Notes from notes
So many of the notes in my notes app are things I’ve jotted down — thoughts, experiences, interactions, observations — to “remember to write about one day.”
I shared with my friend that I was finding myself in a writing flow-state again for the first time in months, and that I had spent almost a full day trying to work out an idea. And that my last two posts — the two that I posted on Saturday — weren’t even the thing I spent all day on. (That one still isn’t done.) They were things I had written down more quickly, maybe even a little more sloppily, in hopes that putting a few things out there would help me arrive somewhere with the other thing that seemed to be taking me forever to finish.
Don’t get me wrong. Those posts still matter to me deeply, in their own right. They weren’t throwaway thoughts. (I’m talking about this one and this one.)
Those posts matter, yes… and, posting them felt like an important exercise for me. After months of neglecting my writing, what would it feel like to let an idea or two be finished? To let them exist in all their importance to me, and also risk their imperfections? I wanted to stop gripping so tightly to my desire to have every single word “right,” and instead prioritize letting my thoughts make contact with another human being or two.
The flow-state of writing feels wonderful… and yet, that familiar feeling of agonizing over my words has returned. I can recognize that the agonizing comes from a place where I want to be sure I’ve written so that my thoughts make sense to someone besides me. It’s not unlike how I agonize over choosing music. In both cases, my thoughts circle around many questions, one of them being: Will this message reach someone the way I hope it does?
So I’m posting today in an effort to do less overthinking and less someday-ing. I’m posting these things from my notes app here exactly as I took them down — a true copy-and-paste — just to let it all exist here.
My observations. Little moments. Interactions. Fragments. Things I wanted to remember. Some of them made me smile. Some of them were painful to remember. Many of them were thoughts or moments full of joy, curiosity, ache… it’s all there.
Maybe I’ll still flesh some of them out. Maybe not. Some of them really are just a capture of a moment. Some of them feel really vulnerable to copy and paste here. But here we go. I just really want to release the “someday” of it all.
A recurring thought I have had for years is… if something happens to any of us, God forbid, what happens to the thoughts in our heads that never had a chance to come out?
This post is my way of honoring that. Of letting the thoughts come out. Even as fragments. Even as things without context. Even as things that might not make a lot of sense to you.
So here they are. In no particular order, a few years (years!!) worth of my scribbles.
In a note titled, “There is good.”
I’m in the waiting room at the vet with Mickey. A man brought in a baby bird in a shoebox. “He fell out of his nest onto the street,” he said. “Can you help?” The vet said they cannot take in wildlife. They gave him a phone number. “I’ve been to three other places already.” The man’s brow is furrowed and his voice is wobbling. He is older; maybe 70. I’ve never been great at guessing ages of anyone over the age of 16. He showed the baby bird to all of us. The vet told him the best thing to do is leave the bird near where he fell. The man said he can’t do that, because he fell onto the street, perhaps from a fire escape, and he surely will not survive. He asked if baby birds drink milk. Funny question. It’s making me ache. Before he left, he said, “I hope to God I can find someone who can help this little baby bird.” I just know this man is going to spend the rest of his day trying to help this bird. Now I’m thinking about Poppy.
the incredible scent of lilacs just came through as I was walking. I have to remember to write about the lilac trees outside of Russian class in high school.
Artist’s Way Chapter 2 task: List 5 alternative lives for yourself.
Open a bed and breakfast upstate. Close enough to be an easy retreat from the city; far enough that it feels light years away. It’s dog friendly. My own dogs are everyone’s favorite hosts. Limited rooms, like you’re visiting someone’s house. I cook breakfast every day. There’s a really cute barn on the property for singing circles and community gatherings and performances.
The famous 90s-kid desire to be a Marine biologist. This has to be on the list. I really did want to be one. Still kinda do. I don’t love a lot of what’s found in the sea though. Wonder if I could just swim with dolphins all the time and that’s it.
Farmer.
Woodworker or glass blower in the Finger Lakes. I don’t particularly feel drawn to either of those things, so maybe it’s something else. But something like that. Where I have a workshop and I wear overalls while I work with my hands all day.
