Packing up to head back to New York City this morning from Northern Massachusetts, where I’ve been perched for the last while–researching, reading, witching, listening. I love my chosen home, I really do, but today I feel so sad about hurtling back into the hustle-bustle of cement, of chatter, of Primary, of what Lou Reed once described as “Oh, oh, my, and who really cares.” April weather is blowing up everywhere, and I’m hoping that upon my arrival I’ll gladly step back into that parade, even slather on some lipstick again. But in the early hours of today, I just feel blue about surrendering the voluptuous quiet, the unadulterated green and yellow of spring outside a city. Someday, I hope, I’ll be such an evolved being that I can carry that within me wherever I go. Today I just wish for one more day to drink my coffee in the sun of an empty field.
The longer these primaries drag on–the longer everyone soap-boxes and no one listens–the more I find myself hiding from social media and, gasp, reading paper books and writing in paper notebooks. These days, that qualifies as “going off the grid,” which I find hilarious given that only a decade ago going off the grid entailed living off the land, modern amenity-free, and growing a very big beard, regardless of your gender. This is also hilarious given that Brooklyn is now crowded with the facial-hair equivalents of Unabombers, Paul Bunyans, and Motel the Tailors. (A glimpse into various ancestry; what ho!) What’s most hilarious: Apparently I am channeling the spirit of Andy Rooney.
I knew Barack Obama was going to be our president when I saw his speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, and I knew I was going to be ecstatic voting him into office. My heart exploded the day of his inauguration, and not just because he was our first president of color though that in itself was amazing. But I don’t have such a clearcut feeling this time, and it’s stressing me out, especially since everyone around me is feeling the Bern or, um, #iswithher. Continue Reading →