bids for connection
SEPTEMBER
even as summer ends, beach days sneak in and the best way to spend one is in a sandy cove where the surrounding rock formations block all cell service and instead of notifications you start noticing and even though the water is cold and your inbox is waiting you feel warm and disconnected from work but connected to the only things that matters which, if you’re wondering, are love and water and sun and salt and vinegar chips.
your only sister only turns 40 once which might sound obvious but this decade is a big one, the first one we are starting together since we were children. when we each turned 20 and 30 we were scattered to the wind we were separated by the globe. when I turned 40 she was still solidly in her 30s and not yet ready to know what those of us who’ve been here have seen. when she turned 40 I was waiting for her, mid-decade, open arms open bottle of champage openly inviting her to the weeping and wailing and wondering that finds us here. welcome, sister.
when life changes, you change and so do other things and it can take you a while to remember who you are and who has your back and who gets you and who’s got you but I gave myself some time to breathe it in, campfire smoke and all, this fall to forgive myself and to let some things go and reconnect with allies of self-directeness and advocates for my children and personhood and I ate s’mores while this crack healed over so it was less painful than it could have been.
the best way to see a concert is to be solidly in your 40s, to go as a plus one to a platonic life partner, to choose a mid size city with a beautiful venue and choose a band made of not just women but sisters and not just sisters but SISTERS and eat Indian food on your way there. after the concert, don’t even pretend you’re going out for a drink, just collapse into the hotel bed with an aching back and throbbing feet and a full heart and drift off to the whispers and giggles of a friend like it’s a sleepover which it is, but better
