The shyest extrovert, the most dramatic comedian, the most humble icon. You had lived enough life to know that a TV show was just a TV show, but also to appreciate just what it meant to be allowed to play pretend for a living- and you never let us forget that this job was a privilege. I remember when you came back from doing a production of the Music Man somewhere- the theater had basically been a barn, there had been no WiFi and you had no understudy- and you were as grateful and delighted as you were when you were nominated for an Emmy. You bragged nonstop about your kids, you had the best stories- like when you did Circus of the Stars and “that’s when I learned to walk a tightrope, there’s not much to it”- and when we told you that you would be coming out of the closet on the show you said “thank you, you can trust me with this.” Becky Ann and I loved every second of playing your family and I couldn’t have been raised up by a better TV “papa.” Thank you, Scolari, for every chat between set ups, every hug onscreen and off and every “Oh, Jeez.” We will miss you so much.
The shyest extrovert, the most dramatic comedian, the most humble icon. You had lived enough life to know that a TV show was just a TV show, but also to appreciate just what it meant to be allowed to play pretend for a living- and you never let us forget that this job was a privilege. I remember when you came back from doing a production of the Music Man somewhere- the theater had basically been a barn, there had been no WiFi and you had no understudy- and you were as grateful and delighted as you were when you were nominated for an Emmy. You bragged nonstop about your kids, you had the best stories- like when you did Circus of the Stars and “that’s when I learned to walk a tightrope, there’s not much to it”- and when we told you that you would be coming out of the closet on the show you said “thank you, you can trust me with this.” Becky Ann and I loved every second of playing your family and I couldn’t have been raised up by a better TV “papa.” Thank you, Scolari, for every chat between set ups, every hug onscreen and off and every “Oh, Jeez.” We will miss you so much.
“⭐⭐⭐⭐ Stephen Fry and Lena Dunham are the double-act you never knew you needed.” (@thetimes) Watch the trailer for TREASURE and embark on a poignant road trip through 1990s Poland this Father’s Day weekend, as Ruth and Edek uncover family secrets and personal truths. Coming only to theaters June 14! Watch the full trailer at the link in bio. #TreasureMovie
When I think about the hardest part of chronic illness, it’s actually not physical pain, or sitting in too many doctors’ waiting rooms or even being in isolation for long stretches- it’s actually having to shift gears. Sometimes, more than I’d like tbh, I have to change it up at the last minute because my body isn’t participating. And because I leave it all on the dance floor for my job, the plans that tend to go are the social ones (workaholism and ambition are another post, okay kids?) Like a few weeks ago, I had a plan to join my beloved @christopherkane at a party- he made me this dress (what!?) and I even got a fresh new haircut before I realized I didn’t have what it took. So now, two weeks later and with few non-dog witnesses, I am showing off the dress (backwards I think? Sorry, CK, it’s still just amazing) and the hair to remind myself that it’s okay to shift gears. In fact one thing the pandemic has shown us is that even those with reliable bodies can’t control outcomes. But the term “loss of control?” Well, you can’t lose what you never had. And I need this reminder. It helps with any shame I may carry about my physical challenges, my shortcomings as a friend or daughter or disco ball. So, what did I dress up for? Let’s call it a “better late than never” party. Or a “control is an illusion” festival. Or just a gorgeous night in, exactly like I planned it…
When I think about the hardest part of chronic illness, it’s actually not physical pain, or sitting in too many doctors’ waiting rooms or even being in isolation for long stretches- it’s actually having to shift gears. Sometimes, more than I’d like tbh, I have to change it up at the last minute because my body isn’t participating. And because I leave it all on the dance floor for my job, the plans that tend to go are the social ones (workaholism and ambition are another post, okay kids?) Like a few weeks ago, I had a plan to join my beloved @christopherkane at a party- he made me this dress (what!?) and I even got a fresh new haircut before I realized I didn’t have what it took. So now, two weeks later and with few non-dog witnesses, I am showing off the dress (backwards I think? Sorry, CK, it’s still just amazing) and the hair to remind myself that it’s okay to shift gears. In fact one thing the pandemic has shown us is that even those with reliable bodies can’t control outcomes. But the term “loss of control?” Well, you can’t lose what you never had. And I need this reminder. It helps with any shame I may carry about my physical challenges, my shortcomings as a friend or daughter or disco ball. So, what did I dress up for? Let’s call it a “better late than never” party. Or a “control is an illusion” festival. Or just a gorgeous night in, exactly like I planned it…
