Does This Make Me Look

Hi, all! First a correction: Last week I wrote that it was my dad’s 84th birthday. Well, no, he’s now one week deep into his 94th year! Why I shaved off a decade? Maybe it’s because I have no concept of time? Maybe because when I’m with him it feels like 94 is the new 84? Maybe I have a Peter Pan complex? Well, yes, that last statement is probably truer than all the rest. (Or, as Dennis just asked: Who’s your copy editor? Benay, I need you. And a fact-checker as well, perhaps.)

I’m getting in a groove here on this left coast when it comes to work. Despite (maybe because of) the amazing light that happens in my new workspace I toggle between inspired (work on that essay from my tutoring student, download the reading I need to work on with said student) and daydream-y (wow, that palm tree is tall. Is that some kind of citrus tree across the street?). I’m not mad at any of these thoughts. They come, they go, I carry on. The weirdest thing is the sense of time. It’s not that I don’t feel an urgency. I do, in fact, feel waves of intense almost-panic mostly due to not having a more regimented schedule. Freedom is a funny thing. Choices. No meetings. Time. Altho my go-to has always been to front load and get things out of the way not because I’m always inspired to do these tasks immediately but rather because I feel like something may happen that will block me from getting done what I said I would. I might fall into a coma. My hands may become paralyzed or an alien ship may come carry me away (I am closer to Area 51 after all). This is all tied into how I want people to perceive me. My ego and entire self have a vested interest in not letting anyone down. not. one. person. on. this. globe. I’m working to let go of this, since clearly—tho not scientifically proven—there’s a pathological moment tied in there somewhere.

Precrastination is a thing. And it’s not always pretty. The short of it goes something like this: You’re asked to cross a field and come back with a basket of tennis balls that are set down in the dead-center of the space. Do you A) pick up the balls on the way over, then carry them across the rest of the field and back, B) cross the field, then pick up the balls on the way back, thereby only having to carry them for a portion of your trip. Logically B) makes sense. I, of course, would do A) because (see above) I’m terrified something would happen to block my completion. My hands could completely detach from my body or something. So I’m willing to carry more than I need for three-quarters of the trip, probably slowing myself down, in order to complete the task. So there’s a bit of a delusion in there. One that may also tie into that Peter Pan moment mentioned earlier. I’m young. I can fly. I can do anything. forever. Seeing myself clearly is maybe impossible, but definitely an ongoing process.

Within the idea, or more likely ideal, that I hold onto for myself is also contained a sense of all the people I feel I’ve been. Or maybe the roles I’ve played. Every time I slide open my closet here, I see the rows of clothes I love and they all have a story. The last time 98.5% of them have been worn was as they traveled up escalators in the Hearst Tower on their way to the 28th floor.

Surprisingly what is hitting me first when I open up the closet and drawers are the smells of said items. It’s not like they smell of NYC in particular, but they do carry a whiff of another space. A moment I’m reminded of what scent I spritzed that day and maybe how I traveled through space and picked up elements around me. Where does my style figure in today? What message am I sending out to the world? Yesterday I changed my top three times. In the morning we had a meeting with the manager of this property and since we had a couple of nitty-gritty apartment things to go over, I wore a button down that would deliver a business-y thing. Later I needed a comfortable sweater. Last night we went to dinner and put on a little dressier item (which my dad just called and complimented me on. so there’s that!). I continue to be aware of how clothing imparts a message of who I am in the world at that very moment. It goes beyond reminding me of what age I am, which flies in the face of the Peter Pan theory I often have tucked under my arm. I’m more reminded lately of the space I’m inhabiting and how I’m moving around inside the new-ness of it. I’m loving the new view. I also feel a lot of smiles around the views in my past. What view inspires you?

Hello there. We (the human parts and the things parts) are officially moved in. These two orange pods above carried our stuff across this vast country and when we opened up the doors, nothing had shifted. As if a glider pulled by very steady elves had pulled these boxes gently across the country. This was good because we were both prepared to crack open the doors and have things tumble out on our heads after it was packed tight on the starting end. And so the unpacking of stuff began.

