Lately.

Just the mundane.

The overlooked, most mundane bits can be the most touching. Like literally, being touched. We are nakedly known by whats in our fridge, or who is on our phone late at night. The little daily wins and worries, behind what we curate. It’s what I’m always so curious about in getting to know others. So, I will share with you what you would know if you knew me in the most mundane.

Today in particular was exceptionally non-eventful, a Monday. I was tired from the weekend, didn’t leave the house at all, and was pretty slow until about 2 when I started work. I woke up and still in a rest state, relistened to a 10 min voicenote from last year’s lover. I guess for a bit of sweet dopamine, to re-examine if I made the right choice in letting go, or just because the state between sleeping and waking is when we’re the most susceptible to saudade. At least thats how I am. I thought it would make me sad, but remembering Good Love That Was gave me a warm glow in the chest and relieved something. It set me free of yearning for the morning and instead, lit gratitude for what is. I opened my curtains to a soft gray day.

I made earl grey tea and had a Portuguese class online, my hair was crazy as hell but I picked my teacher to be someone I feel comfortable just being myself around (so my ADHD-ass would show up instead of freeze for need to perform), still in the big T-Shirt I slept in that says Primitive. I think it’s a skate brand. We practiced asking for things at the grocery store in Portuguese, naming different fruits, and then talking about different types of festivals, which is a big part of the culture here. She tells me her parents met at a beauty pageant in her town, a few hours south of Lisbon; her dad was the security guard and her mom was a contestant.

After, it’s 11am. I sat to write with pen and paper by my window where I watch other people walk by on their own daily routines to the park, a few friends and dogs I know go by. I remembered I had a strange dream with familiar mental demons of mine, but in a new scenario this time that was funny to recall. I wrote about that and how my weekend had been; a picnic with friends, a date with a “light artist”, a viewpoint sunset with the whole neighborhood, a piano concert at the park in dappled light, making “hot girl pasta” for my people last night.

I was home alone for a while & made breakfast while listening to this Michael Stone talk and wondered a lot about the connection between creativity/enlightenment and addiction. Michael has been a largely influential teacher of mindfulness for my work, and everyone was shocked when he died of an overdose in 2017. He was really onto something, bringing Zen Buddhism into social movements and fatherhood. He was so palpably Awake In The World, which was the name of his book and podcast. I wondered, “Can we be awake in the world? Was Michael’s death a sign that being SO open is beyond human capacity?” I feel a bit inspired and dismayed at the same time, absentmindedly coming to the conclusion that, per usual, it will up to me to find out.

My bluetooth headphones that my brother-in-law got me are an integral part of my nervous system as a sensitive person who needs specific music or media input for most moments. They broke over the weekend, so I have to awkwardly carry my phone around the house to listen to things until I figure how to fix them. Electric tape did not work, neither did superglue. It’s probably for the best because I was in a bit of an addiction to political analysis podcasts (Love You Ralph Nader).

I ate yogurt with raspberries, blueberries, pumpkin and hemp seeds, shredded coconut, honey my friend sent me from Greece, with some sea salt on it, in a really beautiful spiked bowl my friend and favorite painter Starkey made for me. Over the winter, I decided a solid breakfast would be an absolute commitment to myself and my health, because it’s so easy to be overlooked. It is my doorway into being grounded in my body and the day. I love the many jars of seeds and toppings on our shelves to add protein and vitamins to something simple. I sat on my rug by my altar to eat and looked at the photo there of my grandma and I, smiling. I miss her.

After some emails and posting cute videos for my friend Andy’s birthday, I started somatic coaching clients. I had five 50-minute sessions. I like my people. They are doing good work. I love vibing in presence with them and reflecting what I see. Being a trusted person at their edge is genuinely an honor and I love my work every day.

In between clients I made a matcha with homemade earl-grey syrup, posted memes inviting people to my virtual ADHD group, roasted potatoes with sage and garlic, and my hometown friend who is staying down the street came by to play guitar on our couch. I cut carrots for us and stretched in the kitchen while she played, we talked about a book and she showed me a print she got at our favorite café. She gave me a luxurious skinny menthol cigarette and I smoke it on the balcony out by the wisteria and laundry lines while she played through the open windows.

When I’m done with work, it’s about 8pm. The friend leaves, Monica and I decide we want Piri piri chicken for dinner. She hikes down the hill to go get it, and I make a salad while the sun sets. We light candles and sit and the table and I tell her about my Portuguese lesson. As usual we access the general vibe of all things; the world, our hearts, our health, our creative projects (she made some gorgeous ceramics she will sell tomorrow, I tell her I want to write after this). We note that it was a soft and uneventful day after a big weekend, and we did a good job. Before we retreat to our respective spaces we hug it out and she says “Another one for the books, Madison.” She gets it.