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The kindest people are not born that way, they are made. They are the sounds that have experienced so much at the hands of life, they are the ones who have dug themselves out of the dark, who have fought to turn every loss into a lesson. The kindest people do not just exist – they choose to soften where circumstance has tried to harden them, they choose to believe in goodness, because they have seen firsthand why compassion is so necessary. They have seen firsthand why tenderness is so important in this world.
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“This past notebook refresh, I discovered how much I love the dot matrix. It’s amazing. You get structure if you want it, but open if you don’t.”
About his Playstation 5:
“Is this a super-lame thing to put on my list? My dad was really into PC, so we had a lot of PC games growing up. When I fell in love with films I took seven, eight, nine years off of video games. Then, when I came back to playing them, it was incredible because the technology had shifted. People joke that this is how some men keep in touch with one another. We don’t call one another to catch up and say, “Hey, how are you doing?” Instead we set a playdate and we all have our headsets on and it becomes like a little conference-call-type thing where we’re playing whatever multiplayer game and catching up on one another’s lives. I have a bunch of director friends, and we’ve been playing the same video game for like four or five years now. It’s so embarrassing because the game has really, um, fallen off in the past year — it’s Overwatch. But we played Overwatch from beta, when it first came out. It’s definitely petered out this year ’cause I have not had any time to play at all. But it’s like our version of a pickup basketball thing we do every week. It’s very social and fun and you just get to hang out. None of us are good at video games, but it doesn’t matter.”
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Traveling to Mexico City to see the world through the lens of writer, curator, and poet Su Wu
What is a moment from your childhood that has deeply contributed to the woman you are today?
Once, on a hot delta day, a cheerleader drove past me in her red Mustang convertible and then backed up to yell, “Dork!,” and sometimes I still worry what white girls think of me. That same year, I was suspended from school for “defiance,” and I wanted to burn the world down, this world where I was outnumbered by normalcy, where every approval came with the exhortation to be pleasing and responsible.
I was unconscious with rage, and desperate to matter, and also maybe braver than I’ve ever been, and I can still sense the “freedom, fury, the power – for once – of being young and strong and agile and a homegirl,” which is from an incredible Jenny Turner essay about what slights we trade for opportunity, about honor students making trouble, about how fixed identities never work.
Anyway, now I’ve lived longer away than in that valley, and would have almost forgotten except last year my childhood best friend came to Mexico City to be my doula. We had not had long, undefined time together for a while, not really since that last summer before leaving for college, a similar anxious waiting for another life to begin. She smoothed my edges: with flower petal baths, with cupping and acupuncture, and with soup made with seaweed she’d collected herself off the California coast. Then, after the birth, she took my placenta away with her in a mini cooler and entered a monastery, and took away some of my last grievances, too, about adolescence and its hazy damages.
I think of her, and this baby we pushed out, reflecting her light, and how so often in this life when I was brave I was showing off for her. And I think, too: How strangely like my teenage self I have been in these first months of motherhood, so ravenous and physically awkward and hormonal and engrossed with, like, watching the baby eat bugambilia flowers, but also just unable to care. I am seeing the fulfillment of that long-ago insight! I am more and more of a dork.
Do you ever feel like you think too much to the point where you’re thinking about nothing anymore? It’s weird, I know, but that’s how I feel these days. It’s like I’m floating. I want to do things, but I don’t know what exactly. I have an idea, but I also don’t know what the idea actually is. Is it the lack of sleep or the fear of being seen?
I find myself watching a lot of TikTok videos about productivity, which is actually counterintuitive because I end up scrolling to the point where the evening has passed, and I realize I’ve done nothing productive — I like to think of it as getting inspiration to make myself feel better about doing nothing. Saving videos and categorizing them into different folders like style, career, and fitness. Maybe if I organize them this way, I can feel a sense of accomplishment.
I keep trying to come up with a strategy for how to move my life forward, but there are so many different aspects of life that I just can’t choose what to focus on: what’s my career trajectory, where am I going to live in five years, can I still call myself an artist if I haven’t shown my work on the internet, should I write a screenplay and pitch it, where can I buy a house that has enough space for a ceramic studio, should I pursue becoming a filmmaker again, is it possible for me to write a cookbook, what if I wrote a comedy and pitched it to Seth Rogen (if that’s even possible) because he’s also Canadian and maybe he’ll see my potential, should I go back to school and become an interior designer instead, is it possible to rekindle friendships with people who now live on the other side of the country, how can I actually make new lasting friendships in my late twenties to early thirties and not feel left out when other friends hang out without me, what is actually stopping me from working out, can I look in the mirror and feel content with how I look?
Like I said, I think too much.
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