I went for a walk.

It was really nice. *Chapter 66*

On Thursday at 5:40am, I arrived to open the studio where I work. The coffee shop next door had been vandalized overnight. Giant glass door shattered for no other reason it seems than the fun of hearing a giant piece of cement fly through it. The morning manager was sweeping up the last few shards.

“Weird week,” she muttered.

I wondered why they’d chosen that door instead of our equally large glass option. Weird.

My side of Instagram was full of anger and despair two days after the election. A few hours of scrolling and my brain was oatmeal. I work this weird little shift now from 5:45 to 9:15am and so I met Alan for breakfast after I signed out for the day. Driving, I felt like Bowser in MarioKart. Too little sleep, too much stimulation. Not even 10am.

After breakfast I crashed into a teeth grinding nap. The kind that lasts for hours and leaves you bathed in sweat. Sore jawed. Confused. I walked to the living room in a haze and turned on Felicity. Two seasons I’ve cruised through in a week. I scrolled my phone in tandem. Watched weird YouTube shorts, someone scraping crusty make up out of old beat up pans, sanitizing it, melting it down and forming it into shiny new compacts.

Two screens and nap brained, I left the house a few hours later to babysit my first born, Arthur, son of my college bestie and the boy I had the honor of nannying for the first half of his life.

We danced to “rock and roll” as requested by this 5 year old with music taste so far superior to mine, I should be embarrassed. Arthur told me I wasn’t doing it right. My ‘mom at a Stevie Nicks concert’ swaying simply wasn’t cutting it. He demonstrated that I should be jumping up and down, running in a small circle and waving my arms above my head. I obliged and then had a heatstroke, sat down and suggested we play Star Wars. A game in which Arthur tells me where in the room characters are and when he has “squished them.”

At bath time we played another game called Bubble Time. The rules are, we don’t play to win, we play to have fun. The wisdom of childhood.

I sent Alan a text after Arthur went to bed listing the snacks I’d stolen from the pantry. The only reason I truly enjoyed babysitting as a teenager were the snacks. So many snacks. Fourteen and rabid for the Gushers my mom refused to stock. I left that night full of nuts and Cheez-its.

Friday morning I woke bloated and foggy from the day prior spent rotting in front of blue light and gorging pre-packaged food. I picked up my phone to check the time and instead opened Instagram like an addict. Immediately I was revolted. I’d had too much. Totally sugared out.

Strolling Santa Monica, by Bonnie Lynn Felton, lynnfelton.com

I needed to go outside. Deeply. My bones told me.

Apart from eating 500 grams of protein with every meal, the suggestion for optimal wellness I hear above all else, is to take walks.

When I lived in New York, I loved walking. Walked everywhere. Sometimes even the 115 blocks from my serving job in Tribeca all the way up to my Harlem apartment. Usually I was wearing some kind of cheap ballerina flat. Hilarious that, strapped into my Hoka’s some 15+ years later, going for a walk feels like such a chore.

Before, I’d walk and fantasize about my dreams of the future. No one told me how good it is for me. That it will regulate my nervous system, keep my cortisol in check. I walked because I wanted to.

These days, after a mile or two, my left leg starts to cramp, my arches ache and I’m sweating. I wonder if my frequent heatstrokes are perimenopause or a general out of shape-ness. I feel not great about the possibility of either. I look at my step count and wonder how many more circles I’ll need to get 5,000 more. Hoka’s are a fucking scam.

In my haze of over-exposure, I put on the New Balances I wear for fashion that are 1000 times more comfortable than the Hokas I bought for the walking meant to cure me. I left the house with only my keys.

I heard the birds and the cars, the moving truck that banged by, a man leaning halfway out the passenger window waving at me like I was driving an ice cream truck. I breathed, something I forget to do all the time. Waved at my neighbors. Said, “hello!” and then, “hello again!” to the folks walking the circle in the opposite direction from me. The leaves crunched and fell all around me like a goddamn Thanksgiving movie.

I breathed.

What a relief to be outside. Not trapped in front of a screen or smooshed like a Star Wars character between the four walls of my home. Reminded that the sun shines, the trees sway and people are still people.

Humans are designed to survive. Wired to freeze or flee. Conditioned that the end is always near. We spend so much energy taming our wild bodies to fit into this “civilized” world. We try so hard to eat right and exercise right and be right. We ignore our own innate knowing. A natural tendency to be kind and together and to care. We have forgotten how much power we have out in the world.

It felt so good to walk and to breathe. Not because I was getting steps in or managing my stress, but because I can sit here now and remember how the light hit the red and brown leaves. I can see the faces of the neighbors I passed, grin at the memory of the man in the moving truck who had a smile on his face the size of the Grand Canyon.

It felt like drinking water. Refreshing.

By Saturday, the door was already replaced at the coffee shop next to the studio. No one has mentioned it in the three days since. I’ve been bringing a book to work. Thinking about a new sewing project, two big writing goals and all the cooking I’m excited to do.

What I want more than anything is to keep remembering that life feels best when I live it. Making real memories is 1000 times better than looking at 1000 reels. Taking a walk is awesome because it just is. I guess I’m glad I finally remembered what I already knew. Arthur said it best, we don’t play to win, we play to have fun.

READING

If you’re new here and have missed my past testimonials to

culturework

let me take this moment to remind you. I read her Substack religiously, have pulled my car over for new posts before. TikTok users, if you aren’t following her there yet, I implore you. No one says it as clearly and deeply intellectually as Zarinah. I’m so incredibly grateful to her and her work. “Local matters most.”

This post from

Haley Nahman

put into words what I’ve been feeling this week about getting the fuck out of your house and saying hello to your neighbors.

I was also moved, like I always am, by this post from

Suleika Jaouad

who so eloquently writes about her life, navigating illness and still finding small joys, what she calls “bonuses” in her everyday.

WATCHING

Ummm….yeah…so….Felicity Season 3 y’all. Pretty good.

LISTENING

I’ve been on a 2008ish kick this week, mainly, It’s Blitz! from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

Finally. Today. It is 65 degrees. The air matches the scenery. I can stop pretending it feels like fall because it actually does. Rejoice!

Sweet Tea Talk this Wednesday for my paid subscribers! I’m not ready to officially announce my plans for you all yet, but know that I’m cooking up some digital holiday treats.

I’m sending you all so much love.

GO OUTSIDE.

Talk to you next week.