When I think about the hardest part of chronic illness, it’s actually not physical pain, or sitting in too many doctors’ waiting rooms or even being in isolation for long stretches- it’s actually having to shift gears. Sometimes, more than I’d like tbh, I have to change it up at the last minute because my body isn’t participating. And because I leave it all on the dance floor for my job, the plans that tend to go are the social ones (workaholism and ambition are another post, okay kids?) Like a few weeks ago, I had a plan to join my beloved @christopherkane at a party- he made me this dress (what!?) and I even got a fresh new haircut before I realized I didn’t have what it took. So now, two weeks later and with few non-dog witnesses, I am showing off the dress (backwards I think? Sorry, CK, it’s still just amazing) and the hair to remind myself that it’s okay to shift gears. In fact one thing the pandemic has shown us is that even those with reliable bodies can’t control outcomes. But the term “loss of control?” Well, you can’t lose what you never had. And I need this reminder. It helps with any shame I may carry about my physical challenges, my shortcomings as a friend or daughter or disco ball. So, what did I dress up for? Let’s call it a “better late than never” party. Or a “control is an illusion” festival. Or just a gorgeous night in, exactly like I planned it…
The first time I met my friend Federica “Kikka” Cavenati, it took me about 10 minutes to realise how beautiful she was. And that’s really saying something, because Kikka was nothing if not beautiful – shiny copper hair, massive Bambi eyes, the kind of pillowy lips that women pay a lot for, and perfect teeth with just enough character to be disarming.
And her beauty, so easy to wax on about, paled in comparison to how beautiful she made other women feel…Kikka lived to help other women recognise their beauty, and that quality was inherent to her own.
After a short and sudden illness – Kikka was a vibrant and present person who showed up to life with Olympic vigour, and she will not be remembered as sick – we lost Kikka at age 28.
Kikka was, by trade, a fashion designer. Along with her partner in work and love, Marco Capaldo, Kikka founded @16arlington, a label that has single-handedly redefined the spirit of London fashion and given style back its folly and joy.
I was one of the lucky ones – along with women from Lizzo to Amal Clooney – who got to be a 16Arlington girl. Finding Kikka and Marco felt like coming home to familiars.
Kikka loved to celebrate, but she couldn’t be at my wedding. She was at that point not feeling her best, and for Kikka, being seen without that trademark sparkle just wasn’t an option – not because she was vain (she was the farthest thing from it), but because she loved joy and she always wanted to embody the values she held so dear. And so I couldn’t celebrate with her, the best celebrant of all, but she sent herself in the form of Marco, and in the form of some delicate satin pyjamas with that trademark pointed collar and feathery cuffs. Since then I’ve worn them almost non-stop, and everywhere I go I seem to be dropping feathers, little white curls on the stairs or in an office chair. Each one feels like Kikka reminding me to have fun, relax and embrace the madness of style. But then again, I don’t really need reminding, because – as with everyone who knew Kikka – she impressed it upon me the day we met. No one who crossed her path will ever be the same, and neither will fashion.
The first time I met my friend Federica “Kikka” Cavenati, it took me about 10 minutes to realise how beautiful she was. And that’s really saying something, because Kikka was nothing if not beautiful – shiny copper hair, massive Bambi eyes, the kind of pillowy lips that women pay a lot for, and perfect teeth with just enough character to be disarming.
And her beauty, so easy to wax on about, paled in comparison to how beautiful she made other women feel…Kikka lived to help other women recognise their beauty, and that quality was inherent to her own.
After a short and sudden illness – Kikka was a vibrant and present person who showed up to life with Olympic vigour, and she will not be remembered as sick – we lost Kikka at age 28.
Kikka was, by trade, a fashion designer. Along with her partner in work and love, Marco Capaldo, Kikka founded @16arlington, a label that has single-handedly redefined the spirit of London fashion and given style back its folly and joy.
I was one of the lucky ones – along with women from Lizzo to Amal Clooney – who got to be a 16Arlington girl. Finding Kikka and Marco felt like coming home to familiars.
