The Returnist: Welcome
On a scale of 1-10 (one being a new hyper-fixation smoothie, ten being nearly unrecognizable post-makeover montage), opportunities for introspection, reflection, and reinvention come in all shapes and sizes. On the low end, let’s say 1-2.5 max: a seasonal coffee change up, a playlist’s ultimate bop hitting just a little different, fresh sheets on the bed that warrant leg wiggles and sighs of comfort, an acquaintance whose smile leans more toward friend, an easily kept New Year’s resolution, and an appreciation for September air feeling like a fresh school year start no matter your age. In the middle, you may find a post-third date conversation that feels like this might be something great, same city but new apartment in a neighborhood you can’t wait to inhale, a well-deserved promotion that scares you just a teensy bit, a finally paid off student loan allowing the flexibility to look ahead, a new dog with a new set of quirks and needs and moments of untamable love, and of course… bangs. The maintenance and commitment in the middle can catch you off guard, but the risks continue to be outweighed by the rewards replete with lessons and personal growth that may otherwise go unnoticed.
Moving toward the 7, 8, 9 end of the scale are cross-country moves to places mostly dreamt of and finally realized, a relationship turned marriage spanning fourteen formative years, the finding and fighting of cancer, a set of poignant anniversaries marking the inflection points in both of those chapters now complete but leaving indelible marks and perspectives shifted. This time? It was a WFH Monday morning, and I put on mascara to get laid off.
In each of these instances, my mind has wandered to what I want my days to feel like to live in it day to day, the rhythms and textures of a well-crafted and deeply enjoyed quotidian existence made just for me, by me. Each pivot, either by force or by choice, requires adjustments to the day’s framework to get through, restore, and move forward. An inherent elasticity builds and the muscle memory welcomes these rituals, habits, traditions, practices, agains - each worth revisiting, inviting me to return to myself. There’s a certain solace in this repetition, a moment of eyes widening and freshly appreciating something so familiar but as this version of myself, even if the last time was just yesterday.
My currently paused dating app profiles would tell you that i’m also a details enthusiast and ardent creature of habit. I absolutely want to dive into the intricacies of what it takes for you to fall asleep - temperature, pillow architecture, feet tucked or untucked, sound machine or no, mouth tape, etc. Let’s nerd out on the minutiae of Sunday routines (Farmer’s market, car wash, nap, early dinner for me), the annual pilgrimage to see holiday lights, or the one dish you can’t not order no matter how many times you’ve walked through those restaurant doors. The particulars of a morning coffee setting the tone, absurd nicknames with friends that take far longer to explain than to say, Friday afternoon therapy ringing in the weekend, the grey deep v tshirt from college that is now perfectly paper thin and not suitable for public, lighting candles in the evening so their flicker guides you through each dimly lit room, go-to sick day movies you can nap through and wake up saying the lines, a diner booth broken in over the years now molded to your body, the spoon you reach for first and the risotto it stirs in meditation - all celebrations worthy of their patina.
To be clear, the once-in-a-lifetime trip, noteworthy professional accomplishment, and big splurgy indulgences are also worthy of recognition. They are the garnish - finely minced chives atop the baked potato, sprinkles on the ice cream sundae. They are an ornament bringing visual or textural interest, perhaps a whisper of flavor. But ultimately they are an extracurricular for me. Can I wolf down a potato sans chive? I have done so countless times. I can admire the precision knife skills and hints of green allium delight, but it’s the robust, fleshy tater sustenance (ew?) that I’m there for.
The Returnist itself is a new habit of mine, built to capture and share the beautiful nitty gritty as I see and experience it during this new, unexpected pivot. There will be delicious ramblings, neurotic particulars, enthusiastic recommendations and everything in between on the aforementioned 1-10 scale. It will evolve and grow, shift and adapt. This is also an ongoing invitation to anyone who stumbles their way over to my musings: breathe deeply, take stock of the familiar and reconsider the rhythmic, textural framework of your days. Relish the moments worth revisiting, and return to yourself just as you are now.