And this fact I’m about to tell you might express what was happening in my brain/body best: I wore the overalls, which I stole from Dennis, that striped shirt, and those Converse sneakers pictured above for five solid days, only pausing to remove during sleep. In a way, they became like my jumpsuits: A uniform to move me through what was happening each day without really needing to think too much about it. Utilitarian.

But naturally that got me to thinking about two things: how I express myself through clothes and what a uniform can represent (besides freeing that part of your brain that thinks about outfits). More about the former in a bit. Regarding the latter: to me there is comfort in sameness. As I’ve hinted at before, change is disruptive and, at least to me, can be terrifying. I have a tattoo that translates into impermanence on my wrist so I can be reminded that everything changes. Which naturally scares the shite out of me. But the interesting thing is that I always drift toward the darkside when I think of change. Why not the light side (or even the middle grays, which are more realistic)?

Truth: This move is all of those things, because of course it is. Spending time with my dad is amazing. Today is his 94th birthday. Here we are in his pad last week sitting in front of his fireplace, him with martini, us with glasses of wine, plus guacamole and chips.

The sun does shine a lot. Our place has space outdoors to sit. I’m learning to temper my impatience about the pace of things (slower in service, but lots of smiles). Dennis and I have come to the conclusion that really, the kinds of walls that we hit proverbially in NYC (I’m looking at you MTA, gruff deli dude, Spectrum waiting area) are delivered with a what-you-see-is-what-you-get frown. The funny thing out here is that they turn that frown upside down (yes, I just did that) but are still building the same barriers (I’m looking at you refrigerator delivery people, apartment manager, cashier at the CVS). And for real, that’s just how all life is. People. Personalities. Patience or not. All I can control is how I move with it. And also how I see myself in it. Not so long ago, literally one month, I climbed into an outfit and stepped through the doors of the stunning Hearst Tower in Columbus Circle. I felt my identity inside of that. But in reality, my identity was never only that, just the current carrying me along.

Here, I’m swimming in a new stream and creating a new current. Yikes.

And about that expressing-myself-through-clothes thing. Just this last Tuesday I wore my slippers to Home Depot. My slippers. Outside. And not on purpose. People, I forgot to put on real shoes. This was a sign. Of what, I’m still parsing. Fine, the slippers are cute Sahalie’s, but still it scared me a little when I looked down halfway there and saw them on my feet. But of course we didn’t turn the truck around. We kept on driving and I made a mental note (I may have yelled out a brief “Oh my gawd” also). And that’s what I mean about change. Moving forward even if there’s a jarring moment. Moving forward…

What’s something you’ve worn out in public that you forgot you had on?

Hi! Today we saw our new place for the first time (in November we saw a similar layout, but this one is for reals, rented it long distance), went to Home Depot (because naturally that’s what one does when one moves), and trolled consignment and thrift stores for some interesting furniture (people, we found an original treadle sewing machine with ancient thread and buttons still in the drawer. No, I don’t sew. But that seems beside the point).

We also had a lovely dinner with my dad and are about to get some beauty sleep because tomorrow IKEA (another thing mandated on the when-you-move list). At some point though, as we drove a little slower on the 10 freeway with commuters returning home after work, I had a minute to review the last week on the road. Some thoughts: Wow. this place is filled with amazing. Land that stretches out far & wide. Some of it dotted with cows and such roaming freely. In one particular stretch around the Texas panhandle those cows were abundant and packed into pens. In that cases there was a very clear smell of the slaughter. Vegetation. Many wonderful and changeable growing things springing in all different directions. Empty barns. Empty restaurants. Empty gas stations. And so on. A lot of places that had once thrived that thrived no more. Styrofoam. so. much. styrofoam. Yes, probably the most affordable packaging material, but seriously, that is just a sad landfill kerfuckle. And of course the people, who were vibrant and to a one excellent to see.

Now some visuals from one end to the other:

Now there will be less about movement in vehicles and more about movement in other ways. I’ll look forward to sharing and hearing about your movements too. Thanks for coming along!

