i signed up for a clay class this fall

and i feel like diane lane in under the tuscan sun

Good morning,

Another one to file under indecision.

Since the moment I moved into my apartment (October 5, 2022), I’ve had an issue with its floors—so much so, that I almost didn’t take the apartment because of them. They’re those vinyl-esque panels if you’re familiar? The most minor gripe to have with a place (especially in New York), but I was moving because of an impending breakup that I was in denial about, and my rejection of the fake wood (sheets of paper as I’d dramatized it then) was me gripping onto the last thread tethering me to things as they were. No, the floors were not hardwood as advertised, but given the fact that in about 3-4 days I’d be sharing a home with an ex, my friend Lauren wisely advised “it’s the breakup, not the floors. Take the apartment and get a rug.” Hilarious that of course by the end of that day I had applied for the apartment that I swore “wasn’t for me,” and was rereading my application like a mantra as if I could will it into being mine. Luckily I got it, and ten months later I’m sitting here with not one plush or flat-woven textile in sight.

Why? Because I’m worried I’ll choose the wrong rug and live to regret my decision forever. The apartment, the rug, the red or black shirt, electric kettle or stovetop, take the trip or stay home, it’s all the same issue. There’s a fear underneath these choices. Re the rug of it all, I love a check list task, so it’s not the thought of having a return to make that’s a non-starter (this non-starter is very valid, it’s just not mine). I live in a time of 30 day returns with prepaid shipping labels (and around the corner from a post office), so I was curious where this fear of the “wrong” choice was coming from.

Well, enter the Temperance card x Jessia Dore x Rachel Pollack.

This card is about balance and both can be true thinking—as opposed to black and white, this or that, good or bad thinking (all of which of course create stress and panic). And as always, Tarot for Change cuts right to it: “at the root of our dualistic thinking is a fear that we don’t know ourselves.”

OOOOF.

What could be a lonelier, more alienating feeling than being misunderstood by you, yourself?

The night I signed the lease for my non-hardwood floors apartment that I’d quickly grown to pine for (couldn’t help myself), I panicked for the exact reason above. I was in an entirely new domain: new apartment, newly single, new job, and worried I had set myself off on the “wrong” path. I had a deep fear that I’d betrayed myself.

What happened of course, is I adapted. I went full Diane Lane getting to know her new Tuscan villa—remember when she wipes off the dust from her bed frame and reveals a painting of a woman in the center?

My version was realizing that the apartment is very slanted (the doorframes are all crooked), and that the cabinet above my sink is haunted, and I love that. I bought a couch in a color I always wanted (it took me five months to decide on one, but I did it), a cozy blanket, yummy incense, some plants, spent a lot of time alone, journaled, and burrowed deep into my new home and routine.

As a creature of habit, I melted into this new life pretty easily. I was born to live alone. I found comfort in establishing my sweet little monotonous schedule.

But at some point this past spring, I felt a slight wonder creep up inside (and by wonder I mean a heavy malaise that hit the moment I opened my eyes each morning), and by summer I felt trapped by my sweet little monotonous schedule. I found myself thinking about trying something new—on a dramatic day, it was that I should maybe live in Europe and anything less than that is not doing enough with “my one precious life,” and when I was not throwing the baby out with the bathwater, I thought maybe a clay class? Or a hiking club?

But when I started to poke my head out of my little bubble, things got confusing and overwhelming.

Something as simple as deciding what time would be “best” to go to the movies can invite this mess.

Without an answer, I’m afraid to leave my comfort zone.

And when I think back to the Temperance card and how this stuck-ness/trepidation around choice stems from a fear that I don’t know myself well enough, something clicks for me. It’s true! There are things I don’t know about myself, and when I accept that fact, isn’t that sort of exciting? I didn’t know how I’d react to living alone, and I learned so much about myself through that process. And now that I’m in this new home base, more adjusted to where I’m at, it’s comforting to look back and recognize that it’s a series of decisions and changes that brought me to this new level of understanding.

Couldn’t tell you why this reference comes to mind, but:

This fact is motivating.

For the yoga heads:

And when I stop to really think about it, how could I ever assume I know myself? Or feel embarrassed to admit that I don’t? Over time, we get so much input—from how we’re raised, the world we live in, the experiences we have—and all of this information feeds into and grows layers around that inner kernel of who we are, what we need and what we want. Oh and we’re also always changing. So of course we have to dig a little and continue to pry open, and it’s a privilege to have the time or ability to get in there.

All to say, this is what’s getting me closer and closer to finally buying a rug. And while you’re here, would love to know where you shopped for yours.

Thanks for reading,
🌷A