I once read “home is where I feel empty on a Sunday”. God knows, I’ve had my fair share of those. I can’t remember where I saw it and a google search does me no good, but I know it is not mine (although it feels as if it were).
What’s the other saying? Home is where the heart is? This seems true as well, though I’m not sure how to place it alongside the emptiness.
Home is an odd kind of concept. Not the same as a house, space, apartment. Instead, it borders on something between an idea and a feeling— fixing itself into the cracks of people, places, moments.
A hermit crab carries its home on its back. Where do I carry mine?
Before, home was always wherever those I love were. Faculty parties my mom would take me to and rivers to drink coffee next to with my best friend. Museums you leave your heart behind in and 24-hour diners at 4am with your roommates. Wherever a hand is held, a laugh is heard, a smile is born.
It is different now. My apartment cannot ring with the shouting of those who come visit, my bed cannot be shared with friends who giggle into the early hours. There are no parties, no dinners, no hugs or high fives or cheeks pressed against another’s.
We make do as best we can, enjoying the company of those we live with to the fullest but it’s never quite the same. I try to become more familiar with my space— the spots and corners in which I am supposed to discover some grand truth. I spend 10 minutes a day looking in the mirror, hoping I will become something worth looking at. Instead, I feel as if I am wasting away, saturating the room with my aimlessness. What is the point, without other people?
Days become hours become weeks. My entire life is contained to my bed— my classes, my entertainment, the ghost of friends I used to hug— all stuck between my pillows and an old laptop. I now know every creak in the floor, can map out every spot on the ceiling. Still, this is only home when I make it to the living room, rest my head on my roommate’s shoulder and ask her about her day.
I think home is where the heart is, just as much as it is where you feel empty on a Sunday. I suppose home is where you have the comfort to feel that emptiness, the comfort to feel that love. I carry my home in my hands, placing it wherever I’d like. Today, it’ll be in the crook of my best friend’s neck and tomorrow? Well, tomorrow is Sunday.
Home - Isabel Larrea-Clark, from The Virtual Reality Storybook
What if the meaning of life on earth is not eternal progress toward some unspecified goal – the engineering and production of more and more powerful technologies, the development of more and more complex and abstruse cultural forms? What if these things just rise and recede naturally, like tides, while the meaning of life remains the same always – just to live and be with other people?
It’s one of the great pains of this life that so much of what brings joy can also bring great loneliness. To question can be a lonely thing. To wonder, too. I don’t know what to make of that. I think of it all the time.
Today I took a selfie and had a really sudden awareness of how prominent my crow's feet and grey hairs are right now, and y'all, I love them. They make me very happy. Aging is so neat!
I feel like when I was younger it was so difficult to think of what aging meant - but now that I'm in my 30s, it just feels like this slow, lovely process of easing more and more into who I am. And I kind of love it.
Anyway. I'm a little in love with my crow's feet, and I hope that when you get them, y'all are too.
And (per my last reblog) don’t get me wrong, I think there is a lot of enoyment and pleasure and satisfaction to be found in refining your skill in something, in doing the things you want to do well as well as you want to do them. But I’ve got a bad history with perfectionism, and one of the best things that I’ve ever done for myself was to consciously choose to just do some things for fun. I have to remind myself all the time that it’s okay to just do things because, in that moment, they’re what feel right, and when I do this it’s an easing of pressure and often a shocking, sparkling rush of joy.
i just think that love is so wonderful. i think being in love is fantastic. i think that smiling because of someone, finding someone to be quiet next to, having someone to make the world brighter, it’s all the things that make life worth living. i’m not just talking about romantic love either, i think being in love with your friends, being in love with the world, having a family, it’s just really the point of it all
Yeah this book kinda sucked. Wasn’t terrible, definitely wasn’t great. White yoga social media influencers barely ever have any awareness but yo they swear that they do! It’s a trip.
This book was kinda a shot in the dark for me because I got a little buzzed one night and watched Jennifer Pastiloff and P!nk talk about COVID-19. Then they plugged this book so I was like — why not.
I realized after why not..
By the time I got to the place where I gave up on this shit I was like — who cares you’re in France! So you burnt a hole in someone’s antique coffee table, you know how hard it would be for a black girl working in a restaurant in NY or LAto finesse her way to France pretending to teach yoga to strangers!? Do you realize I read a memoir about a black woman with degrees in writing having to push her way to her dreams because folks have to work twice as hard to get half as far.
In the words of Toronto girls everywhere: Are you dumb! LOL
I recognize now that I’m angry about too much for this book and it’s nonsense.
You have to go through that sometimes when reading.
This is why I don’t listen to self-help audiobooks because I feel like I’d destroy everything in my fucking wake. I hate when people try to finesse me.
You know who’s book is MIRACULOUS!? Maggie Smith!!! Like, there’s a way to be white and not completely disengenous: Keep Moving is a gem.
Cheryl Strayed and Brave Enough
Brené Brown, Rising Strong
I always read the acknowledgements of every book and I was surprised and she cites P!nk as her "champion", I read champion and I thought - funder?
I always read the acknowledgements of every book and I was surprised and she cites P!nk as her "champion" - makes me wonder about how they use each other to promote stuff? It feels very MLM. That's just a vibe I got. I also feel like it speaks volumes when someone thanks EVERY SINGLE PERSON they know. I love that and I hate it. I love it when it's genuine, you can tell. I hate it when it feels like, none of those people you thanked, none of them told you to focus, to not meander and not jerk yourself off in front of strangers because it won’t translate!?
Whatever man. Lol
I didn’t hate the book, but it did make me mad towards the ending.
anger, tiredness, fear, lack of drive and motivation, lack of trust, lack of care, fatigue [physical, emotional, and mental]... the list goes on and on.
sadness, though, can also make you kinder, i feel.
you see the world through eyes of compassion instead of eyes of judgement. you realize that maybe everyone is carrying their own sadnesses, and that is what makes them act the way they do. you feel empathy at others’ pain, because you know what it is to cry out inside while the whole world keeps going, keeps spinning, and many are unaware of your struggle.
when you’re sad, you’re extremely human: extremely vulnerable, but also extremely compassionate.