This Morning, No 50 Glimpses. Feeling neutral, falling in love, breaking my heart.

Glimpses are moments of brief impressions from the past week, not exclusively but often, set in a Subway car. There was a man who looked a bit bedraggled when he got on the train. It was one of the coldest days of the year, where the frostbitten streets looked as though they were suffering alongside us. This man’s dress shoes were old and broken, letting the cold air and snow in. My toes curled up sympathetically. Honestly, when he entered the subway car, I thought, I hope he doesn’t sit next to me. Then he said, “can I sit there?”, gesturing at the seat to my right, and I said “of course!” He thanked me in a real way, almost like he was expecting me to say no, which made me feel terrible. Then he sat down beside me. I was bracing for an unpleasant smell, but what wafted over was the smell of Earl Grey tea and I thought, how lucky am I? To sit next to this man who smells like my favorite tea. The boy beside me was holding a plaque that said, “Advanced Aviation and Aerospace Technology Degree”, but he looked to be only nine years old. It caught me in a moment of career insecurity thinking, oh my god, they are getting these degrees at nine years old now? What have I ever done? “Such a short journey”, says the loud Irish girl who was sort of bothering me for the whole train ride up from West 4th. I had just seen the play Job which is insane, and I won’t tell you why. If you’re in New York, it’s worth seeing. Because it was so disturbing, I was, as you would guess, disturbed on my ride home. I was on edge, and this girl’s voice was grating to me. She was too loud, and her pitch was cutting through the air like a staple gun. But then she referred to the subway ride as a journey, in her sweet Irish accent, and I thought that it really is more like a journey these days with all you may be fated to encounter. Calling it a journey felt truer than what I call it; a ride. A ride suggests some sort of pleasure, enjoyment, but that’s not always the case on the Subway. It is a journey, maybe even a hero’s journey. What adventures and crises will I confront on this journey, how will I return home transformed? Each time an early morning recedes into mid-morning then turns towards afternoon I feel like I’m losing something, like one of those water wriggler toys. Do you remember those? They were like plastic water filled slinkies, filled with marine life figures, or glitter. The transition from dawn to midday feels like a glitter water wriggler, slipping out of my grasp. Mornings are portals for me. The arrival of the full-on day takes with it a bit of the silence and shimmer of the morning and replaces it with noise. The day really has begun, no turning back now. I was always scared to burst a water wriggler. I don’t think I ever did. Tight pants are never the right choice. Ever really, but I always forget. After weeks of wearing looser fitting pants I think, let me try these nice, tight ones on again. They look so good! Off I go, on my day, in my tight pants. And then the clock strikes 4pm and suddenly, I need these pants off. I had an afternoon free ahead of me, two books and a journal in my bag. Big plans. I wanted to go and have a coffee, read, call a friend, but I had to go home. My pants were uncomfortable. That’s just how it goes sometimes. Abandon all plans, remove your pants. My friend, who is from Nepal, and doesn’t speak perfect English said to me yesterday; “I doubt on myself.” Although not perfect English, this feels more accurate to me than saying, “I doubt myself.” The way she phrased it made me picture her putting layers of doubt on herself, the color of grayness. To doubt yourself, feels like doubting your inherent worth, which isn’t up for debate. But to place doubt upon yourself, that makes sense. Like you are obscuring your true potential by blanketing yourself in self-doubt. Sometimes we place doubt on ourselves, and it takes some fortitude to remove those dense layers. But when it’s off, it’s off, and we carry on as we were. Light. Full of capacity. “Hi! You’re gorgeous”, said the young guy trying to get me to sign a petition having something to do with the environment, on the street. It is always nice for someone to call you gorgeous, even, or maybe especially when you know they are going to say the same thing to hundreds of people after you. I should tell more people that they’re gorgeous, because really, they are. Henry is making Red Snapper for dinner. I can hear his knife running across the spine of the fish. It is very nice to have someone make you dinner that you know is going to be delicious. On the journey home yesterday, there was a dad and son. I’m sure there were many, but I was focused on this pair. The son was dressed as though he was off to a tennis lesson. The dad looked like a mix between Paul Hollywood and Tom Colicchio. Steel cool blue eyes and a rust orange tuque¹ that made his eyes appear luminescent. His son was telling him how he had made their breakfast. His dad was asking him to explain it to him, step by step. Clearly it had been very good. I thought that this felt like a nice moment of parenting. Asking your kid to teach you something. I did feel a bit of distance between them. Like they weren’t totally comfortable. Maybe it was the way that they were looking past one another. I am watching this young man who is named Ethan. I have no factual evidence that this is his name, but just trust me. Depending on the time of day, it can be rare to find someone not on their phone or reading. Someone just looking about. Ethan was looking about. He was wearing khaki-colored pants, with bit of an orange hue. I don’t know how to explain this, but the color of the pants gave it away that someone is still dressing this man even though he looks to be in his mid-twenties. He was wearing a navy-blue puffer coat, his hands ungloved and loosely clasped in front of his belly. There was a nakedness to his face, like he is withholding no information, has no secrets. His mouth was turned upwards at the creases. Happy, it appeared. What was he thinking about? There was an immense innocence to him. When I’m observing people, it brings up one of three things in me. 1. Neutrality (the rarest reaction). 2. I fall in love. 3. They break my heart. Something about Ethan broke my heart. I’m shifting the structure of This Morning. Just a bit! I was reticent to loop you all in in case I don’t stick to it, but if that occurs we can address it when the time comes. I’ve generally been putting out four-five personal essays, newsletters, editions of This Morning, whatever they are, each month. Sometimes I feel that I’ve had enough time with each one, but often I feel a bit rushed. I think it would better serve my brain and you all, if I gave myself more time to sit with each piece, rather than sticking to my weekly schedule. Moving forward I’ll be doing one or two longer form pieces a month, interspersed with glimpses every Friday, and the occasional Feed Yourself post. Whether you support my writing through a paid subscription or by turning some of your precious attention my way each week, it all means so much to me. I want to keep you informed of the shifts and evolutions so that you are clear on what and where you are allocating your resources. Any way that you interact with this little corner of the internet that I’ve been cultivating brings me a lot of joy and energy. Thank you for that. Gratefully, Gracie This Morning is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Thank you for reading! Upgrade to paid 1 This is a word that I have fully adopted from both living in and marrying a Canadian. Tuque refers to a beanie, and has a nicer ring to it. This Morning. © 2024 Gracie Gardner 548 Market Street PMB 72296, San Francisco, CA 94104