at the climax of golden hour i walked across the street to take a photo of the redbud tree, then crouched on the sidewalk to admire the tulips. it was 70 degrees and the median was nearly solid yellow with dandelions. for the duration of this excursion my neighbor was blasting limp bizkit in his driveway, truck doors wide open, rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, rollin’.
who am i to censor someone’s soundtrack? peace can sound a billion different ways. this weekend we drove out to the desert for a music and art festival powered solely by sun and wind, and as i watched my very talented dj friends play a vast variety of musical flavors, i thought about taste, and what makes something, to someone, delicious. i imagined them in their cars on a tuesday afternoon, what they’d choose from their playlists to score their weekly errands. i can’t imagine bumping deep dubs on my way to the grocery store, but they’d probably say the same thing about phoebe bridgers.
as a dj, you pride yourself on your ability to both interpret and elevate the vibe – it feels like a miracle how infinitely interpretable said vibe can be. like all art, the musical experience is subjective, but somehow we know when something is good. one girl’s trash is another girl’s tasteful. i’m grateful for the diverse landscape of sound i find myself submerged in, and that after all this time i’m still hearing things i never knew i could hear.
post-festival depression should be studied by scientists; on monday i spent so long dissociating in the shower that my whole body started to prune. those first few days spent re-assimilating to society after a long weekend flailing wildly in community-crafted utopia always feel like being sent back to a cinderblock classroom post summer vacation. it’s soul crushing, to be only slightly dramatic. but you look for the silver lining. you try to carry that feeling, that limitless sense of creative connection, back to the schoolyard. the context is different, sure, but you still get to see your friends, and reminisce on moments shared until there’s something else to talk about.
one has to wonder if the unmatched freedom made possible by camping festivals has anything to do with the usual lack of phone service. i, personally, am a huge proponent of airplane mode, even when you do happen to have a bar or two. i’m realizing it’s one of the only times in my hyper-online existence that i get to live in uninterrupted real life – anyone looking to contact me can come find me in the dust. it’s not like i’m that hard to pick out of the crowd. (remember i said “flailing wildly.”)
there’s an authenticity to every off-the-grid interpersonal interaction that has become simply unattainable in modern, day-to-day society. given that the shape of cyberspace hovers over us like a shadow, our online dramas and histories often following us into the flesh, escape into the light of self untainted by my online persona is a high i’m willing to chase. to quote a NYT piece that never seems to go out of style, we should all know less about each other.
like most people, i believe starting any conversation with “so, what do you do?” is a gigantic mood murderer and should be avoided at all costs. i’m pleased to say that over the course of this past weekend, i failed to discover what a single person in attendance did for work. i call that a W! it’s become somewhat of a cliche in my echo chamber at this point, but let’s please talk about literally anything else. i will ask you about your ugliest sentimental article of clothing and your most embarrassing childhood memory before i ask you about your stupid job. no offense to your job.
at this point in my life i find myself prioritizing ease above all in my connections and relationships. i seem to expend so much effort maintaining homeostasis on a daily basis that i fear i have little excess to devote to carrying a conversation on my back. i just finally worked a spasm out of there. let’s not push our luck.
seeking out conversational ease doesn’t necessarily demand immediate comfort and vulnerability; i’m more so interested in that organic, intangible spark that appears like a choreographed swarming of fireflies in the space between two people. it’s unplanned. it’s unforced. it’s the getting it i want.
the funny thing about craving something unforced is that you can’t force it to happen. you just keep showing up, you leave cyberspace behind, you relax into the vibe like a hot spring or memory foam. you accept your stepped-on sunglasses. you accept the dust in your socks. you dance in the dirt, you share your off-brand doritos, you remember what you seek is seeking you.
obsession of the week
an iced matcha with honey and oat milk from my local tea & wine shop, tea zaanti. many years ago i had a bad matcha that tasted like rotting fish, so understandably i swore off it until just recently. i can’t get enough. i wake up thinking about it. this place is truly a 10/10 in every imaginable category, plus it’s the only “coffee shop” in town i don’t need airpods to enjoy. a slay!
Gorgeous piece of brain food! I devoured this and resonated deeply :-)