocooning; the womb chair always the epitome of cozy for me. I don't think I'd ever leave if this were my bedroom.

Sunday best: Spring MIA

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 01 May 2016 12:51:00 +0000

The magnolias are blooming, but is it just me or do they seem limp and half-hearted? We had a beautiful day yesterday, all of us walking around declaring ack! spring is perfect. But I woke this morning to the sound of rain and a feeling of greyness that permeated my bedroom even with closed drapes. And then, in a typical tragedy of things getting a little worse in the tiniest ways, I let out seven successive sneezes.

I'm also behind enough on work that I have to spend today doing it, sick or not. And I'm just like wtf, life is broken if you can't be sick on Sunday and do nothing but load up on cold meds and snooze through movies you've watched a gazillion times.

What happened to the season we were all straining for. Where are you, Spring?

Disrupted

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Wed, 27 Apr 2016 13:20:00 +0000

Blogging can be hard to reconcile with days. Life can be eventful in ways you don't want to - or can't - easily unpack, process, or put down on a web page for strangers to consume. But, at the same time, it's hard to feign normalcy when you're going through something, to turn to a blog and go through the uninterrupted motions in moments when life feels disrupted.

And that's why I dropped off on Friday and through the weekend.

Plus, Prince died. WTF. I can't even...

But - better late than ever - here are some links:

Nearly half of Americans would have trouble finding $400 to pay for an emergency. I’m one of them.
Peak content
Is Staying In the New Going Out? (wasn't it always?!)
"“A thing” has become the basic unit of cultural ontology." - Is That Even a Thing?
Need
“Abundance is really your ability to see more in your life: More options, more choices, more resources. And that starts with noticing more” - The Remarkable Advantage of Abundant Thinking
Why We Sleep Badly on Our First Night in a New Place
this is my listening guitar

Tend your own small piece of turf

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Thu, 21 Apr 2016 02:37:00 +0000

Our drive to stake claims, invade territories and colonize lands is one that has - thankfully - become a dark part of history. It's not cool anymore to want to invade and take over space in the world. Not long ago, though, this ambition was laudable. Now, the desire to find a plot of land to call one's own is much more couched in modest, personal goals. A place to call home rather than a kingdom to be conquered.

We're not quite there yet with thinking about our enterprises this way. "As big as it can go" is still the overriding principle. Of course, we're seeing more and more people and businesses opt for smaller scale, buck against growth for the sake of growth. But they're rare enough that they're considered oddities, even failures, for not draining all potential.

We want each other to succeed, which is great. But our notion of success always seems tied to a max-it-out kind of proposition. We don't take over land, we take over marketplaces. We don't quash people, but competition. Even brands I love (you can think of your own) seem on a steady up-and-up, always expanding with new products and collaborations. And I celebrate their growth sometimes. But other times I get that creeping sense of expanding greed. And wonder why they couldn't just love making the perfect t-shirt, or greeting cards or whatever it was.

I think about the small piece of turf I have in the world; my job, my blog, my other writing outlets. I too fall into the trap of looking around for some better bit of land to grab onto. Sometimes I think others have been given more fertile lands. Sometimes I feel like they just have a bigger plot. Other times, I feel lucky and blessed that I just have this while so many have nothing at all. Arguably, all of these perspectives are flawed. Because they're all couched in terms of what's happening elsewhere.

The truth is that we often expend more energy thinking about how we might live a different life than our own; no better than imperialists looking at maps for unclaimed lands while their own land goes to seed. I lost years dreaming about where I wanted to get to instead of tending to the place I was at. But, really, there's no better indication of the kind of custodian you'd be for a new life than the kind you are to the life you have.

I've been thinking about scale and excellence. About being excellent at modest and small and (really) pretty meaningless, forgettable things rather than waiting and wondering and holding back that energy for some imaginary brave new world.

I've been thinking about how I can cultivate my own turf; how I can eke out its full potential. About what I can plant and nurture, what I might expect the yield to be, whether it's enough to sustain me (and also sustainable). I've been seeing its beauty beyond these things too, the wonder in the everyday art of just being present. I want to look at my small patch and see it's beautiful and cared for. And that it's a gentle, sympathetic part of the larger landscape I'm part of.

When I think about it all this way, there's so much to do. There's so much I can dig into. There's no need to dream of a different place across an imaginary sea. I don't need to expand and conquer and compete with other people's larger territories. I only need to tend my own small piece of turf.

