Hold That Thought
Reaching towards the balcony door
Welcome to Muse Letter. This is my weekly column where I share vignettes about life and culture plus reccomendations from the past week. If this post is too long for your email, you can view it better here.
MUSE LETTER #03
A running joke that my father always repeated that wasn’t a joke at all but entirely the truth, was the time he tried to pick up smoking. He would be at his house, a friend’s apartment or in a restaurant, letting his opinions spill out without stopping; a tap with no stopper. Until, the friend stepped out for a smoke.
“Hold that thought, Edmund!” I would imagine his friend telling him.
But what a thing to ask my father! I pictured him, mid-sentence about to continue his philosophical tangent and suddenly his shoulders loosen and his face deflates. You have to understand, my father couldn’t be cut off. It’s like jolting someone up when they’re sleep walking.
So, he would wait. He would pause. And he told me that it happened one too many times. Sometimes, worst case, he would lose his train of thought, his flow, his momentum. The moment would evaporate, just like the smoke off the balcony. It hurt the most when this happened with his best friend — the one who had to hear what he wanted to say. So, like a good friend, my dad tried. In the same way he tried to get into drinking, he thought this was a necessary pastime — smoking — to be able to keep the discussion going. I think in the end, he just didn’t like it enough (a good problem to have).
Years later, he would always repeat the clever turn of phrase: I tried to pick up smoking and failed. Or maybe it was: I tried to pick up smoking and had to quit. But that’s one of those stories that defined my father without having to explain anything else about him. The fact that he literally tried to pick up smoking cigarettes; not to look cool and certainly not to fit in but just because he couldn’t bear for there to be a crack in the discussion.
+
Today, I think I could fairly diagnose my dad with a very specific case of Fear of Missing Out. Because it was also a Fear of Losing Time. And I know this because I feel this same yearning in me often. I can pinpoint it acutely. Sometimes, it’s when I feel too tired to go out at 9 p.m or when I can sense the inevitable “Sorry, I have to cancel” text coming (either from myself or a friend). Other times, it’s when I realize I haven’t had a one-on-one with a friend in a while, only quick catch-ups during larger parties.
I can notice this feeling of reaching towards the balcony door in those moments. When I feel the party is ending with such speed that I can’t remember when it even began.
It’s this desire to hold onto my friends with a firm grip that keeps us present and talking. I have more to say. You have more to say. Let’s keep talking. I’ve always been painfully paranoid about not having enough quality time. Sometimes, I have to catch the other part of me that I know reflects my father and remind myself a lesson (that I sometimes worry he never learned): you can’t control what other people want to do with their time.
+
One of the quotes that has stayed with me from the 2012 film, “Frances Ha” was when Frances says to Sophie: “Don't treat me like a three-hour brunch friend!” Something about this quote reminds me so deeply of my father (although I don’t know if he would ever use the word brunch). But it’s the sentiment behind it. The sad realization or rather, fear, that something in the friendship has changed and time is slipping away.
And now, all we have is this three hour check in once a month.
I remember him reflecting on this to me. That as he got older and people went on with their lives, he would notice a shift happening. A pulling away. Day-long parties and events became short check-ins over coffee. A 15-minute drive to a friend’s place became a 2 hour commute. Rambling evenings of philosphical discussions became monthly visits that only scratched the surface of what he wanted.
Maybe he could already forsee this when he was in his 20s, as he watched his friends grab their cigarette boxes and walk towards the balcony door.
I feel this same fear in me of running out of time. This vivid awaraness of scarcity. And I know, it’s doing me more harm than good because I just stew in it instead of doing anything to remedy it. Like, for example, simply saying: “Stay for an extra hour. Let’s talk more.”
+
But recently, my friends and I had a night out that felt perfectly balanced. We showed up to a bar that had a new dance club in the basement. Earlier that day, I remember telling my friend, “I need to go out tonight. I need to get out of the house”.
This was partially true. But what I was really saying was: “I need to sit and talk with you guys.”
When we got there, we thought dancing started at 9, but it was actually 10, so we had an hour to kill. So we did, by just sitting in the bar and talking. And that hour felt enough in the moment, like we covered the gambit of so much about our lives. Afterwards, the time we spent moving to the music and communicating without words on the dance floor felt enough as well. It was one of those nights where the passing of time didn’t feel like a curse but a dancer alongside with us, swaying and turning to the music.
When the inevitable end of the night came, my friend dropped me off and we kept talking in the warmth of her car. It was already 2 a.m. by this point — way later than either of us wanted to stay up that night — but we kept bringing up things to talk about, things to go over. My eyes felt heavy and I knew we both had things to do the next day; routines to get back to and errands to continue. But moments like this one felt like a time warp, like it didn’t matter anymore and there was no need to check the clock. All you had to do is keep the thought going.
PINS & MUSINGS:
Leftover links + reccomendations
So many gift guides out right now! But I have to say, Rachel Syme’s reccomendations have never failed me year after year — ever since her 2021 guide on finding the perfect presents at museum gift shops. Her guide this year consists of a lot of not particularly necessary but very whimsical items that will if anything, get your creative gears turning.
It officially dropped below 30 degrees this week. Take a moment, like I did, to read one of my favorite winter Mary Oliver poems.
This isn’t an original thought, but I’ve been OBSESSED with blue and brown combinations for this fall — here’s a perfect example I saw recently:
Might I also reccomend my version — lavender/dusty purple and olive green?
Ella Liascos explores the connection between screentime and creativity and whether being on our phones ruins our creative flow (the answer may surprise you!) Not only that but the article shares a lot of advice and wisdom from other creatives on how they deal with distraction:
“The internet can be an unhinged, frenetic and disturbing place. See sharing online as a creative expression, something playful to be explored and enjoyed, not to be forced.” — Minna Leunig, It’s Nice That
This psychedelic self-portrait stopped me in my tracks (scrolling) by artist bismuth.
Stop everything! I may have found my dream bathtub:
On repeat lately: “The Magnificent Tree” by Hooverphonic may be climbing up there as one of my favorite albums of the year. It came out in 2000 but feels so ahead of its time — it’s the type of music that to me, has no genre and feels like a category of its own. If you’re not familiar, I suggest starting by listening to “Mad About You” and then also listen to this amazing live version from 2012:
If you’re reading this, I appreciate you so so much! I also have a podcast that I’d love for you to listen/watch if that’s your thing. If you have any questions or ponderings about style and life, submit to my advice column here! Also: you can shop my closet here and follow me on Instagram and TikTok.