los angeles
While I was reading Jaganath Carrera’s commentary of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, there was section where the image of Peter Pan trying to reattach his shadow jumped out at me. After 20 minutes of drawing it and posting it here, I can’t remember the point. “Almost like an allegory for something.”
Last week was a doozy. I’m down to myself and one other designer at work, my six-person team destroyed by burn-out, attrition and furlough. After MK and MQ left last week, I knew it was time to start looking. Or rather, after nothing changed in ask volume or scope from the rest of my co-workers, I knew it was time to start looking. I applied at a couple spots, and another reached out to me. This place that reached out to me is sort of dream gig, while a place I applied to that replied eagerly is a perfect fit. I spent last week in over 8 hours of interviews at both, and have as many this week. I’m… on a fast track to burn out myself. But if I can get away from my current place… it would be a dream come true.
We spent this last weekend in Idyllwild, hoping to escape for a minute, and get out of the heat of the city. As we drove away they announced we were in for a record heat wave: 114 F in Los Angeles, 104 in Idyllwild. Our cabin didn’t have A/C, so while it was nice to get away, I felt like I was painted on the air: a papery and kiln-dried husk. I woke up nightly with blood in my nose, my feet and hands felt like sand paper, my mouth like fly trap.
Each night, after it finally cooled off, we piled into the hot tub, turned down to a balmy 96 F — warm enough to be comfortable, cool enough to bring the heat out of our bodies. The cabin came with a telescope and I busied myself nightly with dialing in Jupiter, its moons faintly visible; or the face of the moon, its details razor sharp. Jon and Danny sat with us, our necks relaxed back against the rim of the tub, scanning the sky for satellites, tracing the cloud of the milky-way.
On our last night, John said “I just want to see a shooting star — not some little flash but one that streaks across the whole sky.” We saw plenty of the former, hairline slashes of moon-white lasting a split-second, gone if you blinked. We saw the occasional space-x orbiter, marching purposefully, if dimly, through our field of view. We saw, from time to time, too low and too close, the frenetic, silent silhouette of a bat dipping towards the water. And suddenly, just past 10, starting at the horizon and blazing across the whole span, forcing us to turn our heads as we gasped aloud, we saw a golden, snufffed-wick and still-smoldering ember of a meteor break up in the dark above the trees.
This week I start a year long certificate program in the philosophy of Yoga, a gnarly series of courses taught by a handful of PhDs and professors of religion from around the country. I’m excited, already exhausted at the thought, but eager to get going.
My first order of business at my new place — like, day one, waking up after 3 hours of sleep, before having to move the nightmare uhaul to the aformentioned costco parking lot — was finding a new coffee spot. My coffee spot. In the past couple of year, I’ve become, to my chagrin, a creature of habit. In San Francisco I was a morning regular at Verve. Day in, day out, every morning, sometimes after work. I always ordered the same mocha, no whip; I always tipped. Everyone knew my name, and on days when Alejandro was working, I would be greeted, in the mode of Norm on Cheers, with him shouting “J-J-J-Jory!” to the tune of the Chia Pet jingle. I got free coffee, A LOT. Often my drink would be ready before I’d even gotten through the line, because Christine would start it when I walked in. I think I used to be embarrassed to be predictable? But having your needs anticipated and met is actually very nice, it turns out. I like having a routine — on days when I’m reluctant to get out of bed, there’s nothing like a habit and a gentle addiction to get me moving.
Beyond that, the number one counsel I got from everyone re: working from home was “give yourself a routine, a ritual, to get you into work mode.”
Anyway, here Maru has won out for my morning spot. I get up, listen to The Briefing as I get dressed — we got one of those Google Home Hubs and it starts up automatically when I get up — and then head out to grab a cup. It’s a good walk, and it’s a pretty little spot to sit and get my head together before work: all blonde wood, wabi sabi aesthetic and a twee soundtrack. 3rd wave, restrained menu, a courteous, but largely silent staff. It’s close to the supermarket, too, so if I want to grab something to prep for dinner, it’s on the way.
In the afternoon, if I need a pick me up, I head the opposite direction, both geographically and spiritually to Caffe Vita. It’s boisterous, more of a second wave vibe, cheerful and talkative staff, and seasonal drinks. Right now they’re offering a Sevilla, described as an orange peel mocha. It’s delicious, but the distance between your expectations when ordering an “orange peel mocha” and then receiving a mocha with... actual orange peels in it is both infinitely small and also impossibly vast. But what did I expect? In any event, I’ve had three since Wednesday.
Well, we’ve been settled in LA for eight days now, and it has been a… ride. Moving itself was harrowing; with a too big truck delivered to the wrong address at the wrong time by U-Haul, late arrivals from tweaked out movers, terrible driving conditions, a sketchy, pornotel abandoned at the last minute, and culminating with me sitting in said truck for six straight hours in a costco parking lot? I don’t want to move again for a long time.
Working from home has taken some real adjusting on my part. I wasn’t prepared for how lonely I would get, what an island the apartment, even in the heart of one of the most walkable neighborhoods in Los Angeles, could feel like. I wasn’t prepared for the disparity between moods at the end of the workday between John and I. He arrives home exhausted from commuting, interacting with a office of over 100 people, and just wanting to decompress — I, on the other hand just want to talk talk talk, go somewhere, anywhere, after being cooped up all day. It’s take some doing to get used to things, and to figure out our strategies going forward. Jason wisely (hi, Jason) counseled finding a way to be out of the house when John got home, to just give us both some space in those liminal moments.
I joined a rock climbing gym on Tuesday, in a fit of work related rage. I’d been meaning to join a gym anyway, as I hadn’t been in any real capacity since January, and it’s begun to show (gained 15lbs, pants are tighter). But honestly, the chief benefit of going to the gym for me has mainly been one of stress relief. I burn through so much anxiety, anger and tension during physical exercise, and on Tuesday I had all three in spades. I’ve…never climbed anything before, so that’ll be interesting, but they offer yoga 16 times a week, HIIT classes, climbing clinics, lifting and kettlebell classes. I signed up for the latter that day, and attended my first class shortly after. It felt great, if absolutely punishing. Wild swings between unwieldy and heavy burdens ? Oh honey, I’m familiar!