Bloom
"just bloom casually and carelessly come for all your marvelousness bloom"
I write this on the precipice of a new year. Hopes are high for better fortune, ambitious intentions have been set, old skin is being shed. A sense of possibility is particularly powerful today, and, instead of dismissing this cosmic moment as just another arbitrary celebration, I decided to be swept up in it.
I’ve resolved many times to take up space shamelessly, but the conviction quickly withered after its first ignition. Visibility makes me uncomfortable, so I can only stand to be seen for a brief period of time before the experience becomes near unbearable. (This is not an ideal quality for someone who wants to be a writer.) A new project would be abandoned halfway through, the development of a new skill would be halted after learning the first three tricks, the pursuit of a new friendship would suddenly fizzle out. Even now, my habit of revelation is to frame only what floats on the surface so no questions can be asked of what lies beneath. I realized lately in my attempt to make new friends that I direct the conversation away from me so much, answering only to keep the back and forth alive, I leave the interaction not having said anything beyond the first page of any about me section.
Despite this track record, and in the spirit of new beginnings, I am trying again today. I want to learn how to be seen. The exercise, as always, is to share what I write. This Substack could be another one of those endeavors I won’t sustain, but the difference this time is that I don’t care very much if I do. There was an impulse to find a new, text-centric medium, so I found one, and I am just excited to be here. Maybe this post is the only one I will write here, or I will come to write many more. The truth is that many things make me feel alive, and it simply feels wonderful to follow where life goes.
It has taken me to a ranch in Central Texas where I now live in a tiny home with my husband Michael. (The concept of being a married woman feels strange and almost antiquated, but, with a great person, it is mostly a lot of fun.) Eight months ago, this entire situation was not even in the realm of possibility. What set it all in motion was a sleepy conversation last June about tiny homes—which we have dreamed of for years, thanks to the Living Big In A Tiny House YouTube channel—that ultimately ended with us saying, let’s do it. His lease was ending soon, and instead of renting another apartment, we did some research and found that buying a tiny home was a feasible, more desirable alternative. For weeks, we browsed listings of second-hand tiny homes from all over the country until we found one in our price range that checked all of our boxes: a sizable kitchen, lots of windows, adequate storage. We matched with a tiny home on wheels in New York.
The decision to get married naturally followed, as we were already investing in a home together. There was no grand gesture, but the slow realization that we could be together in every manner possible, something we both wanted deeply, felt sublime. Navigating the personal and legal implications of this decision was a lot more difficult, but September came around and we got married through the loveliest ceremony somehow.
All this was planned in the span of three months, during which neither of us stopped working. Thankfully, freelancing gave me much-needed flexibility with my time, so along with the major life changes I was managing, I also pursued education in a new field. The last few years have highlighted the importance of health and scientific literacy, and, to me, food is ground zero in all discussions about wellbeing. Eager to better follow the many ongoing debates about food, I completed the Nutrition Science certification from the Stanford Center for Health Education in October, and my Certificate in Nutrition and Coaching from Precision Nutrition followed a month later. Where these will lead me professionally, if at all, is yet to be determined, but the knowledge I’ve gained through these programs brings so much value to my everyday life. The theory informs my practice: I understand better why I eat the way I do, how to eat the way I want to, and what to eat so that I may live the way I want to.
I’ve written elsewhere about my relationship with food, and this relationship has only blossomed in the last few months as I spent a lot of time developing my skills in the kitchen alongside my education. Two key skills I’ve learned: one, the ability to imagine a dish based on what’s available in my pantry, and two, knowing the basic functions and flavors of most ingredients. For instance, I was able to create a hearty curry udon soup when the refrigerator was near empty, using only available spices, wilting spring onions, the dried seaweed I bought as a snack, and a pack of pre-cooked udon noodles. My knowledge of basic kitchen substitutions and remedies has become fairly extensive, so saving a near-botched dish or repurposing leftovers comes more naturally to me now. My best one yet might be the day-old quinoa I turned into crispy patties with the help of egg whites that were discards from making leche flan. They resembled crab cakes in both flavor and consistency. Admittedly, it’s the chemistry I have yet to master, which is why my attempts at baking have been the most disappointing. I could also just be impatient; that leche flan was delicious—not too sweet, just the right tartness—but the center was undercooked. Its texture was less like a leche flan and more like a crème brûlée.
Because most of the labor I perform is mental, having reason, time, space to work with my hands is refreshing. Beyond the cooking, I have spent a lot of time tending to the home. When the home was delivered after a three-day journey from the East Coast, it arrived with some kinks. Some were easy to fix: loosened screws from the bumpy drive, missing exterior planks. Some, less so, like the faulty fan in our compost toilet that needed a replacement, or the washer/dryer that was incorrectly installed, preventing water from filling the drum. To qualify for insurance, we needed to skirt the home, so, after extensive research into the cheapest quality option, we bought some supplies from Lowe’s and did it ourselves. During days off, he caulked gaps in the bathroom while I optimized our limited storage; he hammered more nails into loose planks while I stained the exterior anew. These issues have all been resolved, but the problem-solving is constant, on top of the daily maintenance the house requires. Our next project is to build lap desks for the day bed.
All this to say—I feel alive.
Now, with Michael at work, I am alone on New Year’s Eve for the first time in my life. I will likely go out for a drink before midnight and immerse in the company of strangers as I celebrate this milestone happily, quietly.
The last book I am reading this year is Xi Chuan’s Bloom and other poems (New Directions, 2022). I don’t recall how this ended up in my list, but it has surprisingly become a new favorite full of meditations for what lies ahead.
