I'm in the south of France and a cacophony of experiences are shaping my time. I thought to catch a break, breathe some sea air, but I'm not doing that yet. I'm here with a close friend and she won't let up. Together, we tend to go, go, go.
At the gym one evening, my friend and I met a bodybuilder. One of those guys with huge arms and walks like they're too heavy to hold. He's competing professionally and offered to train us. Of course we said yes. I thought he'd push us harder, that it would hurt more being at the gym with him. It was pretty chill, actually, just a new perspective on what my body could accomplish after an hour and a half on a Tuesday. Afterwards, we ate avocados and rice cakes and tuna at the mall across the street. Those were some of the best avocados, rice cakes and canned tuna steaks I've ever had.
We're staying at my cousin's house. He goes rock climbing every day. I went, and I kept falling. It looked easy watching others climb, and it looked easy in my mind. The boulders were low and there were mattresses to catch us. Every time I fell, my stomach tensed. I couldn't just let go. I thought my ankles would hurt or my bones would bend all backwards. I fell at least ten times, and every time it felt the same. I'll keep going rock climbing until I learn to accept falling.
A few blocks down there's a pottery studio. We went and got covered in clay. I sat with my legs around the wheel and my hair dangerously loose, and I played. I didn't make anything; all my shapes kept breaking. I mixed the water with the red clay and tried patting everything in shape. Everything kept dissolving until I stopped trying. The teacher said it's okay, it's normal for first timers to experience this. I didn't need reassurance. I wasn't there to create. Maybe I'll find a studio near my house, or maybe I'll buy my own clay. How often do I remember to get dirty and play?
It was raining tonight. My friend and I stood close, sharing a purple and white umbrella. I had a flash of 6 or 7 years ago, one of the first days of our friendship. We were walking in Brooklyn and the skies opened up. Dirt sloshed at our feet as my friend and I shared a tiny umbrella. We didn't care if it covered one of each our shoulders. We didn't care about that tonight either. We were just happy to hang out.
In many ways, being next to close friends is better than taking a break. I wouldn't have lived any of those moments on my own. I probably would have been too shy to talk to the bodybuilder, or never thought of playing at a pottery studio. I wouldn't have made it to the south of France if she hadn't wanted and I would have kept the umbrella to myself on any rainy days. I have just a few more days with her, a few more days on this road. I want to stack up our experiences like a deck of cards. One joy after another. Next week I’ll be home and that's when I'll finally go slow, slow, slow.
Every essay feels like sharing an umbrella with you. The sanctuary of story in a world that is raining empty data.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Nice triples!