Hello, my wonderful people! This was it. The final jumpsuit for the final day cross country: Phoenix to my dad’s in Southern California. First off, I now know for certain that I have a startling amount of jumpsuits. I ended the trip as I began: With one of the first I ever bought. The one that started the, er, obsession after I’d seen my friend Elizabeth (aforementioned friend of style and art) wearing it and I then went out and bought it in every color. Soooo, anyway. We’ve landed in California.

And now I feel so lucky to be able to sit with my dad and Dennis sipping wine and watching the news. We have a week ahead of us setting up our new apartment and I’ll be for sure writing about that, but in the meantime, a very dear friend sent me these lines this morning that she heard over the weekend: “Life is sometimes about crossing a threshold into a sacred space.” I love this message! How we take time to acknowledge a sacred space. Then enter into it. However that happens. Small moments. Big moments. Moments that only we know about in our heart of hearts (or souls). Every day is a piece of bravery and an opportunity for eyes wide open. Boy do I have a lot more to think on regarding that. In the meantime: Tomorrow I’m putting together a greatest hits of the road! Tonight, dinner with my two favorite guys!

(sigh.)

We were back on the road today after a bit of a break in stunning Santa Fe, NM, where the streets were filled with art and not-so-many people because, as one of the gallery guys told us, the first two weeks of January are the slowest of the year. But walking in the crisp, high-altitude air and looking at some street art was a great way to stretch the legs and wander the streets while eating amazing food.

I’m down to two jumpsuits (weirdly the exact amount needed) and this excellent number given to me by my lovely friend Elizabeth (check out her website) was just the ticket. Short sleeved in anticipation of warmer weather as we headed to Phoenix and roomy for the seven-plus-hours on the road. Something that has struck me throughout the drive—other than the breathtaking and changeable landscape—has been the people watching along the way. A comment made about my last post was that I had maybe been in NYC too long and forgotten how the rest of the country lives. Her observation got me to thinking: While the word “too” is subjective, I do agree that being in one place, whether geographical or emotional, for an extended period of time can cause a slide into assumptions and/or amnesia around what else exists outside a self-imposed comfort zones. I can only speak for myself here.

Thirty-six years in New York City brought me all kinds of joy—and another thirty-six years may be in my future at some point what with AI extending life and and what-have-you. Those years also gave me a particular view on the world, because no matter how many other places I traveled, I lived in the politics of one place. And I embraced that place even as I quite often railed against how I thought the joint was falling apart, etc.

My larger point in all this is that I’m a girl born under a sign that prizes security, which can sometimes invite me to ignore larger truths. To adjust myself and accept if something isn’t quite right because maybe I don’t want to change anything. It’s no surprise that when I find a place to be that I feel good in, I set up camp. When I was freelancing at various magazines, I wanted badly to know that when I came back for whatever amount of days each month I was sitting in the same place. I like getting my coffee from the same place and when that place closed last year I felt much more adrift than I should have in a city with a Starbucks literally every two blocks. When I worked in the land of rock’n’roll, I kept this need for security under wraps since I wanted people to think I was up for anything. But in reality, that phrase terrified me, because really, what does being up for anything really mean? Plus I mostly just wanted to be home taking a bubble bath. I kept that a very good secret though. (When a co-worker recently told me her husband didn’t have a permanent desk at his job and had to sign up the night before for a place to sit. In. his. Own. Workplace. I had to walk around the floor to shake off the stress I felt on his behalf.)

But clearly, this insular world can also cause some emotional and physical paralysis. It’s a thing I’ve grappled with: be aware, take chances, stay safe. I like that Dennis and I are bringing ourselves somewhere new. I’m looking forward to hanging out with my dad and also getting to know how another neighborhood in America lives while challenging myself to move around happily in a new place. There’s never been a better time in my life for this to happen. And having never driven cross the country, I’ve loved staring out the window and wondering what people are doing, how they live and what they like. Last night when a table near us started doing shots of whisky through bone marrow (because that’s a thing), I thought, man, those cowboys are doing something that to me is thoroughly disgusting. And, yes, they were cowboys because they announced themselves as such to the waiter, not just because they were wearing the hats and I made a snap judgment. But you know what? After doing some research I found out that drinking whisky out of bone marrow turns out to be a bit of a New York City thing. So you just never know. And while I’ve probably lost the thread on this whole post, coming back to my main point: Trying not to forget that there are other things inside and out to pay attention to means shaking things up. And as scary as that can be, I’m going to keep on trying to do just that.

