New set

What will the rain sound like at the new place?

A new set of conditions manifest before me: a new apartment in North Oakland, and the blank slate of a new configuration of where I live. New smells and sounds and patterns. Some new furniture, definitely new shelves and new rugs, with old paint colors I’ve loved placed on new walls.

This is the first time I’ve had a place to live on my own since I left my home in Providence, RI, in January 2014. I loved that apartment and deeply appreciated the sovereignty I had (in the autonomy sense of the word) of my life and my space. Chalk it up to being a designer, being tidy, knowing where everything is because that’s where it goes.

Nearly twelve years and nine moves later — between four cities and on two coasts — it’s time for that again.

A visual and spiritual reset — called in at this new time. I’ll be 54 in less than a month. I’m energized and I know my fuel sources.

A total conflation — along with newfound strength and clarity and focus.

I’m more compelled by the work I’m building than I have been since my first business, which I started when I was 24. I’m diving in like thirty years haven’t passed.

But before I dive into all that: a re-architecture of living, and then a big rest on a small island in the biggest ocean.

Then we go.

When I die…

…I hope that I truly made impact within the lives of people that I love.

That the people that I love (many of whom, let’s face it, also love me) were able to love and express themselves in the world more deeply, to feel more expansively, share more fiercely and freely, show up more authentically and, truly, I hope that my intersection with their lives and journeys increased their capacity for all of that by any degree.

That they were emboldened by my bold face. By my own emotional, physical, and sapiosexually thirsty and luscious self.

The water runs through it. Here; sip.

I hope that when I die I can know — in the many ways of knowing that are not intellectual — that I was helpful, that I made possible things that were previously deemed impossible, written off, downright dismissed.

That my ripples rippled. My conviction and belief in their fortitude gave them more ’tude!

My purpose has absolutely been to help others discover their purpose. I delight in seeing what others don’t and can’t see, then showing it to them. Making it possible and helping them get there. My why might be seen as the ability to ask why, and also why not.

To see around corners. To embrace the spark and share it.

Here, hold it. You light the way now.

It’s all quite fundamental: unpacking why not leads to why.

Yes; let’s. Why not.

I Am Here.

Alive. Can recognize being here. Feel SHAMAZING. Like I got sunshine comin’ out my butt.

I’m ok with it all — except the macro conditions of the two-headed coin, the ballroom vs the SNAP program, the airport chaos, the longest shutdown — against it all, aware of it all, can see their moves and want none of it nor want to pay it any mind.

It is pure evil, selfish, hoarding, the world’s first trillionaire — may they burn alive in the trash fire of their terrifying, gaudy, plastic aesthetics, and choke forever in its fumes.

I’m out here resisting in my own ways — zigging against the zag — supporting and mentoring and holding a million ideas that support my own and others pursuits. It’s all teaching and learning and sharing. It’s building, planting, shining a light, opening pathways. It’s community. Peer to peer to peer like a triangle. A stable shape. Its own symbol of resistance, co-opted. It’s how we pull outselves out of this mess. Not the way we got here, but a new, nurturing, hopeful, aware, socialized, equity-adjacent or co-op friendly future. AND! We have MAMDANI IN THE HOUSE.I cried for a week or weeks leading up to Tuesday. May the ancestors and theirs keep him safe. He represents such hope to so many. A record breaking number of NYers came out to vote. Like SHIT! It’s TIME! And that cyber fail and this leader who got booed today. It’s all so CLEAR.

Two choices: for few, or for all.

The thing that I cannot fathom is — what do you do with it all? What can’t you buy? An election? Did that. A country? Probably. A faction? Votes? What’s the end goal? You can’t take it with you — you can’t find happiness or satisfaction down that route.

True love is gained in your giving, I wrote, probably in the early 90s [nope, a decade later, and it was “wisdom,” not love], even before I knew how much I knew.

It’s taken me half my life to arrive. In my body. My capacity. In my truth. I’ve noticed the strength and clarity — as well as the calmness of certainty. It’s not showy — it’s even and rational. It doesn’t require convincing others — it more simply is.

Last night in Boulder Creek — haircut tomorrow, dinner with Ari, letting them know, measurements for the new config, work and parties and it’s all happening.

Prayer

in

May the universe and powers I cannot see

grant me the inner peace and security

along with my blood and chosen family

and loves across many a community

(who understand this is all temporary)

to survive this impending calamity

and to discover by any means necessary

how to claim and hold fast to prosperity 🙏

First Month back in Oakland

Today marks one month since my partner and I returned to Oakland, CA, to the Redwood Heights neighborhood, in a lovely ranch-style home that I previously lived in back in 2015. Since then, the backyard garden has grown tremendously: aloe and matilija (fried egg) poppy plants are taller than me, there’s a pomegranate tree, and a kumquat tree (which I rescued from the trash) has doubled in size and is starting to bloom. This morning I picked figs and apples. Later I’ll pick some cherry tomatoes and use them in a salad or an omelette — if they make it back to the kitchen. There are a few final zucchini. The space and the home feel familiar, so our California re-emergence feels natural and has luckily been smooth.