Kikka loved to celebrate, but she couldn’t be at my wedding. She was at that point not feeling her best, and for Kikka, being seen without that trademark sparkle just wasn’t an option – not because she was vain (she was the farthest thing from it), but because she loved joy and she always wanted to embody the values she held so dear. And so I couldn’t celebrate with her, the best celebrant of all, but she sent herself in the form of Marco, and in the form of some delicate satin pyjamas with that trademark pointed collar and feathery cuffs. Since then I’ve worn them almost non-stop, and everywhere I go I seem to be dropping feathers, little white curls on the stairs or in an office chair. Each one feels like Kikka reminding me to have fun, relax and embrace the madness of style. But then again, I don’t really need reminding, because – as with everyone who knew Kikka – she impressed it upon me the day we met. No one who crossed her path will ever be the same, and neither will fashion.
The first time I met my friend Federica “Kikka” Cavenati, it took me about 10 minutes to realise how beautiful she was. And that’s really saying something, because Kikka was nothing if not beautiful – shiny copper hair, massive Bambi eyes, the kind of pillowy lips that women pay a lot for, and perfect teeth with just enough character to be disarming.
And her beauty, so easy to wax on about, paled in comparison to how beautiful she made other women feel…Kikka lived to help other women recognise their beauty, and that quality was inherent to her own.
After a short and sudden illness – Kikka was a vibrant and present person who showed up to life with Olympic vigour, and she will not be remembered as sick – we lost Kikka at age 28.
Kikka was, by trade, a fashion designer. Along with her partner in work and love, Marco Capaldo, Kikka founded @16arlington, a label that has single-handedly redefined the spirit of London fashion and given style back its folly and joy.
I was one of the lucky ones – along with women from Lizzo to Amal Clooney – who got to be a 16Arlington girl. Finding Kikka and Marco felt like coming home to familiars.
Kikka loved to celebrate, but she couldn’t be at my wedding. She was at that point not feeling her best, and for Kikka, being seen without that trademark sparkle just wasn’t an option – not because she was vain (she was the farthest thing from it), but because she loved joy and she always wanted to embody the values she held so dear. And so I couldn’t celebrate with her, the best celebrant of all, but she sent herself in the form of Marco, and in the form of some delicate satin pyjamas with that trademark pointed collar and feathery cuffs. Since then I’ve worn them almost non-stop, and everywhere I go I seem to be dropping feathers, little white curls on the stairs or in an office chair. Each one feels like Kikka reminding me to have fun, relax and embrace the madness of style. But then again, I don’t really need reminding, because – as with everyone who knew Kikka – she impressed it upon me the day we met. No one who crossed her path will ever be the same, and neither will fashion.
The first time I met my friend Federica “Kikka” Cavenati, it took me about 10 minutes to realise how beautiful she was. And that’s really saying something, because Kikka was nothing if not beautiful – shiny copper hair, massive Bambi eyes, the kind of pillowy lips that women pay a lot for, and perfect teeth with just enough character to be disarming.
And her beauty, so easy to wax on about, paled in comparison to how beautiful she made other women feel…Kikka lived to help other women recognise their beauty, and that quality was inherent to her own.
After a short and sudden illness – Kikka was a vibrant and present person who showed up to life with Olympic vigour, and she will not be remembered as sick – we lost Kikka at age 28.
Kikka was, by trade, a fashion designer. Along with her partner in work and love, Marco Capaldo, Kikka founded @16arlington, a label that has single-handedly redefined the spirit of London fashion and given style back its folly and joy.
I was one of the lucky ones – along with women from Lizzo to Amal Clooney – who got to be a 16Arlington girl. Finding Kikka and Marco felt like coming home to familiars.
Kikka loved to celebrate, but she couldn’t be at my wedding. She was at that point not feeling her best, and for Kikka, being seen without that trademark sparkle just wasn’t an option – not because she was vain (she was the farthest thing from it), but because she loved joy and she always wanted to embody the values she held so dear. And so I couldn’t celebrate with her, the best celebrant of all, but she sent herself in the form of Marco, and in the form of some delicate satin pyjamas with that trademark pointed collar and feathery cuffs. Since then I’ve worn them almost non-stop, and everywhere I go I seem to be dropping feathers, little white curls on the stairs or in an office chair. Each one feels like Kikka reminding me to have fun, relax and embrace the madness of style. But then again, I don’t really need reminding, because – as with everyone who knew Kikka – she impressed it upon me the day we met. No one who crossed her path will ever be the same, and neither will fashion.
