number twenty-one, with reverie
we can’t do it all, twenty-twenty blessings, and some recommendations for ya
Hello friends! I returned to full time work last month and it has been a time of re-adjustment. Balancing my work life and my writing life and finally allowing some time to rest and process all the changes the past couple of months have sent my way. That is to say, I took a little time away but remain committed to this newsletter and plan to return to sending weekly issues. Starting narrative lines is one of the things I have been most grateful for in this year and I look forward to growing it in the next.
Some other fun writing updates:
I have been writing for a new men’s jewelry website, Cladright. If you are interested in men’s jewelry or are shopping for a loved one, I encourage you to check it out! I have highlighted a couple of great brands, and also put together a guide to necklace chains that is useful for anyone shopping for a chain. Also, if you have any questions about men’s jewelry I am now a resource! Hit me up.
If you are in the market for some last minute holiday gifts, check out this guide to local makers here in Charlotte I wrote for the Queen City Nerve. It was so exciting to have the opportunity to highlight some of these beautiful artists. Remember to shop local and gift with heart. <3
we can’t do it all
One of the biggest lies that we have been sold in life is that you can do all things all the time. How many profiles I have read or interviews I have listened to where the arc of someone’s success is compressed into a straight line. It is a problem of the form I think, not so much a fault of the people themselves. Either way, it is tough to not come away with the impression that successful people simply do everything all at once all the time.
I’ve been thinking about the examples we have of success. Biopics with predestined endings, interviews with celebrities full of fun stories of their ramen days before fame, memoirs that offer highs and lows while skipping all the days in between. Self-help books that hope illuminate some sort of shortcut but by their very nature of being written remind us that life lessons are hard-won over many miles and that even with a little direction we still have to travel them ourselves. Glossy television dramas of swiftly catapulting to success.
When I was younger I thought there would be a time when everything just sort of, clicked into place. The way we feel when we are having our best days. Like a character on a CW drama, fluttering about town with freshly washed hair and coffee in hand, making time for our friends, lovers, and to win over our boss all before it gets dark. There is never annoying traffic or delayed trains that make our plan to surprise our husband at work a frustrating slog rather than a whimsical jaunt across town. When you would eat three balanced meals but stay thin and your bathroom would always be clean.
That was silly obviously and I would have known better if I had looked around at adults in my life and tried to understand what they were up to. Even if I had I probably would have thought when I grew up I would know how to do it better, somehow. I have figured things out pretty well I think. I mean, I still run out of toilet paper from time to time and I often forget to make lunch (and dinner and breakfast), and my bathroom is usually clean (not like guest-ready, clean but enough). I do have a coffee in hand, that’s for sure.
What I have accepted that has made it all feel manageable is that no one can do all things all the time. We do one thing and we figure that out reasonably well, and then we layer on another. I seem to always forget this and am constantly relearning it when I once again take on more than I can. Assuming I can keep up and that success looks like doing all things all the time. We have to adjust to our new realities, to the feeling and rhythm and psychological contours of the things we introduce into our lives. A new home, city, job, love, friendship, hobby, therapist, or creative project. Our time is not limitless, but more importantly, neither is our energy.
We are much better about this with our friends than with ourselves. When I see someone in my life taking on any of those things I am full of excitement and pride for them. Embracing a change, even one that is bringing more joy and peace to your life is not easy. I know this from my own life and the way something even small can take much more out of me than I could have anticipated. How a change of season or decorating project will consume me and shift my focus. For myself, however, it is a different story. I expect with one change I can handle many, that I can maintain it all, do it all at once — that at some point it will all just click.
The reality of things is that life is more like an album than a stack of legos you build up. Things don’t really click, so much as move around. We have these different elements of us that we work hard to play together in harmony, when they do we can feel we are soaring. I think that is what I seek in life, harmonious wellbeing. Sometimes the bass drops out and we lead with the vocals, which is great because it means we can truly hear them. We have to learn to appreciate and lean into those times when life asks us to dive deep into one area of our growth.
For many people this year I think there were moments when the sound seemed to have dropped out all together. In the silence it is unclear if there is any way forward, of if you will choose the right note to play first. You thought love was what was missing, but it struck a wrong note. You thought you were ready for a big change but found safety in familiar rhythms.