Tomorrow we sail into California and land on my dad’s doorstep. One more post in the jumpsuit left in the series. And I’m so glad you’ve all come along for the ride!

Wow. Day 5. Elk City, Oklahoma, to Santa Fe, New Mexico. What a difference a day makes. I felt the blue, zip flight suit was going to suit me best. (Find vintage flight suits here.) Cold rain and (almost) tornado fierce winds gave way to a wide expanse of blue sky and miles and miles and miles of country with cows and brush and barns dotting the land.

As we drove across the Texas border we heard this distressing news: Texas Governor Shuts State to Refugees, Using New Power Granted by Trump. You can’t make this weird timing stuff up. One thing I’m finding as we drive across the country is to try and see the difference between the politics and the people. Obviously we’re not in one place long enough for me to actually know what’s in people’s hearts, but rest stops, restaurants, gas stations, hotels, these are all good places to just see people being & doing. From the human side, that’s been really awesome. The side stares I wrote about on that first day are a thing, but they’re not antagonistic and I realize a whole five days in that I’m not really on alert for them like I was. Or at least I’ve relaxed my stance as well.

What is super interesting is looking at the swag in the truck stop super marts. Yeah, you’ve got your hats, but the t-shirts. Oh-mi-lord, the t-shirts. Some of them are about the lord, naturally. But most are comments on guns, hunting, America, and that guy who is slobbling around the White House. (I’ve got to give credit to my friend Tracy for coming up with slobble head connected to the D.Trump boxing pens as seen in my first day’s post). It’s made me think about whether wearing a t-shirt with And Yet She Persisted or Jesus Was a Liberal on it is basically the equivalent to this one sold at the Flying J truck stop in Tucumcari, New Mexico?

Ever since humans have discovered the power of clothing and then someone went on to invent the message t-shirt (this article link is fascinating), that item of clothing has been used to broadcast a person’s identity: What bands people like, the kind of irony they might carry around inside of them, the sports team they follow. Our body as billboard.

Jumpsuiting myself across the country has let me put on a type of uniform, while also showing off my vast collection (even I’m amazed that I’ve got enough to cover our whole trip), but also made me aware of how utility clothing works. I’m getting to know America through the messaging on that other utility clothing: t-shirts. But to only see that is incredibly one dimensional. I’m also seeing the country through all the very excellent faces and personalities of the people we’ve come in contact with. Still mostly women.

Tomorrow is a day off as we wander the streets of Santa Fe (unbelievably stunning place). The Jumpsuits will be back Monday. Two left as we end our trip on Tuesday. What piece of clothing says the most about you?

Hello, my people! Wow a bit of a gnarly ride today on the fourth and longest ride across this country of ours. First off, let’s talk about jumpsuits, shall we? (Let’s not so much talk about how small my fingers/hands are. A fact of which I’m reminded every time I look at this and yesterday’s photo.)

Today’s blue denim number worked the best so far. And I’ll tell you why: snaps! Yes, for a day like today where multiple rest stops were stopped at during our eight-plus hour drive, buttons would have been a nightmare. And the zippered number isn’t coming out for another day or so (maybe tomorrow). Rest stops. Let’s talk about those now. It’s a wonderland out there. Baseball caps declaring things were really front and center at all of them.

New York, Texas, camouflage land, but no Oklahoma, the actual state we were in. Everyone wanting to be somewhere else maybe? At the next stop, just outside Okemah, Oklahoma, another selection. Still no Oklahoma represented. There was a Trump 2020 on offer and it took all I had to not pick up the John Deere lighter and set it on fire. But I didn’t. Obviously. This rest stop did have something unexpected and wonderful though. In place of where the Hardee’s or Sonic Burger was a mom&pop place called Tandoori with a great spread of Indian food and a whole swathe of humanity eating there. That was cool. And if you want to order a hat that does good: here.