The first time I met my friend Federica “Kikka” Cavenati, it took me about 10 minutes to realise how beautiful she was. And that’s really saying something, because Kikka was nothing if not beautiful – shiny copper hair, massive Bambi eyes, the kind of pillowy lips that women pay a lot for, and perfect teeth with just enough character to be disarming.
And her beauty, so easy to wax on about, paled in comparison to how beautiful she made other women feel…Kikka lived to help other women recognise their beauty, and that quality was inherent to her own.
After a short and sudden illness – Kikka was a vibrant and present person who showed up to life with Olympic vigour, and she will not be remembered as sick – we lost Kikka at age 28.
Kikka was, by trade, a fashion designer. Along with her partner in work and love, Marco Capaldo, Kikka founded @16arlington, a label that has single-handedly redefined the spirit of London fashion and given style back its folly and joy.
I was one of the lucky ones – along with women from Lizzo to Amal Clooney – who got to be a 16Arlington girl. Finding Kikka and Marco felt like coming home to familiars.
Kikka loved to celebrate, but she couldn’t be at my wedding. She was at that point not feeling her best, and for Kikka, being seen without that trademark sparkle just wasn’t an option – not because she was vain (she was the farthest thing from it), but because she loved joy and she always wanted to embody the values she held so dear. And so I couldn’t celebrate with her, the best celebrant of all, but she sent herself in the form of Marco, and in the form of some delicate satin pyjamas with that trademark pointed collar and feathery cuffs. Since then I’ve worn them almost non-stop, and everywhere I go I seem to be dropping feathers, little white curls on the stairs or in an office chair. Each one feels like Kikka reminding me to have fun, relax and embrace the madness of style. But then again, I don’t really need reminding, because – as with everyone who knew Kikka – she impressed it upon me the day we met. No one who crossed her path will ever be the same, and neither will fashion.
The first time I met my friend Federica “Kikka” Cavenati, it took me about 10 minutes to realise how beautiful she was. And that’s really saying something, because Kikka was nothing if not beautiful – shiny copper hair, massive Bambi eyes, the kind of pillowy lips that women pay a lot for, and perfect teeth with just enough character to be disarming.
And her beauty, so easy to wax on about, paled in comparison to how beautiful she made other women feel…Kikka lived to help other women recognise their beauty, and that quality was inherent to her own.
After a short and sudden illness – Kikka was a vibrant and present person who showed up to life with Olympic vigour, and she will not be remembered as sick – we lost Kikka at age 28.
Kikka was, by trade, a fashion designer. Along with her partner in work and love, Marco Capaldo, Kikka founded @16arlington, a label that has single-handedly redefined the spirit of London fashion and given style back its folly and joy.
I was one of the lucky ones – along with women from Lizzo to Amal Clooney – who got to be a 16Arlington girl. Finding Kikka and Marco felt like coming home to familiars.
Kikka loved to celebrate, but she couldn’t be at my wedding. She was at that point not feeling her best, and for Kikka, being seen without that trademark sparkle just wasn’t an option – not because she was vain (she was the farthest thing from it), but because she loved joy and she always wanted to embody the values she held so dear. And so I couldn’t celebrate with her, the best celebrant of all, but she sent herself in the form of Marco, and in the form of some delicate satin pyjamas with that trademark pointed collar and feathery cuffs. Since then I’ve worn them almost non-stop, and everywhere I go I seem to be dropping feathers, little white curls on the stairs or in an office chair. Each one feels like Kikka reminding me to have fun, relax and embrace the madness of style. But then again, I don’t really need reminding, because – as with everyone who knew Kikka – she impressed it upon me the day we met. No one who crossed her path will ever be the same, and neither will fashion.
The first time I met my friend Federica “Kikka” Cavenati, it took me about 10 minutes to realise how beautiful she was. And that’s really saying something, because Kikka was nothing if not beautiful – shiny copper hair, massive Bambi eyes, the kind of pillowy lips that women pay a lot for, and perfect teeth with just enough character to be disarming.
And her beauty, so easy to wax on about, paled in comparison to how beautiful she made other women feel…Kikka lived to help other women recognise their beauty, and that quality was inherent to her own.
After a short and sudden illness – Kikka was a vibrant and present person who showed up to life with Olympic vigour, and she will not be remembered as sick – we lost Kikka at age 28.
Kikka was, by trade, a fashion designer. Along with her partner in work and love, Marco Capaldo, Kikka founded @16arlington, a label that has single-handedly redefined the spirit of London fashion and given style back its folly and joy.
