Superstitions

Today is more than just a day? Maybe? *Chapter 27*

Three very significant happenings have happened on three different February 19th’s. Sixteen years ago to this day, my paternal grandmother, the woman I attribute my brassy confidence to and who I think about as I consider how beautiful Atlanta is, how happy I am to be back here, passed away. She was a legislator in the Georgia House of Representatives for 26 years. She loved Georgia, fought to get Sandy Springs unincorporated and was extraordinarily well-loved and respected. Her legacy is a model for my life. She’s around all the time. I look exactly like her.

Four years ago to this day, Scraps and I left Los Angeles in my 2008 Honda Accord. Moving home had been an idea brewing in my mind for years and then suddenly one day the decision was clear. Three weeks later we were packed and ready. We drove for five days across the country stopping in Flagstaff, Tucumcari, Oklahoma City and Memphis. Alan and I spent yesterday looking through the Instagram stories from that journey. Scraps and I look completely different these days. Both of us fluffier and grayer and happier than we’ve ever been before.

The day before we arrived in Atlanta.

Exactly a year after we left Los Angeles, in our makeshift ‘apartment’¹ in my parent’s house, my bags were packed to leave for a job that would take me to Williamsburg, VA. Overly excited and tired, I decided to give Scraps an aggressively enthusiastic kiss on his face. Startled and half asleep, he nipped at me and caught my nose, nearly taking the tip off. Twelve stitches later and only a faint scar now three years down the road, that event is the reason I stayed in Atlanta. That silly little dog, a real pirate of a creature, has altered my life in a number of subtle ways. Biting off my nose, the least subtle of all, is the one for which I’m most grateful.

Sunny and Shy, by Bonnie Lynn Felton, lynnfelton.com

Today is February 19th, 2024. My parents both jokingly told me to stay inside. When Alan left this morning, I told him over 30 times to, “Drive carefully. Be careful.” We’re not actually…logically worried, that’s silly…it’s just a day… but…

Superstitions are eery.

My dad told me that his grandfather, who we famously call Papa, suffered from triskaidekaphobia, fear of the number 13. He wouldn’t leave his house on Friday the 13th. I know friends who touch the side of the plane upon boarding to keep it from crashing. Another who takes pictures of her electrical outlets to remind herself she’s unplugged her straightening iron. Superstition? Obsession? Anxiety?

From the very rudimentary research I just conducted, scientists seem to agree that superstition is born from a need to control situations where a lack of control is present (see: being alive). To use practices that either bring good luck or help avoid bad fortune. So behind the security blanket of superstition lurks anxiety and fear. Gosh. How absolutely sweet of us to create these whimsical habits, these innocent human rituals to keep us safe and blessed.

I consider myself reasonably superstitious. I will always tell you to “be careful” when you’re leaving. I’ll always think money is coming my way if my palms are itchy. I’ll toss salt next to a table at the restaurant when I’m ready for guests to leave and knock on wood when necessary. I know these practices are silly and meaningless, but part of me believes that denying any of them will result in the worst. You’ll die if I don’t remind you not to. Wealth will abate if I don’t recognize my itch. Diners will stay forever and terrible luck will come my way if I don’t salt and knock. So even if I am conscious of this arguably juvenile compulsion, my subconscious is fully invested in the obligation to superstition.

Luckily, my brain tends to swing to brighter consequences. “Today is February 19th! Maybe something amazing will happen!” More likely than not, today will be just another day but the attention paid to it every year carries the potential to make it special. I suppose this awareness could be, perhaps should be applied to every day. Superstitiously believing that declaring everyday special will make it so?

I’ve been working to quiet the parts of my mind that whisper ‘something bad is coming’ over the shoulder of everything good that’s going on. Trying to heal the part of me that if let off the leash will run wild with fear. At the core of my superstition sits a scared little baby girl. Please be careful. Stay inside. Don’t ever leave me. I’m so scared. How brave we are to open our doors and step into the world each day.

February 19th is a day I remember my grandmother. A day infused with wonder and tinged with worry. Today I honor my courage. Courage inherited from an incredibly powerful woman that emboldened me to make a huge move four years ago. That held my hand as I laid on a table alone in a covid-times emergency room, twelve stitches that would decide my fate. A day to reflect on all that has lead me to exactly where I sit now, my apartment in Atlanta, writing to you for the 27th week in a row. I’m so SO lucky. And you better believe I’m knocking on wood about it.

Be careful. Stay safe.

READING

My friend Alexa has started a Substack, Resiliance by Alexa Wilding. I’ve been a huge fan of her and her writing for many years beginning with a New York City temp job where I worked beside her and truly thought she was the coolest woman I’d ever met. Life has dealt her some major hurdles, she shares her wisdom through words so brilliantly and so generously, I’d definitely recommend subscribing.

WATCHING

The Lost Kitchen on Discovery+. I’m always nostalgic but this week I feel especially so about 2020. I watched this show from my parent’s basement when lockdown first started and giving it a rewatch brings back such cozy feelings from that weird time. It’s a lovely show about a sweet little restaurant in Freedom, Maine. Yes, I’ve sent several postcards hoping to get a reservation.

LISTENING

I can’t believe it has taken me this long to tell you about The Good Dirt! This is the podcast of my friends Mary and Emma, a mother/daughter team who run a sustainable, slow-living brand called Lady Farmer. The Good Dirt is all about slowing down and living with intention. They have SO many episodes and wonderful guests, I cannot recommend this enough.

Tomorrow Alan and I are driving out to The Mall of Georgia to see Amélie in the theater. Talk about nostalgia, can you imagine how overcome I’m going to be sitting next to the man I dreamt about meeting, hoped I’d get to fall in love with, when I first saw this film in a theater 23 years ago?! Amélie imprinted on me in ways I don’t even realize. I credit it for forming the basis of my creative whimsy, my joie de vivre, an integral player in my entire personality.

I hope you have a lovely week full of wonder. Til next time.

xoxo.

1. When I say my ‘apartment’, I am referring to my childhood bedroom where I rode out a year and a half of the pandemic. I split it into different areas. A meditation chair, crafting table, writing desk. I had a sewing machine in there and did several tarot card readings. It was a very special space.