Then we entered the land of weather. Gnarly bit of business. lightning lit up the sky and thunder shook the truck. Dennis explained to me that our metal machine would not get hit because we were rolling on rubber wheels (conductivity and all that). It snaps you to attention though and reminds me how these very precise strikes are a little how I’ve been experiencing memories throughout this trip. We pass a billboard for a Mexican place called El Sombrero, I think of the restaurant of the same name on the Lower East Side when I first moved to NYC. I see some cows. I think of Pearl Jam in England on a farm the first time I interviewed them. there were cows. And sheep. this is how my mind is working. Peeling back the layers.

We also had some wicked, hard rain. And that reminded me of trust. Dennis doing what was necessary to keep us moving forward. I appreciate that a lot. The sense that I couldn’t do anything in particular in the moment but just be there.

I’m happy to be in this LaQuinta and now we’re venturing out to blow around in the wind (because that’s happening now) and find some food at the Italian place across the street. Who knows, maybe Elk City, OK, will have some mighty fine Italian cuisine!? And also it might snow. So there’s that.

Let’s pretend I’m only holding up three fingers. It’s day three, not four (yet). I’m going to blame my counting issue on really weak coffee.

So on this day as we went from Cookeville to Memphis, Tennessee, the pale purple stepped into play. I was feeling rather pastel after yesterday’s super-long drive (7+ hours) and anticipating today’s much-mellower span (a little over 4). Plus, It’s not freezing anymore, so the 3/4 sleeve on this Gap baby (shoutout to Siobhan for looking so good in hers that I had to get one for myself) felt about right. I discovered another reason that the purple felt apropos: Back in October, Memphis lit up two of its main interstate bridges purple to raise awareness about domestic violence.

As we’ve been traveling and stopping in various towns, I’ve gotten a chance to watch not only the road go by and the countryside sprout with farms and livestock and trees and just general living, but also to notice how people inhabit the locations where we stop. Pretty much to a one, behind every counter is a woman. Whether at the La Quinta’s we’ve been hopscotching across the country, to the gas stations, to the diners, women are running the show. Friendly, curious, talkative, and in complete command of the term “no worries, honey” for just about every situation I’ve encountered.

Whether the “no worries” bit is true or not isn’t something I can know. Seeing a really young mom yesterday at the place we stopped for lunch as she tried to deal with her two kids, husband and a broken down car was a bit of a heart tear since her emotional seams appeared close to coming apart. And of course I wondered, what’s her life like?

Do you do that? Walk by someone, drive by, look across the train or the street and wonder: What goes on in your life. I know that’s usually just a distraction from me keeping my own council and as two of my favorite people would say “Stay in your own lane” (Hello, Elizabeth) and “May all beings be happy” (oh, Goenka. wise man.) so I carry on and hope for the best. But this trip is giving me some thoughts on all that.

Speaking of strong women, entering Memphis, there are signs for Loretta Lynn’s ranch & kitchen everywhere. While not so much a country music fan, I totally appreciate her artistry and looked her up just to peek into her life and such. I wasn’t surprised to find that she and her husband of decades had a helluva stormy ride. She talked about their turbulence and also that “every time Doo ‘smacked me, he got smacked twice”. As a general rule, I don’t truck with the laying on of hands that way for any gender or situation, but that’s a whole post in itself. What I do feel when I read those words is that ladies get on with it in the way they believe works for them. I’ve been seeing how they are running things while I’m on the road. I’ve worked with and continue to know amazing women who get on with it and get things done. Of course I have. And we always need a community to support us. And sometimes we need assistance to get back on track or to call attention when something isn’t right. That’s just the way humans work. So today my purple felt good for knowing Memphis recognized the color in awareness of something important.

So ladies, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting these last few days, I salute you! With your secret and not-so-secret stories. You’re acing it. And in keeping with this Tennessee vibe, I’m gonna rock the denim jumpsuit tomorrow in honor of Loretta and all you sisters running this damn place!