I was one of the lucky ones – along with women from Lizzo to Amal Clooney – who got to be a 16Arlington girl. Finding Kikka and Marco felt like coming home to familiars.
Kikka loved to celebrate, but she couldn’t be at my wedding. She was at that point not feeling her best, and for Kikka, being seen without that trademark sparkle just wasn’t an option – not because she was vain (she was the farthest thing from it), but because she loved joy and she always wanted to embody the values she held so dear. And so I couldn’t celebrate with her, the best celebrant of all, but she sent herself in the form of Marco, and in the form of some delicate satin pyjamas with that trademark pointed collar and feathery cuffs. Since then I’ve worn them almost non-stop, and everywhere I go I seem to be dropping feathers, little white curls on the stairs or in an office chair. Each one feels like Kikka reminding me to have fun, relax and embrace the madness of style. But then again, I don’t really need reminding, because – as with everyone who knew Kikka – she impressed it upon me the day we met. No one who crossed her path will ever be the same, and neither will fashion.
So @arnoldfriend6 and I have made fifty- yes FIFTY- episodes of The C Word. For those who listen you know that each episode is like a highly researched grad school in dysfunction, but now for something completely different… Our friend Quentin Tarantino- film nerd, creator of some of the most C Word female characters in history and oh yes, icon- joins us to discuss nearly every topic we hold dear. This one is a celebration for the OG listeners and a great way in for those who are just meeting our agenda. Thank you to @hearluminary for letting us do exactly what obsesses us, to all our trusted collaborators and to QT for giving us hours of his time and some amazingly obscure tid bits. Alissa may or may not live in his guest house now. And you all definitely live in our hearts. Link in bio to listen!!
So @arnoldfriend6 and I have made fifty- yes FIFTY- episodes of The C Word. For those who listen you know that each episode is like a highly researched grad school in dysfunction, but now for something completely different… Our friend Quentin Tarantino- film nerd, creator of some of the most C Word female characters in history and oh yes, icon- joins us to discuss nearly every topic we hold dear. This one is a celebration for the OG listeners and a great way in for those who are just meeting our agenda. Thank you to @hearluminary for letting us do exactly what obsesses us, to all our trusted collaborators and to QT for giving us hours of his time and some amazingly obscure tid bits. Alissa may or may not live in his guest house now. And you all definitely live in our hearts. Link in bio to listen!!
So @arnoldfriend6 and I have made fifty- yes FIFTY- episodes of The C Word. For those who listen you know that each episode is like a highly researched grad school in dysfunction, but now for something completely different… Our friend Quentin Tarantino- film nerd, creator of some of the most C Word female characters in history and oh yes, icon- joins us to discuss nearly every topic we hold dear. This one is a celebration for the OG listeners and a great way in for those who are just meeting our agenda. Thank you to @hearluminary for letting us do exactly what obsesses us, to all our trusted collaborators and to QT for giving us hours of his time and some amazingly obscure tid bits. Alissa may or may not live in his guest house now. And you all definitely live in our hearts. Link in bio to listen!!
Until I was in my late twenties, I didn’t know that all my bendy party tricks (or the random fits of flushing which made red lipstick a gamble, or my migraines or swollen knees or fainting spells…) weren’t just quirks. They were all part of Hypermobile Ehler Danlos Syndrome, a genetic condition that means a lack of collagen in my connective tissue. This causes everything from joint pain & dislocation, poor wound healing and a plethora of seemingly random symptoms that aren’t so random at all. Hypermobile EDS is one of 13 known forms of EDS- and while this condition is misunderstood and under-diagnosed, it’s thought to affect 1 in 5000 to 1 in 40,000 people, depending on the type. It’s fitting that I was born in May because it’s also EDS awareness month 🙏 If you or someone you love lives with EDS, this is the time to make some noise about it. And if you meet someone dealing with unexplained challenges and pain who fits this description, encourage them to learn about their symptoms. Fact: it was actually someone who had read my writing about chronic pain & seen me on TV who encouraged me to see a specialist. That sisterly act of care changed my life. If you have EDS, remember: 1- it’s not in your head. 2- you’re not lazy. 3- it’s alright to ask for help- there’s no shame in admitting what you can’t do. 5- You’re allowed to take advantage of disability services. The only time I’m *ever* sassy outdoors is when someone asks why I’m using the disabled bathroom. 6- It may feel like the world is passing you by, but think of the gifts you develop as a result. My creativity was born of the time I spent on my own. As a director, I work from a place of empathy that my illness gave me. If you love someone with EDS: 1- be flexible- they’re doing their best. Don’t take it personally- fatigue, changed plans. 2- It’s ok to be overwhelmed. 3- Remember, they have a well of hard-earned empathy just waiting for you. Offering love to everyone living with chronic pain or supporting a loved one who does. For more info check out: ehlers-danlos.com ps scroll to see the elevator that takes me up to the set-would love to take you for a ride sometime💗