Yes, it’s great to be back in the Bay for many reasons — for the first time since I accepted the role of Chair, I’m able to do the work in person. I’m on campus at least once a week, and love running into students in the café and casually advising them on their assignments of the day. I’m lunching with faculty and convening meetings and making introductions, all in person — in other words, building community.

As we drove across the country, seeing friends along the way who I knew from other parts of life and other cities we used to both live in, and even still met up in person with people I’d only met online, I realized we have (or can build) community everywhere. But it’s the concentration and intersection of all the communities we’re part of that brought us back to the Bay. The design and tech communities, the entrepreneur and startup and venture capital communities, the queer communities. My friend and colleague communities. And my chosen family, my godson, and my business partner and oldest dearest bestie — now in SoCal.

We rode out the peak of the pandemic in Philly. It’s a fantastic city — affordable, walkable, diverse, delicious, got its own culture, close to NYC, easy access to the Jersey Shore, and DC — and we loved getting to know it as much as we could. Given we were there during a time when most everyone was at home, building community was challenging. But we managed to make a few new friends who’ll be waiting for our return visits.

Sunny Sunday morning, French press with cardamom pod, almond horn

My mother is 77. Her near-constant pursuit of delight, delivered via baked goods, pastries, and cookies, is adorable. It possesses an unbounded glee from deep within childhood.

She has reintroduced me to the almond horn. As a kid it was never my favorite, but I bought one yesterday at an Italian bakery. In the assortment were pignoli and ricotta cookies, and torrone. While I’ve always loved torrone — softer is better, I’ve had braces twice — asking for the almond horn made me think of Mom.

As she is 77, I’ve been paying a lot more attention to things that bring her joy. For her birthday last month, I brought her favorite flower (hydrangea) in her favorite colors (blue and white), along with a bottle of St Germain, which she recently fell in love with.

And now I’d like to arrange, the next time we are together, an almond horn-off. Six or seven of them from local shops, blind tested, likely devoured over a day or two, and rated. We’ll go back to the source of the winning horn and share this story.

Mom will go back to New York with a box of the winners. She’ll freeze them and enjoy them for the next several years.

I take pleasure in grinding my own coffee beans — the aroma, the sound, the process, the adjusting of the grind for drip or French Press — and every so often I’ll pop in a cardamom pod into the grinder if I think those flavors will mesh well. I did so this morning with nearly the last of the dark roast (which means I’ll be picking up some more at the Farmers Market today).

I started drinking coffee my junior year of college. I was purely tea beforehand. (I still reach for both.) My alma mater was piloting a new major, Media Studies, from which I was the second to graduate (my friend Bill was the first). I was also an English minor, a work-study student in the Writing Center, and got the Dean to fund a critical culture zine, Mediahead.

Coffee helped my brain and I to start achieving more. I can’t say if all of a sudden there was a lot to do, or if coffee helped my mind and I snap into place and become more high-performing. There’s certainly a correlation.

After college, my coffee game was elevated even further, via my friend and roommate, Kirstin. She introduced me to the french press style of brewing. We would sip it super hot before dashing to catch the T into Boston, or pour some into our commuter mugs while reading a half-folded The New Yorker. Her homemade ceramic coffeemugs would sit half empty in the sink all day. If there was anything left in the press, maybe it got warmed in the microwave the next morning.

In my late 30s and well into my 40s, I could finish an entire 8-cup press myself in one sitting. These days I sip slower (though no less fervently), and I do own two 8-cup presses in case company wants.

Poem, August 20

Making the bed (a meditation)

tonight, we made it to tonight,

because we made what was unmade,

so many days now. mornings in order,

smoothed over with care, despite how

(over night) we wander. how ever much we

tuck into our restlessness, we fold ourselves

in together, back to back.

Poem (Superku), August 8

comes a hummingbird —
there! right! at the moment when
i felt most vulnerable;
two, possibly three seconds.

— human generosity
synchronized environments —

(the needy mind. traps itself.

how we view the world is based
on perception which is based
in the mind so each moment’s
filtered through this needy mind.)

“once one gets one’s mind and one’s
desires out of its way”
is what cage said about it.

and yet, and so, instantly (!)
releasing anxiety
transporting mind and body
— unexpected joy.