Winchester, VA to Cookeville, TN. Today I felt a need to blaze a little. I went bright to counteract the grayish white snowy frost on the ground. And I needed the gold Doc Martens because where the snow wasn’t slushy, it had become a crust of black ice. So from my bag I pulled a jumpsuit I bought in Lisbon, but a style really similar to this one found on a favorite clothing site of mine: LaCausa (great standards, give back programs, & working conditions). The Doc Martens I got with my friend Denise at Beacon’s Closet in Brooklyn, NY. But scouring the internets also offers options.

I was warm. Comfortable. Had extra traction on my feet. But here’s what I learned: The farther I got from New York, the more I noticed how my choice of clothing and hair color—and maybe general demeanor—made me stand out in a way that felt different from what I’m used to. I like standing out. Walking onto a train or into a building and feeling that what I’ve chosen to wear or put together is a thing all my own. Today when we stopped at the Lancer Truck Stop Deli in Virginia, the attention had a bit of an edge. More a one-of-these-things-is-not-like-another vibe. I didn’t feel like I was in danger in any way, but I did remember “Yes, this is what I felt like in high school.” Not altogether confident in who I was presenting to the world. I realize a majority of people (especially young people, but all ages too) live in the world feeling different and not at all comfortable in that. Or at least not comfortable yet because they haven’t found their people, their jam, that thing that gives them strength. I was reminded of why New York City was the perfect place for me to land in my twenties. Why a city can offer people searching for their people a perfect place to thrive. I have all sorts of theories on why places outside metropolitan living doesn’t offer that same freedom of individuality, but suffice to say getting just that whiff of side-stare, I-don’t-understand-you vibe startled me a bit. And I’m a grown-ass woman.

I’ve been thinking about how I’m going to feel once relocated and not working any part of my identity through New York City, fancy office buildings, publishing titles. How I’ll still be putting together outfits and stepping into the world and being the same me. What will that look like? What will that feel like? I’m certainly so much happier now in who I am than I’ve ever been before, so I’m more curious than worried. Still…I’ll keep you all in the loop.

In the meantime, the bright red heart coming up over some Knoxville trees, a pop of something unexpected next to something I know I’ll find around every corner, reminds me that mixing it up is good. Being ok with the unexpected, whether people’s reactions or my own, is life.

Tomorrow: Memphis…see you there & thanks for riding along!

PS: A map of us on the road!!!

I thought I’d start the first day on the road with an old standby: the dark blue J.Crew. I wasn’t really sure what might happen with spills and the like so going with a solid dark situation felt like a good way to enter the fray. The high tops are lined because, as you can see, there’s snow on the ground, something we encountered all the way down to our final destination of Winchester, VA.

Here’s what I discovered about traveling in a jumpsuit: It makes rest stop bathrooms rather awkward if you’re wearing a coat, which I was because: see above and weather. But because I’ve committed to this crazy plan, I’m figuring it out. About seven hours of driving today from Catskill, NY, to Winchester and here were some highlights:

Imagine my surprise when we pulled into a truck stop in Tremont Pennsylvania (where they’d like you to know they have cold beer at all times) and found these cool embroidered Baja bags of the kind that I remember from my Cali youth. All the surfers wore the hoodies of the same general cool embroidered style. Those were also on offer here. Why didn’t I buy these items? Because I don’t actually need them and the truck is packed full already, but yet another sign that you can find cool stuff everywhere!

This Trump boxing/talking pen, though, now that I maybe expected. Although truthfully I wasn’t sure if this was being sold ironically or not. (Irony lives everywhere by the way.)

And these personalized pocket knives were also expected, yet why only boys names are featured was a point of contention for me. One that I definitely wasn’t going to take up with anyone in the vicinity. (And clearly Austin, a name that can be all things to all people, took off with theirs.)

We were super pleased to find that an Impossible burger was to be had at the Burger King. Plant-based moments making headway. All in all, a good solid day one of road travel. Getting to know the people between here and there! Tomorrow’s jumpsuit may be slightly more colorful and I’m determined to master the how-to-work-it-for-efficiency-at-a-rest-stop challenge.

Til tomorrow, thanks for being here.

What’s the weirdest, greatest, most unexpected thing you’ve found at a rest stop on a road trip?