Too much with myself

“I want to be roller-skating while I’m listening to an orchestra at a concert hall. I want to be a McDonald’s quarter pounder and still be a clerk in a the product-control section of a department store. I want to sleep with you and be sleeping with my girlfriend all the while. I want to lead a general existence and yet be a distinct, separate entity.”

-Haruki Murakami

Reflections on a Six-Date Fling

When you left, all I had as proof that we dated was a bruise on my knee from the vicious corner of your too-long bed, and that catchy tune you wrote stuck in my head. What then, when those fade?

The night we thought of lyrics for the song you were writing while eating burritos in a sports bar—all I was really thinking about is how I’d always look back on that night as the night we thought of lyrics for the song you were writing while eating burritos in a sports bar.

How can something so intimate fade so quickly into an everlasting silence?

I think about exactly how many degrees separate our angled paths, and how the exponential space between them is surely an unending game of Chutes and Ladders.

The single most arousing thing you ever said to me: “Sylvia Plath was a total babe.”

You’re my realized pipe dream that got away.


I thought I woke up at 3:18am because I’d had a glass of red wine before bed; always a harbinger of patchy sleep. But as my eyes fully opened, so did my ears. The downstairs neighbors were definitely watching Speed (trust me, if you heard it, you’d think so too), and they definitely got a new subwoofer, and I felt like I was as good as on the couch right next to the encroaching, night-owl viewers. Would have been fun if I’d actually been invited.


March 17, 2019

1.) The subtle comfort of a morning in which coffee in bed is possible

2.) The way the spring warmth inspires scrubbed floors, open windows and green things (now, to finish scrubbing my floors)

3.) A podcast episode that covered a topic that’s already been too much on my mind. Now, I try to let it go

4.) The way the sun feels on my bare shoulders for the first time this year

5.) The quick smirk from the lady who knows exactly how my day is going without having to ask; she’s been there


panhandling at sunrise

I'm not on a quest for money this early in the morning (though maybe I should be). I'm out for a run through the 3/4 mile long "red carpet" of a park that leads up to Golden Gate Park, called the Panhandle. It's out the back door from my apartment, and I like to come here in the mornings. So do many others, it turns out.

a middle-aged Asian man stands poised on a square of pavement near the public restroom, arms raised to the sky. I wonder, if I knew how to practice Tai Chi as well as it seems he does, would I be brave enough even then to move my body so artfully in this public space?


A homeless man with a full salt and pepper beard ambles across the pedestrian walkway near the basketball court, large gray blanket rolled and slung expertly over his shoulder. He is walking SO SLOWLY as I approach the white stripes over which he inches across. I think of the Beatles crossing Abbey Road and wonder if anyone has ever asked if they made it all the way across the road or simply posed in the middle for their album cover shot. I wonder where this man is trying to go and hope it's nearby, because it's going to take him A LONG TIME to get there.

Two middle-aged white women stand on a patch of grass nearby talking and watching their dogs play. It feels Hollywood somehow. I'm sure these ladies are talking about their husbands, or ex-husbands, or their close-minded bosses at work. Life has worn them down to a place in which they've been forced to realize their own full worth and also the value of canine companions, and they've never been happier. 


I make eye contact with the east-bound runners as I head west, and try to imagine their glances back at me are saying "wow, I'm so impressed with your running style, and I want to know what song you're listening to because you're absolutely killing it!" even though in reality I know I'm THAT RUNNER, the one with holes in both sneakers, holding a full set of keys and a credit card in one hand (just in case) and a wired phone in the other, who is sprint/walking, never running. How many inner eye rolls or silent cajoles have I actually caused?

The eucalyptus tree looms over me as I circle back towards home. They say it's the oldest tree in all of Golden Gate Park. It's weird to stand in awe of this natural monument with the Stone Temple Pilots blasting through my headset too loudly, but it's also exactly right.

The stoplight at Stanyan Street changes and the armada of cyclists sprints forward. It's spandex rush hour for the helmet-clad here in the Panhandle. Biking to work is considered not only the coolest form of transportation in San Francisco (you have to be pretty legit to bike in such an inclined city), but also the fastest. These people are all tech gurus. They've done the math. They know. 

I jog past a man sprawled out in a sunny patch of grass (he's been there for God knows how long, and I'm not sure weather to feel sorry for him or jealous) toward Masonic Avenue, back home. Another day of Panhandling and not a penny wealthier, but all the richer for it. 

29's magic carpet

If I had a magic carpet escorting me through this new year of life, this is what the carpet would look like in writing:

This year, I vow to show up in each moment as fully as possible; I'll pinch myself if that's what it takes to stay WOKE. I shall allow life to flow through me as it will so long as I ensure my best guides remain at my center, flames aglow like my favorite candle (which, now that I think of it, needs to be replaced soon): love, growth, creativity, connection, humor, passion, pride, adventure. I promise to dress myself in strength each morning and to keep my heart tucked close in my breast pocket on the days I don't feel like wearing it on my sleeve. I will forgive the branches that have fallen from my tree and allow their rot to nourish my roots, and lean into the days when it's clear that too much ice cream needs to be my spirit animal and not a sin. It's just a day, after all. I will give, and it will be raw, and honest, sometimes crooked and sometimes beautiful, and I it's okay if you don't like it but I hope you do.

Catch you on the other side on my slick carpeted ride, 30.