These Are Days You'll Remember
10,000 Maniacs, anyone? On unplanned excursions. Plus, a last dance, me on a podcast, another gift guide, and Cathy — ack!
There is nothing like having a day you didn’t plan go exactly as planned. Sure, I love it when things I intended to happen happen, too. (I am a Type A Virgo, after all.) But lately, I’ve loved nothing more than setting out with the simplest of intents or destinations and letting the day unfold naturally, and being completely delighted by the unexpected results.
I return home so fulfilled and mentally exhausted that I collapse onto a dining room chair with a dorky grin across my face. (Collapsing onto the couch is not an option, as it hasn’t arrived yet, and collapsing on the bed before 9 p.m. always feels a bit…lazy. But I digress.)
My memorable weekend wanders that often beget days of wonder begin like this:
Choose one destination — say, a store that stocks a particular incense, the Saturday farmer’s market, or a second-hand furniture store.
Head towards that destination.
Stop along the way, before and after; taking a right here, or a left there, following my senses and the stimulus around me.
Look up and around.
Talk to and smile at strangers like the salesperson at the frame store, who is very happy to receive my business, and the person who held the gate for me in the subway.
Photograph the way the light hits a particular building as I continue to roam.
Realize I happen to be near [enter place I’ve starred on my map] and pop in for a [pastry/coffee/wine/look-see].
Rinse, repeat.
Return home with more than what I set out for, like simple appreciation for a lovely way to spend a day and maybe a blister.
These are the days I’ll remember for the mere fact that the journey, for lack of a less clichéd phrase, really ended up being as meaningful as the destination. They remind me of my early days in Paris when I was first getting to know the city; when I’d set out to try some much-talked-about croissant across the river, or visit the one marché that’s open every day simply to buy herbs. Years later, I learned that the “best croissant” and freshest herbs were the ones closest to chez moi. But back then, I reveled in these purposeful outings of blind discovery when the city revealed itself in small hushes as I found myself navigating hidden passages and small gardens. I have a distinct memory of taking a petite pause by Metro St. Georges, sitting on a bench while a little kid scooted around and around in circles as I attempted to peacefully read a book. No amount of annoyance could disturb my reverie just for the mere fact that it existed in the first place. I loved those little moments I wouldn’t have otherwise had if I were rushing between A and B, just doing my errands and checking things off a list.
Easier said (and remembered) than done, of course. It’s not lost on me that such time to myself, ambling about — flaneuring, as the French might call it — is a privilege that I can take advantage of because I’m a) independent (of a partner, kids, a corporate job) and b) living in a big city where so much is at my fingertips. I can pick up my dry cleaning on a Wednesday at 11 a.m. and get by with one roll of toilet paper for a while.
But as the days turn darker and colder for many of us, making any sort of movement, commute, or goal less inspiring or motivating to achieve, I encourage everyone to find some time for themselves and to start small. Heed that one little croissant crumb without pretenses or heaviness and see where it takes you. Let it satisfy you simply because… “to be part of the miracles you see in every hour / you’ll know it’s true that you are blessed and lucky.” 🤓🤓🤓 You’re welcome for the cheesy pre-holiday cheer and ramble down memory lane with Natalie Merchant. Bon week-end, mes amies. Thanks, as always, for being here. xx — Sara
Also overthinking this week…
… whether to purchase “standard” or “tall” for a certain bookcase…and also what color…whether the laser apparatus at the chiropractor that costs $40 extra for a 60-second stream of light will legit help my neck pain or it’s B.S….
Clickable
A heartbreaking cancer tale and a broken healthcare system. | The New Yorker
What happens to everything you return? It’s not good, folks. | Wirecutter
The antidote for getting through dark days. | The New York Times (gift link)
When all you wanted was to be popular, but your kid DGAS. | The Cut
I’m proud to be Gen X: “a moment, a mood, an ethos.” | T Magazine (gift link)
Watchable
I won’t bore you with the dramatic details of why Whitney Leavitt (a cast member from this season of Dancing With the Stars who is on a reality show I do not watch, The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives) was shockingly voted off early — because Alex Cooper of Call Her Daddy did it for me. The mere fact that Alex aired Whitney and her pro Mark Ballas’ final freestyle dance that they would’ve performed had they made it to the finale in collaboration with ABC was unprecedented. (Normally, when you’re out, you’re out. Buh-bye.) Lucky for us, these are unprecedented times because it truly was an absolutely stunning artistic representation of, well, all the drama.
And if all of that is confusing, never mind. Just fast-forward to 1:05:48, right after Alex finishes a T-Mobile ad, and prepare to be blown away.
Listenable
Listen to me waffle on about being a writer and an editor, and a bit about how I got from New York to Paris and back again on the podcast, Writers Rotation. I met the host, Kathie Stamps, through Caveday, the hard-to-explain, but awesome side gig I’m a member of/guide for. If you need to focus and have room in your virtual life to “meet” awesome people like Kathie, sign up today!
A Guide to Gifts aka Another Gift Guide
I’m editing the Substack i/Edit by the lovely Alisa Greenspan these days, and I make my debut as a sorta contributor this week in Part Two of her gift guide. (Usually, I’m just behind-the-scenes!) Her Substack is all about introducing readers to under-the-radar tastemakers and creatives who then share their recommendations for cool products, places, experiences, and more. Check it out!
Souvenir: Cathy
I wasn’t huge into comics, but if I read one on occasion (or someone tore one from the newspaper for me), it was Cathy — the foibles of a single woman struggling with the “four basic guilt groups” (love, food, family, and work). Who can blame me? I grew up in the ’80s when SlimFast and Barbies were No. 1 at the grocery store and Toys R Us.
The comic, which of course was canceled (literally, in 2010, and figuratively for how outdated and anti-feminist its messages eventually became), tapped into a certain time for women when expectations were one thing, and dreams were another. As Slate put it, “at some point it became clear that a woman preoccupied with the horrors of bathing suit season wasn’t going to cut it as a feminist heroine.”
Funnily enough, she was replaced as an icon by Carrie on SATC (“never say Cathy comic to me again”), who became the butt of many jokes years later, proving that it’s all cyclical and women remain doomed. 🙃
What a delightful read! Even more fun than jealously following you from Paris to Brooklyn on the 'gram. Glad to be aboard.
Skip the chiropractor! Any Ostéo or kine equivalent? Less risky for your spinal column. Love, your French mom 😝😉