Danke- an honor to premiere Treasure at Berlinale 2024
Styled by @infinitealterity
Hair & Makeup by Grit Hildenbrand Berlinale – Berlin International Film Festival
Danke- an honor to premiere Treasure at Berlinale 2024
Styled by @infinitealterity
Hair & Makeup by Grit Hildenbrand Berlinale – Berlin International Film Festival
As you may have guessed, @arnoldfriend6 is my partner in many things- Google deep dives, antique gossip, lounging watching Dateline, texting in all CAPS. The ONLY thing we do that is suitable for anyone else to hear is our podcast on @hearluminary, The C-Word, where we examine the history of women who society has demonized, vilified, turned to clowns. We may laugh about this stuff, but it’s never been a more serious time to consider the way that our collective consciousness takes away women’s agency. That’s why we ask that you join us in donating to abortion access at luminary.link/cword (also in my bio). This season we start with Lindsay Lohan, someone whose story is a reminder of the whirlwind ride we take our teenagers on when they’re not even women yet. We love her so much it had to be a 2 parter (and we will be watching her Christmas rom-com, yes from bed, and cheering.) Thank you for being our listeners, pals, partners in excavation and in making sure people’s bodily autonomy can be preserved in a world that says no when we need yes and yes when we need no. Oh and if you need us, you can find us watching Flowers In The Attic. I mean… can you believe that got made!? | 📸 @jennyandersonphoto
For someone who loves change, it’s easy to do too little of it. It’s easy to think it’s happening as you’re rattling from place to place, outfit to outfit, short bangs/long bangs/nose ring/no nose ring. A person who answers emails within moments/a person who says fuck it/a person who tells other people how healing isn’t linear and then holds themself to linear standards she can’t achieve without hurting herself.
In a world where so much feels urgent and out of our control, I can write radical transformation better than I can create it. Isn’t it funny how our greatest desires can feel the most abstract? Pushing toward a new version of yourself, maybe the person you always saw when you played “grown up” with friends at tea parties. My favorite game was always “college girls”- let’s play cool college girls who can make their own food, set their own bedtimes, walk down the street boldly at night. Little me didn’t know how far some of these simple adult goals would feel at times- making pasta? Fuck you, little me, are you taunting me? I’m eating crackers with olives smashed on them. Fuck you, current me, you deserve better than stale crackers. No, no you don’t. Why are you being so mean to yourself, Lena? Can you name one good reason besides that you heard someone else do it?
This summer I committed to listening to myself- nothing more and nothing less- not trying to erase the noise with new new new/more more more/green hair/blonde hair/anklet/no anklet/nicotine/no nicotine/nicotine again. I didn’t always like what I heard, but I let it live because that was the commitment I made to myself. And it’s been a small shift, a quiet shift, but a deep one.
The other day I told my mother I had said no to someone- a simple no, a silly no, but she could hear my voice, assured and calm, like a cool college girl. And she looked at me- sweaty nightgown, obsessively wailing on my laptop like I have since I was 15- and she said “you’re growing up so fast.”
She meant it. I believed it. Summer is almost over. I can’t wait to tell the kids at school what I did.
For someone who loves change, it’s easy to do too little of it. It’s easy to think it’s happening as you’re rattling from place to place, outfit to outfit, short bangs/long bangs/nose ring/no nose ring. A person who answers emails within moments/a person who says fuck it/a person who tells other people how healing isn’t linear and then holds themself to linear standards she can’t achieve without hurting herself.
In a world where so much feels urgent and out of our control, I can write radical transformation better than I can create it. Isn’t it funny how our greatest desires can feel the most abstract? Pushing toward a new version of yourself, maybe the person you always saw when you played “grown up” with friends at tea parties. My favorite game was always “college girls”- let’s play cool college girls who can make their own food, set their own bedtimes, walk down the street boldly at night. Little me didn’t know how far some of these simple adult goals would feel at times- making pasta? Fuck you, little me, are you taunting me? I’m eating crackers with olives smashed on them. Fuck you, current me, you deserve better than stale crackers. No, no you don’t. Why are you being so mean to yourself, Lena? Can you name one good reason besides that you heard someone else do it?
