things that are real

look closer

One morning, the weather was perfect. A comfortable 74 degrees Fahrenheit, with the sun shining, painting the sidewalks with dappled shadows. Everything seemed so quiet, as the breeze swayed through the branches, a slow dance to inaudible music. As I walked through the neighborhood, I looked up toward the rooftops and the treetops, in awe of how the light struck them.

Had the world always been like this? Was it just a particularly nice day? My eyes hadn’t suddenly changed to see differently; my glasses still worked the same as usual, so it had to be something else. I had slept well that night, relatively speaking. But maybe it was that I hadn’t used my phone much that day and I had declined the use of headphones entirely. Without them, I was in reality a bit more than usual. A theory emerged: was this what happened when I was able to ground myself in the reality of the world instead of living in perception clouded by overstimulation?

Since that day, I’ve been trying to notice the physicality of life itself. In attempts to avoid the news, I’ve fallen into rabbit holes on YouTube about stationery and long reviews about writing utensils. I researched pencils and bought a few, wondering if I’d suddenly gain the ability to focus like I could in high school, when I last used a pencil with any regularity. I tried mechanical pencils of different weights, different lead thicknesses. 

As I began to write, my brain flooded with thoughts. How my handwriting changes based on the tool! On the paper! Why do my letters look like that? They were mostly unchanged from when I was a teenager and entirely dissimilar from what I had written in ink over the last few years. In my graphite scribbles, I could only find memories from years ago: this is the handwriting that my mother would complain was illegible, this is the handwriting that my AP Lit teacher in high school would compliment (to my surprise). These hands have not changed with the passage of time; they write the same even as my brain changes and my body does too.  

When I slow down to write more neatly, the quality of my thoughts seems to change as well. What runs through my head has to be repeated and refined over and over again as my hand attempts to catch up. A boring observation becomes more interesting. When I run out of thoughts, my phone is across the room, and I’m forced to notice other things around me. My legs are sore from leg day and I realize that I only sometimes notice it. When I shift positions in my chair, I can feel my glutes pulling and pushing my bones, something that I’ve long taken for granted. I wonder if my gait changes based on the shoes that I wear, and outside the window, the hummingbirds visit the flowering tree as they do every day, something else that I’ve long taken for granted.

In my day-to-day, I too often find myself overwhelmed and questioning what is real and what matters. But these observations — the way my socks rub against my skin, the sound of rain against the window, the taste of water — are so obviously real when given the right level of scrutiny. And what of meaning? French philosopher Albert Camus supposedly said, “The meaning of life is whatever keeps you from killing yourself.” A more cheerful way of putting this is that everything that keeps your life going is a meaning of life. And thus, so much can be meaningful.

Today, the weather is terrible. The morning was rainy, the fog has persisted throughout the day, and the cold seems inescapable. My sleep was terrible, and I walked through my day like a zombie. The sun sets at 5PM. But I found myself in my body again when I went for a walk, when I worked out. Today, the meaning of life is avoiding the runners in the park who are also trying to get the last bits of daylight. Today, the meaning of life is how my pecs groan when doing the last set of pushups and the feeling of the rug against my hands. Today, the meaning of life is the scratch of a Pentel Graphgear 1000 .9mm against my notebook pages. It all oozes with some meaning or another, it all signals another day coming. I’m grateful to feel any of it. I’m happy to be alive for all of it.

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We must do what we can to push back against the genocide in Gaza and the invasion of Lebanon. Consider calling your US representatives to support de-escalation and a ceasefire, donating to Care for Gaza (grassroots organizations delivering food to Palestinians), directly to families or by buying e-SIMs to keep folks connected to their families. Lebanon is suffering too— consider donating to the Lebanese Food Bank, The Zahra Trust, or Beit El Baraka to help provide relief and resources.

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💧 Drops of the Week 💧

• PLAYLIST - october 24 - listened to some jazz, DnB, Charli XCX, FKA Twigs last month

• ESSAY - “troubled sleep” by Brandon Taylor - a really phenomenal essay that’s worth your time

• POEM - “On Seeing and Being Seen” by Ama Codjoe - Tonight, I am alone in my tenderness.