Usually, even among our friends, we find ways to make tidy the messy reality that has been occurring since the last time we spoke. Is this what Joan Didion meant by “we tell ourselves stories in order to live”? That we have to tell stories that are easy or else we risk dying of shame, or killing our friends with painful details of our private psycho-dramas?
This is why we live for the lies we get to tell on Saturday nights. Scrubbing ourselves clean, painting our faces carefully, doing something with our hair, and putting on our most impractical shoes and dresses all to compose a version of ourselves that is fully arrived. Showing up to the bar in a flurry of cheek kisses and friends asking “how was your week?” without expecting a real answer. The answer is: you are here, and you look lovely. How I miss being perceived.
Now though, what do we have to hide? Nowadays there is nowhere to arrive, no reprieve. Instead, we are left to drag around every moment to the next. When we have at once been confronted with monumental change and a kind of treading water at once, the idea of reaching goals, of finding a marker of success, simply does not compute. We can feel the pain of those we love when sitting in our own home set apart by miles because we are all experiencing our own version of it. Separated by distance but not feeling. Charting the changing moods of my girlfriends through our daily group text I feel in tune with the rhythms of our daily lives like never before.
If endings are not guaranteed it seems easier to see that we are simply searching our way through the middle of our own stories. Maybe endings are not what we are after anyway but to just keep trying to tune into this moment, whatever it is giving you and whatever it asks.
It is hard to not get sucked into bouts of reverie this time of year. I keep finding my mind drifting back to March and June and September, trying to gain a sense of how time has taken me from where I was to where I am. The scale of this year has been so intimate it is hard to accept time has passed at all when I felt each and every puzzle piece and cup of coffee dripping by.
The days when I have felt good and on top of things or the days when every little thing felt wrong. The ones where I ordered out for every meal and looked at my phone too much. The weeks when I wrote every day and the words came clearly, and the ones where I lost myself in books instead because I was having trouble finding words of my own.
Looking forward to the next year I wonder what I can reasonably set as my intentions. There is so much I can do better at, so much I can be proud of myself for, and a lot of things in between. I eschewed resolutions some years ago in favor of setting intentions. Feeling and energy I want to carry forward and invest in. Holding up each aspect of my life and asking: “What is out of balance? What would I like more of, what about less?”
When it comes to my intentions for this coming year I am coming up empty. Sure, I want to exercise more and I would like to have more of those days when I write at all (hopefully clearly). But mostly I intend to allow room for the different parts to be heard. To love when they all come at once, but to be kind no matter what. We can’t do it all. No number of intentions can make it so.
twenty-twenty blessings: the ladies of salt lake city
The beneficence of Bravo is, and I do not believe I am overstating this, one of the things to have gotten me through this year. They have blessed us by not only keeping up with the rotation of Housewives and southern Charmers and Below Deckers we have come to expect, but have, by the grace of Andy Cohen, chosen to bless us with a brand new franchise. It only feels right that to wrap up this year I spend the next couple of weeks with these women, from the streets of Potomac to the hills of Utah, reflecting on what they have given.
There is no place I could possibly start other than with our newest ladies. The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City premiered only a couple of weeks ago and skied swiftly straight into our hearts. This show is bringing some things we have never seen before. The Mormon angle alone has me rapt and curious about how a religious subculture being front-and-center will alter the Housewives formula. Many women in other cities mention their religion or have a church or holiday celebration moment, but never before have we seen it centered this way.
Housewives franchises have always been about women in the middle of their lives redefining themselves against what has been expected of them. It is a way of reclaiming power, taking up space, and demanding to be heard — sometimes by throwing a glass of wine in another woman’s face, I’m not saying these are role models here but they are women trying to live in this goddamn world. In Salt Lake City these women are attempting to construct a public identity within a culture shaped by a faith tradition where space for women is even more narrowly carved. How power, wealth, fame, sex, femininity, and faith are held in conflict and degrees of harmony in the lives of these women is something I look forward to seeing over time. Yes, it may just be an over-dressed dinner party argument and acrylic fingernails being pointed over some deliciously petty bullshit, but it is so much more.
