Hi, hi! How are you? It’s been a while. I’m writing to you from my desk in London, which is adorned with a jug of farmers’ market dahlias. I have undergone a metamorphosis: I’ve never been a regular flowers-in-the-home kind of person until recently. The task of keeping them perky and fresh has always seemed doomed. Already, I can see the petals at the edge of a few mauve blooms starting to wither and yet, I am grateful for their cheer.
At the foot of the jug, there are a few sprays of orange pollen and some dried leaves from last week’s dahlias. I know I need to clean them up, but whenever I contemplate it, I think, “eh, that’s a poor use of time,” (even as I know it wouldn’t actually take long to do.) This is because I’ve just begun a master’s program at the London School of Economics, where I’m getting an MSc in Culture and Society in the sociology department. What does that even mean? Basically, I’m studying culture from a sociological standpoint, including asking what “culture” means, and how both culture and cultures form, function, and intersect. I’ve been wanting a way to expand my work beyond writing about food, and this program gives me the theoretical foundation and academic structure to do so.
Asking how flowers-in-the-house people and culture form has a place at the LSE. For my dissertation (what they call a master’s thesis here), I’m piloting research about New Yorker totes: who wears them, who doesn’t, what other literary totes are in prominent circulation, and what all this says about literary culture and identity. It’s nerd heaven! It also means that I’m at my desk more than ever, balancing my freelance work and a daunting pile of required reading, grappling with dense theories and new ways of thinking. So: flowers as mascot during this adventure, which promises to be both gnarly and joyous. Time is fleeting and the flowers will droop (they’re long gone by the time I’ve finished editing this newsletter, in fact) and their ephemeral nature reminds me to be present.
Our new flat in London is just seven minutes away from Hampstead Heath, which means taking a walk there is a reasonable undertaking. I try to go every day, which, in practice, means four or five days a week. Living in this part of London means we’re further away from the people we know here, and sometimes I question that decision. But, then, I enter the Heath, and I feel justified anew. It’s wild and full of surprising paths lined with tall chestnut trees and weeping birches, and when I walk through, the suffocating grip of city life loosens for a second. At various tops of hills I can glimpse the tall buildings of central London, made quaint and picturesque by distance.
I’d like to pretend I’m someone who strolls through the green space unfettered by digital intrusion. Sometimes, I do pause to listen to the birds or the silence or the way the wind is combing through the leaves. Mostly, though, I have my headphones in. I am not sure why a walk without entertainment feels like work (a topic for another time slash, yes, I’m probably afraid of my own thoughts blahblahblah), but it does. So, I cue up a podcast, or more recently, an audiobook, which brings me to why I’m writing today.
Take recommendations from your past self seriously
People are always talking about hindsight being 20/20, preferencing the knowledge we have now over the knowledge we had then. I get it: one of the driving feelings of my life is an amorphous sense of regret and “If only I’d…” Recently, however, I’ve begun to wonder about what wisdom is tucked in the past.
While visiting my parents in Wyoming for a few weeks in August, one of my tasks was to sift through the “unreasonable” amount of books I’ve collected over the years, deciding which to bring in my suitcase, which to donate, and which to leave there. I picked up my twice-read copy of Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes and heard: “You need to read this again.” Then I looked at the mounting bedside stack of books I’d piled, research for school and the novel I’m writing. No, I thought, too frivolous, I’ve read it before, I know what the point is. I tucked the book back on the overladen shelf, thinking, “maybe when I’m back next year.”
Since we’re among friends here, I’ll say that three weeks ago, after getting back to London, where I am still in transition, light on friends and heavy on work, I was feeling a wee bit sorry for me self (said in a hopefully charming Scottish accent). I’m betting that you don’t need the details of all the woes I felt building because I’ve learned that this is a universal feeling. But, universality doesn’t make it any easier in the moment…
It was a Saturday, and I set out for a walk on the Heath before heading to the farmers’ market. First, I tried a philosophy podcast about Bruno Latour. Nope, will have to save that one for later. Then, I tried a fiction audiobook about a woman abandoning her husband and child. Pass for now. Then, I remembered: Shonda. Year of Yes. Maybe my being drawn toward it weeks before was worth taking seriously. I began listening and was hooked anew, and finished the book over three days.
If you haven’t read it before, Year of Yes charts Rhimes’s promise to herself to change from a naysayer-as-a-rule to someone who says yes to everything, no matter what. It looks and feels very bestseller bought at the airport (where I in fact, purchased my copy in 2016) and despite my snobbery, I discovered that, like many bestsellers, it’s earned the accolade for a reason. The pivotal moment that set off her year of saying yes to everything came in the form of her oldest sister telling her: “You never say yes to anything,” sparking awareness of this entrenched pattern. Just like with romcoms, you know how Year of Yes is going to go before reading. The point is to be swept up like the crescendo in a great piece of music, lifted somewhere alongside the composer and musicians to a place of realization: Yes. Yes is a good way to be.
Listening to Shonda—I gotta call her Shonda now, since listening to her feels like a friend—was what I needed. In fact, I had known that when I considered taking the book from my parents’ house, but stuck it back on the shelf. In that moment, I held tight to my constructed identity: I am a full-time freelancer going back to school who doesn’t know anything about Sociology or theory. It was all very neoliberal capitalist time-is-money to feel that all my time must be “useful.” After “reading” the book again, I realized that what had seemed frivolous in the past held important meaning for me in the present. Year of Yes reminded me not just to be open to the opportunities that come my way, but to listen to the feedback others give me. Maybe I don’t have a knee-jerk “no” response, but maybe I have other blindspots that I could challenge.
I recognize that extrapolating from feeling like I should read a book, pushing that down, and ultimately realizing I was right might seem pretty niche or not worth elevating to the level of a universal decree to take recommendations from your past self seriously. But I think there’s something there. Those little feelings we push down know something about us that it’s easy to forget in the flow of day-to-day life.
What other things did I ignore in the past that might serve me in the present and future? It’s not all regret drama and would’ve could’ve should’ve (the holy trinity of regret).1 Now, I’m spending time wondering about dismissed instincts in the past that could represent present possibilities. Which short story ideas might be worth picking up again? Should I invest in acquaintances I’d thought wouldn’t turn into deep friendships?
My recommendation today is to look for your past self. What have you vetoed, only to wonder about it later? What have you been wanting to revisit? What possibilities might be there?
It’s so good to be back in your inboxes again. I’ll be back next Sunday with a roundup of audiobooks and some listening tips I’ve found useful.
-LMH
short bits
A few things I’ve enjoyed lately
🛫 A beautiful essay about coping with IVF by traveling by my friend Annie Daly
🌳 Even the NYT gets how important parks are to London life! (gift link)
🤝 Psychologist Hal Hershfeld shares tips making better friends with your future self
H/T to my sister and brother-in-law for this worthy watch