For the millionth time this year, I have revisited Patti Smith’s M Train.
God damn, she can write. Her writing has so much texture, dimension. I would never claim to write for any other reason than to amuse myself, but when I read Patti Smith I feel like I should be better. I want to create the same full-on sensory portal into my little corner of the world. I want to write sentences that stand up off a page. And still, I want it all to sound just like me. Whatever that means.
I envy her routine in M Train. Wake up, go to a coffee shop and write. A few years ago when I was doing freelance work, my routine was similar. I would wake up (dress), find a coffee shop and sit down (with coffee), study a book on the history of art or music (take notes) go to the gym (exercise), get home and work on some project (maybe nap?), do an online tutorial. Rinse and repeat.
I truly miss the gym at 9:00am on a Tuesday.
But then, I’ve also had itchy feet lately. It all seems somehow rooted in Patti Smith and her book M Train. First in New York and then in Mexico. Maybe it’s because in both places she makes it her routine to visit to coffee shops. Right now, that feels so right. Coffee in some place other than Toronto.
This week began with a picture of a baby boy. A sonogram sent by my sister and accompanied by a text, ‘It’s a boy!’. The first child, the first grandchild, the first boy in a family of daughters.
The weekend that my sister told me she was pregnant, it was amid the insanity of a Taylor Swift concert (of all things). A few days later, Lauren (my roommate of 4-5 years) told me that she was moving out, and in with Michael. The change was happening suddenly and I was absorbed in the chaos of work. I was completely disoriented.
Some weeks later, we began the arduous task of finding a new roommate. Through online groups like Craigslist and Bunz, we dismissed potential roommates with a reckless abandon, reading their short messages and yelling ‘NEXT!’. Our voices were filled with the confidence of a few summer balcony beers. We progressed to the interviewing portion which included several no-shows, a few bailers, a handful of worthy candidates.
But when we met Rae, I thought: HER. Sometimes when I meet a person I see something like a light shining out of them. This was the case with Rae. Because I knew that my male roommates wouldn’t understand the ‘light shining’ analogy, I decided to tread carefully with my powers of persuasion. Nobody likes to feel like they are being talked into things, but I could feel in my bones that this was the right choice. So, I was measured and fair and tried not to show any strong bias. For five minutes. I lasted FIVE minutes. I then spiraled into a series of threats and ultimatums. I held up the balcony. Gun to Steve’s head, screaming: “Pick Rae or say goodbye to Steve!”
I kid.
But soon after our very unanimous decision to choose Rae as a roommate, Steve did decide that it was time to say goodbye to Dovercourt. He relayed this decision on the first official day of a conference which would finish near the end of the month. The conference was a long, stress-filled week, and because of this, I had strategically planned a week of vacation almost immediately after. This meant that I had as little as 3 days to start and finish the roommate search. All over again.
I don’t know how the rest of the world functions after dealing with more than a hundred people over several 20 hour workdays. I however lose all feeling in my in my human sensing abilities. The thought of choosing a person to live with during this particular energy depleted moment seemed impossible.
So when the roommate topic came up before a concert with Janneke, she leaned in, raised an eyebrow, nodded all cool, and said “What if I were to move in?” I just about melted like a pad of butter.
It was a topic that Andrew and I had discussed briefly but dismissed quickly because Janneke is a goddess and would likely NOT cohabitate with us mere mortals.
At the concert, I spent the night trying to (once again) tone down my powers of persuasion. Janneke and I would dream a little about what it would be like to live together and then I would frantically punctuate the dream with “BUT NO PRESSURE, OKAY!”
…And then under my breath, like a man with a coat full of knock-off watches:
“But seriously, the room is yours if you want it”
We scheduled a viewing. It was at this moment that I realized that I had made some bold statements without considering Rae. She had just moved in A DAY previously, and I had steamrolled through without considering her. However, to my delight, it became clear after only 3 minutes, that Rae and Janneke probably enjoy each other more than they do me OR Andrew.
And the moral of the story is that I am always right, but I am not always the most popular.
I kidddd.
So Janneke has moved in. She cooked us a curry on one of her first nights and we sat around her teak table and talked and laughed. We beamed at each other. Little things like soap dishes and accent pillows have started appearing. There is a new energy at Dovercourt.
I have always said that I get live with my best friends. Then two of them moved out over the span of two months. My head is still spinning. But somehow, in the shadows of complete energy depletion, something exciting has sprouted.
A picture of a baby boy, a brand new micro-community. And as always, as much laughter as possible. The louder the better.
Janneke has just moved her portable jungle into our place. Did you know that having 500 plants in a large, white, sunlit room is immediately calming?
I am painting our kitchen Cloud white. Dreamy right? I personally find this kind of painting to be an odious task. It loses all charm after the 10th ‘w’ (painting experts will know what I’m talking about). I’ve painted three rooms this month. I’ve painted too many rooms this month. I want a trophy.
I felt compelled to host a mid-week dinner. I invited a bunch of friends over and made as much stew as the pots in our kitchen would allow. Three kinds to be exact: beef stew, a vegan stew and spicy peanut butter stew.
The goal was to make it as easy as possible for my guests. I wanted them to come and enjoy each others company without having to worry about bringing a pasta salad. This would have been the bar for success. But something better happened. The atmosphere resembled something closer to a family dinner. Each person found a way to help or add some kind of unexpected touch to the dinner.
Earlier this year at a ski weekend, late into the night (early in the morning?) some friends and I were talking, laughing, singing obnoxious odes to Janneke and her legendary baking. I was drunkenly pontificating about how I wanted to surround myself with “yes, and” people.
In improv (which, to be clear: I have never actually done*) there is a term “yes, and”. The idea is that if one of the actors says “my hair is on fire” the other actor must accept this and then add something new to the equation.
So let’s unpack my drunken, 4:00am metaphor as it relates to social situations:
Yes, Part 1: The absence of ‘no’. In improv, you can’t say ‘no your hair is not on fire.’ That would discourage growth in the story; throw everything off. Yes, my dear, sweet friends: you have the power of free will. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. YOU DO YOU(ish). BUT (maybe) you fight the lethargy, the weather, the annoying commute. Maybe, you don’t say ‘no’. You fight ‘no’. You say…
Yes, Part 2: The presence of ‘yes’. The sooner, the better. RSVP, See You Next Tuesdays**.
Which brings me to…
And: Here is the thing about you. You are great. You are charming. You have that thing. Bring that thing. Is it food? Is it conversation? Is it a penchant for knowing where the fork and knife should rest on the table? (I don’t!). An infectious laugh? An ability to put people at ease. A great hot sauce? A cute dog? A karaoke machine?*** A passion for the artist formally known as Prince?
The point is, had everyone just shown up to Stew Night, I would have been over the moon. But the night was better than that. Because everyone brought something a little extra. Sometimes, you just need a few friends, and
*I have listened to too many comedy podcasts.
**A masked term of endearment. I promise.
***Bring at your own risk, you may never see again.
30 Minute Playlist: Yes, and
Pictures of the week (and other weeks):
^ The sweetest table wine (the kings choice) that we dared to crack open. Where is it from? Let’s not slander the country.
Progressively Louder Laughter 