As to what these women are giving us so far, wow. It is a lot to process. They are clearly students of the game. Molding and maximizing their fashion and facial fillers in the image of the greats who have come before them. A quick rundown of what we are dealing with here:
Mary Crosby. A woman who is leading a church that is potentially a cult and who has the unhinged energy of a wealthy woman who just got off a mandatory psychiatric hold and hasn’t quite adjusted to her meds. I can’t tell if she is traumatized, unwell, or plain malicious. Oh, and she is married to her grandfather (step-grandfather…but, I mean, does it matter?).
We have Meredith and Lisa, two brunettes who look so alike that they short-circuit my brain when they are on screen together. If they pulled a Princess Switch a la Vanessa Hudgens I could be fooled, primarily because I can barely tell you the difference now. One of them has major vocal fry. One is separated from their husband. One has mastered the art of turning trite cocktail party conversation into a personality.
Brooks, the instant star. The gay son of Meredith (or is it Lisa?) who “took time off school to be there for his mom” aka “wanted to be on camera.” Brooks might be fab, he might be evil, he might hate women except for his mother and possibly his mother as well.
There is Jen Shah, a woman who lives in a house she calls a chalet which as far as I am concerned is iconic mountain-living behavior. What are you doing in Salt Lake if not aspiring to chalet status? She has a face full of filler and a house full of staff who are seemingly employed to make her look good for television and…assist? I am not sure, and neither is she!
Heather. A woman who carries her jealousy, insecurity, and fledgling anger right beneath her skin. Heather is basic, she is divorced, she is aware she has cankles, and she is trying really hard to have a good time and reclaim her power in a world that seems hell-bent on squashing it. I love Heather!
Last, and kinda least, is Whitney. The main thing I can say about Whitney is she shows a lot of cleavage in her confessionals and it is very distracting. She talks in a stilted, hesitant, girlish way that sets me on edge while drawing me in. I don’t know how a grown woman ends up speaking this way. She has a voice, and the boobs, for reality television.
We are already several episodes into a feud started by the phrase “it smells like hospital.” Have had a daytime Met gala themed party that was very confusing because, as Heather astutely pointed out, the Met is a place and the theme changes every year. We are dealing with separations, long distance coach-husband pep-talks, addiction, marrying grandpas — with the chime of church bells setting the pace.
recommended for…
holiday cheer: A great holiday special is a rare find and deserves to be cherished, and celebrated. If you haven’t already indulged I have to recommend the Mariah Carey Christmas Special on Apple TV+. Mariah is just SO MARIAH. I loved every second, even the parts I hated.
a beauty moment: I am back with another lip product recommendation! I love a red lip, and always will, but sometimes you want something a little more subdued. Over the years I have discovered that orange hues are a wonderfully flattering, and wearable alternative to red but have struggled to find a shade that was truly wearable. Until now! I discovered the most perfect rusty orange lipstick from natural makeup brand Crop Naturals. It wears matte but is non-drying, and the shape of the applicator makes for effortless application. I feel this shade could be wearable on anyone, but if you are brunette with olive undertones like myself, I know for sure you will love it. The shade is Dare Devil by Crop Naturals, you can order it from Credo Beauty.
candle-heads: For a last minute holiday gift, or just a way to make sure your own year gets off to the right start, I offer you the humble wick trimmer. As a candle lover/addict I recently purchased a wick trimmer and the only question I have for myself is, “what took you so damn long?” A wick trimmer is not only a chic item to have on your table, but it keeps you candles looking trim and burning lovely so you don’t waste any of their precious wax with uneven burn. A well stocked home décor shop in your town should carry one, but I will recommend a few. For a cute rose gold option this Kacey Musgraves edition from Boy Smells is cheeky, or go with classic brass like this one at Moxie Mercantile (a local shop here in Charlotte).
your desk: A couple of issues ago I was talking about my favorite pencil (Blackwing) and now I feel it is time to talk pens. Pens, pencil’s more serious sister. I am here to talk about Le Pen. THE PEN. The true test of any product is how desperate you are to repurchase it. I have been using the fine line Le Pen for probably about two years and during that time I have bought replacements, back-ups, and added new colors to my collection. At first I thought it would be a fun marker I would use for special projects but over time I have shifted Le Pen to full-time status. I love the the slim feel of the pen in my hand, the way it produces the perfect lines, and how it never smudges. I use black and dark grey for everyday writing, but highly recommend picking up a couple of the tasteful yet fun colors as well to mix things up. Get scribbling.
with love,
caitlin rose