Broadway actor. Obviously.
How many “I’m sorry’s” do we say about the way we are feeling or the way our bodies are reacting? I wish my loved ones would apologize to me less. About those types of things. I do it too. I want to do it less. Less apologizing for crying, or needing a minute, or not knowing what to say, or being overwhelmed. You do not owe me an apology for having a nervous system. For being a tender, loving person. For needing quiet. For needing space. For laughing too loudly. I am here to have a human experience with whatever this space and these people in it bring. I don’t need or want it to be perfectly regulated. I want it to be real.
He told me: “That is the version of you I like. Be that version of Sophia more.”
I heard: “Only be a certain way. Even if it isn’t really you in that moment.”
Ever since then, I’ve been less and less me.
We said goodbye when we were done singing together. And she told me:
”Now I will go back to my life, and you will go back to yours. But a piece of my heart will stay in another part of the world, because it is where you are.”
Just remembered something I heard once. Or maybe I read it. Where did I hear it? “Normal is only a setting on the washing machine.”
Autumn is my rebirth. Is that weird? Spring is rebirth for so many. That makes sense, because it literally is rebirth. Autumn is when leaves fall off the trees and everything gets colder and darker. Why do I feel rebirth in autumn?
Quotes from June 1, 2023… layleader:
“I felt gratitude that they entrusted me with their fragile heart.”
“Their openness gave me a feeling of usefulness and hopefully gave them a feeling of relief.”
“I was reminded that to reveal yourself to someone when you are messy and needy and wounded, is a gift to those who love you, because they get to hold you.”
In a note titled, “One more minute”
sitting next to the pool for a moment at my hotel in Florida before I go to work
a mom said, “it’s time to go!” the boy is in the pool
he’s probably 9
he said, “one more minute!”
in the most hopeful voice
why is that sending a pang through my heart
I always felt so sad as a kid to leave Steph and Mike’s house in the summer
let me stay a little longer
let me be with this person
let me be with you
let me have agency
let me negotiate
let me stay put
let me be the one to decide when we leave
although in that case we’ll never leave, let’s stay forever
In a note titled, “Turning 41”
my friend asked me to name my top 3-5 moments
she didn’t say whether they needed to be good or bad
it made me think - turning 40 doesn’t mean anything until you’re turned 41
because that’s when you get to arrive at the full understanding of what 40 was
In a note titled, “Set an intention.”
notes from today. intention. different than a resolution, which is about the destination, an intention is about direction. a resolution says: i will arrive here. an intention says: i will walk this way, and i will keep walking, even when the path changes underneath me. one is a promise to achieve. the other is a promise to become.
In a note titled, “Yes, and.”
I want to be less busy. I love being busy. I’m scared of not being busy.
I want a little time to myself. I have too much time to myself. I want to be around people constantly.
I want it to be over. I don’t want it to be over.
In a note titled, “Thank you”
you, who made room for me
you, who taught me to breathe
you, who kept me company
who made me laugh
who cried with me
who understood
who held me
who let me help you
who sang with me
who let me love your children
In a note titled, “My best friend reminded me”
Your joy is real.
Your pain doesn’t erase your joy.
The joyful Sophia we’ve seen isn’t a front. It’s really her.
people walk their dogs in their sweatpants and slippers on my block and i love it. this is the stuff people don’t picture when they think of new york city. new york city contains multitudes and today someone was even wearing a robe outside at 6 a.m. i’m so tickled.
makes me want to write about the little things that make up our lives that only we notice. this one would be about what you see when you walk out your front door every morning. maybe i get to call it “on the street where you live.”
I think of her as mostly this deep, contemplative, zen, almost un-human sort of presence. and then she began one of the mornings insisting we start by dancing. and she put on “Call Me Al” — oh my god. the best experience of her playfulness I could have imagined. I know she loves to play because her entire work is play and yet this kind of playfulness was just a different level and I’m obsessed with it. she said it’s her favorite song. I want to start every single morning dancing to “Call Me Al.”
reminder: write about why you love dirty dishes.
I'd love to read more about living in NYC!