Don't Call it a Comeback

Well, well, well. Look who is knocking on your inbox door after months of silence with a WHOLE NEW THING ON A WHOLE NEW PLATFORM ON THE DAY OF A TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE DURING MERCURY RETROGRADE. 

If this does not excite you, feel free to unsubscribe now and I will do my best not to take it personally. 

Lord knows I love to yap, especially if it’s about myself, so you can check out the About page of this newsletter if you’re curious to learn more about the “rebrand.”

The energy of today’s eclipse is said to be like a new moon on steroids, and if I know something about a new moon, it’s that it’s a time to set intentions for what you want for yourself. And I want to have the courage to write and to share that writing. So here we are. 

At the start of March I followed the writer Jami Attenberg in a 6-day challenge of writing 1000 words every day. It was much harder than I anticipated but also far more fulfilling than I ever thought it would be (so annoying that my greatest love is also a source of so much turmoil). Below, I’m sharing something that came out of that week. 

I’m aiming to send this new and improved newsletter about once a month, but mostly I am aiming to be gentle with myself and let writing be fun. 

With much love and gratitude, 

BAE

Castles Made of Sand

While some credit Friendster or Myspace as the advent of social media, I actually think it tracks a bit further than that. As a young teen, I spent a fair amount of time curating the information on my AOL profile, desperately needing it to reflect that I was unique. Rather than simply fill in the information, I digitally bedazzled my profile with things like *~*~ }|{  BuTtErFLiEs  }|{ ~*~* and fonts and colors. 

But in reality the information elicited on these profiles was basic. So you either had to get super creative and say things like “Location: Your Mom’s House” or, you know, say you were from CoRaL SpRiNgZ, FLoRiDA. There was one field that offered slightly more wiggle room personality-wise, which was the “Personal Quote.” I was sure this needed to be music lyrics because like many teenagers (most?), music was 75% of my identity (the other 25% was split between playing basketball, having crushes, writing in my journal, and getting good grades). 

I wanted the lyrics to reflect that I had more depth than my peers, so rather than something current, I decided Jimi Hendrix would be best. I wasn’t just some emo/indie sad girl, after all, I also knew about classic rock. At the time, I was obsessed with the film Almost Famous and aspired to be as cool as Penny Lane (adult Brittany feels compelled to let you know she recognizes this aspiration was problematic). 

In reality, I didn’t know many Jimmy Hendrix lyrics beyond “Hey, Joe,” and even at 15 I knew my personal quote couldn’t read “I heard you shot your woman down,” so I asked Jeeves (RIP) to direct me toward more options. 

I settled on a song I’d never heard before, but felt profound: “Castles made of sand fall to the sea, eventually.” When I read through these lyrics now, I question how well I understood them. They aren’t exactly subtle, so probably I did, but man this song is hopeless. 

If you’re unfamiliar, the song shares three anecdotes of dreams that have dried up like raisins in the sun: Love gone sour, future heroic acts made impossible by untimely death, and a wheelchair-bound girl distracted from her own suicide by a winged ship that doesn’t stop for her. THIS IS THE SONG I WANTED PEOPLE TO ASSOCIATE WITH ME?!

But what was true of me then and what continues to be true of me now, is I have an active imagination and I often use it to build proverbial castles in the sand. On the one hand, this is something that keeps me optimistic, romantic, and hopeful, and compels me to believe it is entirely possible to turn this sinking ship of modern day society around. 

On the other hand, I am often guilty of breaking my own heart or choosing circumstances in which my heart will inevitably be broken. After my divorce, when I started dating again, my old therapist and I had several conversations about how I was too quick to fall for people. Too hasty in assuming romantic behaviors or vulnerable conversations meant I could trust someone with my love. 

After years of fighting and ultimately shrinking myself in order not to fight, my number one priority for dating post-divorce was that I had to feel understood. If it seemed the other person didn’t really “get” me or wasn’t willing to make an effort to see my point of view or appreciate my experience of the world, it was a hard no. Conversely, the other party also had to have enough self-awareness and understanding to be able to communicate their own feelings and experience of being in relationship with me. 

The other priority was that they be open to having children. Other than death, nothing scares me more, and yet in my heart of hearts there remains the possibility of co-creating a human with someone. Part of me hates this about myself. It feels so horrifyingly typical (like I might as well have settled for Sum 41 lyrics in 2002). And also selfish when there are children who need adopting and a climate careening toward catastrophe and so much war and never-ending capitalism, and the list goes on. 

But still. My castle has an office that could easily be turned into a nursery. 

In my last letter (RIP), I shared that on my second date with my now ex-boyfriend, I told him I didn’t care that he was a decade older than me, but I needed him to know that I was still interested in children. He faltered and twisted his response to be less about a definitive vision of a future with children, and more about whether or not he and another person would make good co-parents.

Two years ago I took a business coaching course where our mentor, Luna, would say “If it’s not a hell yes, it’s a no.” I sometimes wish I would have applied that lesson sooner in the ten months we spent together. Although I frequently brought up the issue of children, he frequently deferred. He said he needed time, we needed to continue to have conversations about it, in his mind other steps like living together would have to happen first, etc. 

And I loved him so much I built castles around an idea he never actually committed to.

Even after he finally admitted he didn’t see himself as a father and we broke up, I still hung on. I was frantically trying to keep my castle walls erect against the tide. Stuck in the bargaining stage of grief, I reasoned our connection was so strong he wouldn’t be able to stay away and he would go to therapy and he would face his fears and he would come back. Surely he must miss me the way I miss him? Surely we could figure this out together? 

In a moment of desperation, I texted him some version of all that a few weeks later and his reply was so god-awfully diplomatic the tide finally brought the castle down. 

Now that I’ve got the damp, lumpy remains at my feet, it’s hard to imagine being so foolish as to build another one. But what’s the point of living if you don’t allow yourself dreams? If you can’t imagine something better, things remain the same.

I recently finished watching the HBO series The Deuce, which is loosely about Times Square in the 70s, which was a hot spot for sex work, and the political machinations behind “cleaning it up” into…whatever it is today. Corporate hellscape? LED-light mecca? Former home of a Señor Frogs?

Anyway, the whole time I was watching it, I kept thinking how back then few believed it could be any different, but now, seeing photos or footage of theaters advertising porn is hard to believe. And while I’m IN NO WAY trying to champion the work of gentrification, I do think there is something to glean about change being possible. 

The thing about building castles made of sand is they’re the first step toward imaging a better world for ourselves. A world where Palestine is free and people aren’t treated as bargaining chips. A world where human rights are recognized, upheld, and fiercely protected. A world where romance exists, even amidst heartbreak.

It’s certainly weird and privileged to be conflating my more personal dreams of a romantic partner and parenthood with wider dreams for a better, safer, more egalitarian, environmentally conscious, inclusive society, but...the personal is political, as Gloria Steinem says. 

And I never seem to tire of building castles. I just need to be more careful about who I let inside them.