Hello to November. And hello to you.
I am continuing on with the subscription donation project. The organization for November is the Native American Food Sovereignty Alliance (NAFSA). If you are new here (welcome!) or need a refresher, you can always find more details of the project on my About page. And if you want to be a matching donor, let me know.
Thank you for being with me on this journey. This newsletter means a lot to me. If you are connecting with the work at all, please consider clicking the heart button, leaving a comment, and/or sharing it. All the turkeys will thank you. And all the turkeys are me.
CW: loneliness, mental health adjacent
When I don’t know how to feel, I go to the kitchen.Â
The first week of November 2020 was a long one, for all of us.Â
For me, Monday started with a haphazard corporate attempt at diversity measures. It was a full day of online sessions, in randomly assigned groups and no outside facilitators. We were assigned a bunch of reading to do beforehand, the selections of which were confusing. There was an attempt but it was overall, lackluster and, in some cases, mentally and emotionally unsafe.Â
Tuesday was election day. My company gave us the day off. I had voted early so it was a leisurely day mostly, knowing any results would trickle in over days. Birds of Prey and What the Constitution Means to Me were on my watch list. I felt a strange sort of confidence, like I had set myself up to handle the anxiety of the ensuing hours, like I knew how to hang on to some hope. There were tools in my toolbox and I was going to use them.Â
And then the rest of the week.Â
It was work and meals and television and sleeping. The irregular time highlighted the way the regular days slogged. Mostly, it was quiet in my apartment. It didn’t matter what else was happening, what noise there might be, it was silence. I could feel my breathing. I could feel the seconds ticking by. I could feel the nerves in the palms of my hands.Â
The problem, for me, wasn’t so much the waiting. It wasn’t so much the election, even. It was realizing, for maybe the first time since I moved into this apartment by myself in June, how alone I truly was. Physically alone. No roommates to run into in the hall, no family to be annoyed by, no partner puttering around. No matter what the outcome was to be, I would be alone when I found out. I would be alone in the aftermath. And I would be alone for who knows how much longer in the future.Â
That was the knowledge that moved into my chest somewhere around Wednesday and set up shop. It brought all its boxes and knick knacks and created a cluttered nook in my ribcage. Sure, I was craving a buddy but not this was not the visitor I was hoping for.Â
By the time the election was called on Saturday, I had been settling into this knowledge for days. The outcome was favorable. There was a lot of joy, a flurry of text messages, a real attempt to be collectively together despite the distance and isolation. And still all the sound in my apartment was muted.Â
So, I went to the kitchen.Â
The kitchen is one of the only places I can turn my brain off. Or, at least, quiet it for a bit. Baking and/or cooking is a singular task with a tangible outcome. Someone else has developed a recipe and written out instructions for you and all you have to do is follow them. You can riff or make substitutions but there is still a roadmap to guide you along.Â
Food is how I take care of people, how I show love. It’s often the first way I attempt to solve problems (which is something to interrogate another day). It is the easiest and greatest way I know how to be connected to things, and to people, outside of myself. That Saturday, I needed a well-worn road map to connection. The route was cake.
I went to the kitchen and I came out with a 6-ish inch six layer cake. The cakes were coconut flavored, it was filled with a blueberry compote, frosted in American buttercream, and covered in toasted coconut.Â
Searching through my drawers, I found candles. I put two on top, lit them, and took pictures of the cake.Â
Then I blew out the candles. I cut myself a slice and sat on my couch. It was still impossibly quiet but, at least, the air smelled good.
(Tuesday is, once again, election day. If you need them, you can find some resources here.)
Monday, November 2, 2020
Tuesday, November 3, 2020
Wednesday, November 4, 2020
Thursday, November 5, 2020
Friday, November 6, 2020
Saturday, November 7, 2020
Sunday, November 8, 2020
This week, paying subscribers learned about how good I am at taking care of a carnival fish. If that sounds intriguing to you, consider becoming a paid subscriber.