THE WORK

A few reflections before the end of the year...

Sunflowers by Egon Schiele- he is my favorite artist of all time.

I’ve spent the last few days working on a larger piece around the year coming to an end. My research has me flipping through screenshots of Ssense memes, rewatching a handful of TikToks that live rent free in my head, all while equally horrified and impressed by certain opinions and perceptions I’ve jotted down in my notes app over the last 365 days. Sorry to disappoint, but none of the latter will appear in the forthcoming essay…trust me, it’s for the best.

This is going to sound ridiculous, but 2024 will go down in my never-to-be-published-memoir as the year I came to terms with the fact I am not 27 anymore. I’ve been in my 30’s for a hot second, so one would think I would have gotten the memo by now…but this where I’m at. There have been a few elusive clues in this realization- the massive bill I receive quarterly from my dermatologist, debilitating hangovers, and on certain days feeling like no matter how many milestones I achieve both personally and professionally, that I am nothing more than a minion of my biological clock. Still, the biggest indication of this epiphany is that I handle life's ups and downs with an attitude that is completely unrecognizable to 27 year old me.

Have you ever found a thread of string loose in a sweater? You fumble with it, you knot it, you cut it, but it keeps unraveling until suddenly you are sitting with something that resembles more like a pile of yarn than a garment to keep you warm. During the summer of 2022 this happened to me, only the thing that started to crumble was the foundation of my life, not a cardigan. I was in Portugal for a week with my best friends from college, people I love more than anything in this world. On paper life shouldn’t have been better, but I was miserable inside and out.

When I got back to New York, I made the decision that everything had to go- my ego, my outlook, certain relationships and most importantly the dialogue I had with myself. I got a new therapist who twice a week for a solid 18 months kicked my ass. I meditated, I manifested, I read all of the books- Gabby Bernstein, Gay Hendricks , A Course In Miracles, you name it. I did a few rounds of BENSHEN with the brilliant Desirée Pais, and yes- I am fully bragging when I say this, but I completed The Artist's Way…front to back!

I saw this a few days ago on Laura Jung’s Substack ‘Gut Feelings’ - she took the words right out of my mouth.

When you’re thick in ‘the work’, you have to cocoon at first. Tunnel vision towards whatever your mission may be is essential. You question absolutely everything that comes your way, wondering if it's worthy enough to be puzzle piece in whatever you are trying to accomplish. I remember being at dinner with my friend Ambryn and ordering a second martini thinking to myself ‘how does this all add into the highest version of myself?’. Guess what? It doesn’t, but we have to have something to tell our grandchildren about or we’ll drive ourselves crazy. At least I do. About nine months into all of this I read the sentence ‘do you want a life that looks good or feels good?’, and just like that I was off to the races- fully present in my next chapter, cautiously appreciating the person I was growing into.

For a period of time I really thought I had cracked the code to understand myself. I started writing more, made a few really special friendships (not an easy feat the older you get!), and overall just felt more ok with what was going on in my day to day- the good, the bad, the difficult. A stranger even referred to me as ‘chill’, something that will never be true, but I happily took the compliment. The work was paying off and I felt invincible.

If you’ve ever visited California, you’ve likely driven up the Pacific Coast Highway. Depending on the time of day, it’s a drive majestic enough to make even the most ambitious workaholics throw it all away, buy a red convertible and live out their Jack Kerouc coded fantasy. Ocean to your left, mountains to your right, wind in your hair, how can life get more beautiful than this? But eventually you have to stop for gas, usually in a random town that feels more typical suburbia than Big Little Lies. The convenience store inside sells cigarettes, gatorade and beef jerky- nothing remarkable, but you can’t continue on your trip unless you refuel. It’s not glamorous, but the most essential part of the journey.

A few weeks ago I was on the Metro North back from Connecticut catching up on a few Substacks I enjoy reading…

Blame gives you permission to stay where you are, to not change anything be it a viewpoint, behavior or a feeling. - Leandra Medine Cohen wrote in her Newsletter The Cereal Aisle.

And…BOOM! It wasn’t a surprise, the signs were everywhere…but somehow it still hit me like a ton of bricks. I was running on fumes with the beliefs and actions that were conducting my life, overdue for a refill in the metaphorical gas tank of my life. IT’S TIIIIIMMMMMEEEE rang through my years (in Mariah Carey’s voice because even in life's most prolific breakthroughs I am who I am). All gas, no breaks, another layer of skin ready to shed.

And now here I am, on the heels of a New Year, in certain ways back at square one, but somehow older, wiser, excited, terrified and prepared for whatever's next. It is equal parts scary and heartbreaking to admit to yourself that you no longer identify with a few of the lives you used to live…but at the end of the day, I’m grateful to allow myself the privilege of figuring this out.