44. Little Deaths / Little Delights
48 hours in London, then getting sick in an airplane bathroom, then a Thanksgiving celebration 3,500 miles from home on a Saturday. How wonderful it is to be 23 years old.
A girl can dream! About many things at the same time, I suppose. A girl can turn her most wild of dreams into reality too, I think. I know.
It’s hard to know something and then to turn that knowledge into feeling, and into practice.
I think I should just enjoy my time as it is, now, and take the days and the feelings and the fears as they come. I don’t want to bother myself with worries prematurely. I want to LIVE, and be present, and what was it I just said? Take things as they come. And take things for what they are.
I’m going to continue working on myself, and doing everything possible to be the woman I’m meant to be. What else can I do?
LITTLE DEATHS
conversion rates
the year’s end
LITTLE DELIGHTS
creative reuse
a cold that remains incredibly minor
to be silent in a room filled with the chatter of voices
the year’s end
FROM THE HOT LITERATI UNIVERSE
We’re bringing one reader to a private press briefing of the new Barbie Streamhouse in Nolita.
We’ll be picking a winner December 4th at 8pm ET.
TO ENTER:
Write a >500 word reflection on your relationship to Barbie. Use the hashtag #barbieliterati on substack so we can find it!
(must be a paid subscriber to win)
I think traveling suggests an act of courage and bravado. I can't say I missed out growing with the same energies, unhingered, aspiring and inspiring, moving forward because during 70s I was thirteen, my career was a booster, pick-pocket thug, aways in the streets trying to get some money and food, but during the 80s I was already on the grind to make enough money to keep up with the popular fashion cultural trend feeding my ego. By 23 I was facing an assault charge that smothered nearly a decade from precious life.
But never thought about traveling, just wasn’t on my trajectory. I thought we had done enough traveling when my mother left Virginia which she hated with a passion and told me she will never return no matter what! I believed her. And she never return! That was it. No more traveling. I was not introduced to the travel bug because everybody was told NYC was the hook line sinker splash.
The only traveling I can hardly remember or remember at all, a historical déjà vu when bouncing in the spring water of mother’s budging belly. I was about to be born in the 50s seeking shelter and a life after emigrating from a wickedly Halifax County, Virginia during post Great Depression. We were poor when my parents left the south as african diaspora during post-great-depression.
Sort of getting little more hope all these black folks in NYC. Tha slave master and then Jim Crowd, told us we never accomplished anything! About the Black Reconstruction? Jim Crowd was mad as hell. What a white lie.
As NYC had a lot social entertainment, lot black music, theatre, with the Jazz Culture was big thing and mom and dad hung around the Harlem bars, social clubs, during those days. We brought all the soul music We had family there.
I will return to your content traveling, courageous and brave to want to step out into the big jungle. I admire your courage and bravado spirit aspiring exploring the depths of world over and on the other side of as Thelonious Monk recording goes Midnight night. You were unwilling to be boxed into Brooklyn because NYC was not all the world but too many places that would define your delicate appetite for traveling.
Hats off to you sis!