Starting over, yet again

Where do our dreams go when they die?

Princess Diana at home in the 90s. Pinterest

Greetings from my intentional, international flop era! It’s true, I grew tired of rotting away in my tiny apartment and decided to flee the country and rot away somewhere else. I’ve also been around the world emotionally but wanted to pop in and make a cameo at the Val party before 2022. Since I last wrote we’ve collectively experienced a full moon, lunar eclipse, and Adele album. Naturally, I reached out to one of my exes. What have you been up to?

The other day I saw a meme that said “I haven’t been motivated since March 2020” and it’s been sitting on my spirit. The pandemique has zapped me of my verve and sparkle* and replaced it with teenage angst, zero sense of purpose, and a constant, underlying hum of anxiety. I guess life really is just the chunk of time you spend waiting to die is a real thing I wrote in my journal in 2021. Can you believe the Tidal of it all? The way the Jagged Little Pill jumped out?

*she may have never actually had verve and sparkle

Honestly, I’ve let a lot of dreams die this year. That sounds melodramatic, and yet I laugh when I remember what I thought I was capable of during these unprecedented times. In 2021 I believed, in earnest, that I would do things like: work with Meghan Markle or Meena Harris; start painting again; fall in love (gross); acquire outdoor space and an in-unit washer/dryer; run more; tell Alexa to play new Rihanna music. I thought I’d send out a newsletter every week or two and offer smart, hilarious cultural commentary like Hunter Harris or Haley Nahman. Needless to say, these things did not happen, either because I am delusional, or because my brain hasn’t been able to form a take on anything that isn’t directly related to Drag Race or matching loungewear sets. The national hero of Barbados is not giving me an album. And where those dead dreams went, I couldn’t even guess. They feel silly now.

I’ve been in Denmark for almost three months. It’s cold and dark and the locals ask why I would possibly visit during such a time, but it feels very melancholy and magical and right for my mood. The people-watching is fantastic and because I am an *~anomaly~* the people tend to watch me back, which fuels my main character syndrome in an unhealthy way. But it is beautiful here, and Danish style is incredible. I can confirm the women all look like off-duty models and the children are dressed like Sim toddlers. The dudes have mastered what my sister calls Jason Statham Drag — black turtlenecks, great coats, nice boots. (I have generally been ignored by handsome men my whole life but I have never been ignored by so many handsome men in my whole life, does that make sense?) Deer roam free in the park, and it is entirely acceptable to leave your baby in the stroller outdoors while you eat lunch or get some work done at a café. Magical!

I’m sad to be going home soon, and by sad I mean mostly terrified. Even though Covid keeps creating new horcruxes, I feel safe here in a way that I haven’t in a long time in the States. “Going home” means leaving my sister and a sense of support and contentment and naivety. “Going home” means knowing exactly what the words mean and how the currency works, everything familiar but still not making any sense.

I have no idea what’s waiting for me Back There or how I’m going to feel about putting these new puzzle pieces together, and frankly I can’t picture anything other than cuddling my dog. But I’ve learned a lot about myself and intend to apply it all once I’m back on my bullshit, worrying about wildfires and mass shootings.

Let’s raise a glass to delusional thinking and starting over, yet again (and again). Happy new year. Wherever you are, I’m proud of you.

Have you let any dreams die this year? And unrelated but what was your most-streamed song? According to the data I’ve listened to SZA’s “Good Days” 72 times.

Currently keeping me afloat:

• All the Danish candles (duftlys). My favorites are by Skandinavisk and Meraki. I reject all feelings of shame about how many I’m bringing back.

• Two (2) seasons of the Netflix series Home For Christmas, recommended by my friend Annie. It’s like if Fleabag was Norwegian and also a holiday movie. It was really entertaining and just what I needed after watching And Just Like That (on which I remain take-less).

• Pølsehorn, these little pigs-in-a-blanket that my sister and I buy five (5) at a time from the bakery. We eat them on the walk home and take turns giving each other the last one.

• Gløgg, with lots of raisins and almond slices.

• Absolutely, the new album from Dijon. It’s Frank Ocean vibes. My favorite track is “Rodeo Clown.”

• Hugging my sister goodnight and then waking up and hugging her again in the morning.