Issue #191: How to Create a Life (Actually) Aligned with the Things You Care About
The 4 givens of existence.
💿 ‘Send a Prayer My Way’ by Julien Baker & Torres: I’ve been listening to this country collaboration nonstop since it came out on Friday, mesmerized by Torres’s richly deep voice and Baker’s raspy harmonies over intimate lyrics about love and addiction.
📚 The Float Test by Lynn Steger Strong: It feels apt to recommend a book here that begins with a death. When the commanding matriarch of the Kenner family dies suddenly while running, her four children convene in Florida to mourn, bringing with them plenty of complicated family dynamics.
📺 “The Narrow Road to the Deep North” on Prime: Jacob Elrodi stars in this new series, based on Richard Flanagan’s Booker-winning novel of the same name, as Dorrigo, an army surgeon who is captured as a prisoner in a Thai-Burmese camp during WWII. Told in flash-forwards and flashbacks, the show examines the impact of violence on one man—and the ways it impacts his entire life.
Today’s issue is the latest installment of ‘Plant Studies’ is a six-part series on topics essential for living a fully engaged and meaningful life. In April, we’re kicking off with ‘Death + Mortality,’ a topic that will lay the groundwork for the rest of the series. Though not necessary, these posts are intended to be read in order. I recommend that you begin here, and read Part 1 on ‘Death + Mortality’ if you haven’t already! x
On the final evening I spent with my husband, we walked around the neighborhood where we had bought our house a little over a year prior. I pulled my coat tighter around me—entire seasons and hundreds of conversations had passed since our summer separation, and I was still struggling to explain to him why I had initiated the split. As we walked, I talked, of all things, about a barre studio that had opened that spring half a mile from our home.
When I signed up for a “founding membership,” I had every intention of walking to the 6 am class each morning, well-rested and with a latte I had brewed at home. I would lift and sculpt, then stroll back, blissed-out and ready to begin my day. In reality, I remembered five minutes into my first pre-dawn class that I hate barre. I managed to drag myself out of bed to a few more classes, sleep-deprived and still pulling up my leggings to get out the door (forget the latte), before cancelling my membership. As I walked with my husband, I reminded him of these mornings; of how many similar mornings, promises, and projects I had attempted, only to flail and land in the exact same place. I felt directionless and lost, certain that something fundamental and deeper had to change, even if I didn’t yet understand what that was.
In the immediate wake of my divorce, it became a running joke among my friends that I was voted ‘most likely to join a cult.’ In the absence of my identity—as a wife, editor, generally pulled-together human—I was willing to try almost anything. Unlike my twenties, when I felt so sure that I knew exactly who I was and where I was headed, I felt completely ungrounded during the first few years of my thirties, and reached for plenty of proverbial barre studios in my attempt to find it.