This summer I committed to listening to myself- nothing more and nothing less- not trying to erase the noise with new new new/more more more/green hair/blonde hair/anklet/no anklet/nicotine/no nicotine/nicotine again. I didn’t always like what I heard, but I let it live because that was the commitment I made to myself. And it’s been a small shift, a quiet shift, but a deep one.
The other day I told my mother I had said no to someone- a simple no, a silly no, but she could hear my voice, assured and calm, like a cool college girl. And she looked at me- sweaty nightgown, obsessively wailing on my laptop like I have since I was 15- and she said “you’re growing up so fast.”
She meant it. I believed it. Summer is almost over. I can’t wait to tell the kids at school what I did.
For someone who loves change, it’s easy to do too little of it. It’s easy to think it’s happening as you’re rattling from place to place, outfit to outfit, short bangs/long bangs/nose ring/no nose ring. A person who answers emails within moments/a person who says fuck it/a person who tells other people how healing isn’t linear and then holds themself to linear standards she can’t achieve without hurting herself.
In a world where so much feels urgent and out of our control, I can write radical transformation better than I can create it. Isn’t it funny how our greatest desires can feel the most abstract? Pushing toward a new version of yourself, maybe the person you always saw when you played “grown up” with friends at tea parties. My favorite game was always “college girls”- let’s play cool college girls who can make their own food, set their own bedtimes, walk down the street boldly at night. Little me didn’t know how far some of these simple adult goals would feel at times- making pasta? Fuck you, little me, are you taunting me? I’m eating crackers with olives smashed on them. Fuck you, current me, you deserve better than stale crackers. No, no you don’t. Why are you being so mean to yourself, Lena? Can you name one good reason besides that you heard someone else do it?
This summer I committed to listening to myself- nothing more and nothing less- not trying to erase the noise with new new new/more more more/green hair/blonde hair/anklet/no anklet/nicotine/no nicotine/nicotine again. I didn’t always like what I heard, but I let it live because that was the commitment I made to myself. And it’s been a small shift, a quiet shift, but a deep one.
The other day I told my mother I had said no to someone- a simple no, a silly no, but she could hear my voice, assured and calm, like a cool college girl. And she looked at me- sweaty nightgown, obsessively wailing on my laptop like I have since I was 15- and she said “you’re growing up so fast.”
She meant it. I believed it. Summer is almost over. I can’t wait to tell the kids at school what I did.
For someone who loves change, it’s easy to do too little of it. It’s easy to think it’s happening as you’re rattling from place to place, outfit to outfit, short bangs/long bangs/nose ring/no nose ring. A person who answers emails within moments/a person who says fuck it/a person who tells other people how healing isn’t linear and then holds themself to linear standards she can’t achieve without hurting herself.
In a world where so much feels urgent and out of our control, I can write radical transformation better than I can create it. Isn’t it funny how our greatest desires can feel the most abstract? Pushing toward a new version of yourself, maybe the person you always saw when you played “grown up” with friends at tea parties. My favorite game was always “college girls”- let’s play cool college girls who can make their own food, set their own bedtimes, walk down the street boldly at night. Little me didn’t know how far some of these simple adult goals would feel at times- making pasta? Fuck you, little me, are you taunting me? I’m eating crackers with olives smashed on them. Fuck you, current me, you deserve better than stale crackers. No, no you don’t. Why are you being so mean to yourself, Lena? Can you name one good reason besides that you heard someone else do it?
This summer I committed to listening to myself- nothing more and nothing less- not trying to erase the noise with new new new/more more more/green hair/blonde hair/anklet/no anklet/nicotine/no nicotine/nicotine again. I didn’t always like what I heard, but I let it live because that was the commitment I made to myself. And it’s been a small shift, a quiet shift, but a deep one.
The other day I told my mother I had said no to someone- a simple no, a silly no, but she could hear my voice, assured and calm, like a cool college girl. And she looked at me- sweaty nightgown, obsessively wailing on my laptop like I have since I was 15- and she said “you’re growing up so fast.”
She meant it. I believed it. Summer is almost over. I can’t wait to tell the kids at school what I did.