Love this soft combo

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Mon, 18 Apr 2016 14:39:00 +0000

This Carl Hansen Heritage Chair has been a favourite for the longest time. Not at all saccharine, in person this shade of pink is a perfect nude. The Vifa Helsinki speaker is an unusual one for me. I'm not much of a tech person (despite working in digital / tech worlds, I still believe most things happen as if by magic). But isn't it pretty? Oh so pretty. I always have one favourite Farrow & Ball paper. Right now it's Aranami.

Sunday best: Spring!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Sun, 17 Apr 2016 14:29:00 +0000

Last week I hated Toronto. I was fantasizing about L.A. — a city I've never even been to, I'm not even certain I'd love. But suddenly it felt like a place I wanted to be, in some colonial bungalow, with bougainvillea-draped walls. Toronto seemed like a brittle, wizened place compared to this lush image I had in my head. I was sure Beau would be happier somewhere like L.A. I was suddenly grief struck at the idea he'd never see salt water.

On Friday, the sun came out and all of this dissipated. More than any other place I've lived, Toronto's beauty is dictated by the sun. In a warm cast, those wrinkles become laughter lines. The dullness of certain streets changes to a quiet neighbourly solitude. On Friday too, I sat down and wrote a first chapter of what I hope will be the book I've been thinking about writing for a long time now.

Today, Beau is getting his hair done. I might get a manicure while he's getting his 'do. I'll spring-clean my apartment. I'll do a little work with the always misguided idea that it will somehow get me ahead this week. I'll bring home flowers. It will be an easy and beautiful day. I hope yours is too.

Products: Reynah Pant from Club Monaco | Cancer necklace form Brooke Gregson | The Row tee form Net-a-Porter | Summerweight cardigan from J.Crew | Golden Goose Sneakers from SSense | Sel Marin from James Heeley | James bag from A.P.C.

Friday!

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 15 Apr 2016 14:58:00 +0000

I'm in such a better mood now we seem to have emerged from winter. The winter was sluggish with all the short and frequent puppy walks, bleary and shivering. There were moments when the leash seemed like an insurmountable challenge. We're still clicker training, but I went for a run with Beau last night and managed to go 8km. Suddenly feeling so good about the summer we'll have together!

Links!

Have a great weekend!

We're made of forgotten moments

noreply@blogger.com (Jane Flanagan) — Fri, 15 Apr 2016 00:58:00 +0000

Despite our search for meaning and depth, our striving for epic outcomes and achievements, the majority of our time is spent on forgettable things, moving around within our small world; to-and-from work, having conversations, even arguments and intimate moments, most of which will be forgotten.

When we think about who we are, of course we focus on the memorable. When I tell my story, I sum it up by recounting those major decisions; what I studied at university, who I loved, where I moved. I omit the forgotten majority of my life. In doing so, I define myself by punctuations in the monotony. And I ignore the monotony itself, the everyday humdrum of getting up, going to school or work, eating meals of varying degrees of short-lived satisfaction, sitting in meetings. Or the small sweet pleasures of ordering coffee, walking the dog, bending my head back and looking at the stars. Things I've done countless times but have forgotten the doing of.

Yet, arguably, I'm more myself in those small moments. I'm more me when I'm sitting on my couch eating a forgettable but repeatable dinner than I am when I'm getting on a plane to emigrate. And so it seems I'm telling my story by the exceptions, rather than by how I mostly live. And I wonder if that's a fundamental problem: That we shape our identities around moments that are odd in the grand scheme of our lives. Whether this is really a little misleading as to who we are and what we're really all about.

And I wonder if it's also problematic for our future: That we think about success and failure and meaning in terms of future memorable moments, and not in terms of the quality of the everyday moments, eminently forgettable as they are.

I find the idea of this, that meaning really lies in things designed to be forgotten, beautiful. There's something gorgeously ineffable in the notion that we're made of things we don't even recall, lest alone recount. And it makes sense to me really; because isn't there a strange sense of omission when you give that rundown of your life by the pivotal moments alone?

But what to make of this? I guess some would say be more mindful in those smaller moments, to hold tightly onto them. Remember looking up at the stars and ordering the coffee, be fully present for the short strolls and the breakfast-for-dinners. (And I suppose social media - especially Instagram - has given us a tool to do that with.) But I say, give in to the forgetfulness, leave it alone. Just understand it's there and part of you.

I also find there's something unifying about the idea that humanity - all our multifarious lives - are unified by these kinds of assorted forgotten moments. Maybe more of what we share and connect with in others has do to with all the things unrecalled. And maybe when we love another we're loving their forgotten selves as much as the stories they spin us.

Maybe we're all really made of moments long forgotten.

*One of my favourite songs is Townes Van Zandt To Live is to Fly. It sortof vibes with this post and I listened to it on the way home as I thought these thoughts.