What a time to be alive 🎄
Whether you celebrate Christmas or not, I hope you're feeling deeply loved, appreciated and well-rested this holiday season. I woke up with a grateful and open heart on Christmas morning (and slightly hungover). Christian and I went on a beautiful walk in our neighborhood with our pups and my sister, enjoyed leftover gumbo from our Louisiana-style Christmas dinner, and then went to the movie theaters to watch Violent Night with our dearest friends.
The above picture represents the general energy of an LA Christmas. Even without a mid century home that has a Christmas tree installed in the middle of the swimming pool. If you live in LA, you probably know what I mean.
We woke up yesterday morning to hot and steamy 80° weather. This morning, too. It feels as though you're suspended in a glossy, lucid daydream during the winter months in Southern California, especially while watching the rest of the country and world experience blizzards, ice, power outages, and all of the other joys that come from extreme weather conditions. I feel safe and comfortable surrounded by sprawling suburbs, strip malls, palm trees and billboards promoting liposuction and cannabis dispensaries, yet, admittedly, there is a big part of me that longs for the cold, crisp air brush against my cheeks, and the feeling of seeing my breath disperse and disappear with every inhale and exhale. There is a flavor of aliveness there, in the winter and discomfort, that is yet to be felt here.
Winter forces you to slow down, seek more stillness and rest, to reflect and ground, to let go and recalibrate, but living in LA, I feel as though I don't fully get the opportunity to seek that out. As you're reaching out, saying "I'm ready" in a humble surrender, you wake up to another perfectly sunny day that almost intentionally distracts you from the critical process that comes with wintering. Time warps into one, giant continuum. Days, weeks, years and months contort into each another, creating a really long, comfortable day. Beautiful, yes. But it feels as though I'm missing a critical aspect of existence. For those of you who live on the West Coast, do you resonate with this at all?
I recently came across a quote from writer and editor, Willow Defebaugh, of Atmos that resonated deeply:
We long for eternal summer, a world of infinite growth, the American dream of perpetual happiness. Like trudging through snow, we are trained to push past the exhaustion, depletion of resources, and shame when things inevitably do break down. But how much is lost in our obsession with progress—both personal and public—no matter the cost? I dream of a world in which we welcome the winter, and nature’s summons to slow in step with the season.
Los Angeles provides the comfort that comes with an eternal summer of sunshine and bliss. Los Angeles IS a dream of perpetual happiness. And yet, in a search of a deeper sense of meaning, belonging, and general mind-body-soul alignment, I've decided to let go of this dream. If you've been following along on Instagram, you probably already know that we've decided to make a move back to the East Coast. More specifically, New York! So that's one of my updates for today. It feels as though the more I share, the more the idea crystallizes and becomes a bit more tangible. At this point, I can't even imagine staying in Los Angeles. The dream is quickly turning into a concrete plan. I've never felt so scared, and simultaneously so confident about a decision. Â
California has been so good to us. It feels strange, and almost ungrateful to let go of something that is so intrinsically good, and comfortable and pleasant. I have much more to say on this, but before I dive in deeper (likely in another post), I'll leave you with Christian's beautiful words and ruminations on California <> New York from his newsletter, Attack & Flux.
I left New York four and a half years ago in search of stillness, I figured I would find it in California, and I did. I found it wedged between my stereo set-up, amongst the Redwoods of Sequoia, at the base of monolithic granite cliffs in Yosemite, and 15 feet under the waves free-diving with the Garibaldi and Sheepshead of Laguna. I have admittedly, struggled finding it in less grand environments here in Los Angeles. So, when I found it sitting in the cold on a bench in McCarren Park, I was naturally surprised. I'm not sure what to make of that, I think it was an indicator of growth. Sometimes you have to take the scenic route back home, I guess.
There is much else to be said on the above, but it dawned on me that I have yet to share any insights from my conversations with my grandma! For those of you who are new here, I've been interviewing my grandma very weekend for the last few months on the topics of loss, change, love, death, and messy humanness that we all face with the intention of learning as much as I possibly can from her while she is still here (🌎). These interviews are held over Zoom, in Russian, so you'll be seeing the translated transcription of the conversation.
I am very pleased to share the very first question that we unpacked together in October. I really enjoyed this conversation; it was bittersweet. What was profound to hear is that she actually wished that she had the same idea when her parents and grandparents were still alive, and said, "​​I very much regret that I asked my parents so few questions. Now that all of my elders have passed, I have no one else to ask these questions. And you still do."
This was all of the confirmation that I needed to keep moving forward with this. Â
So let's jump in.
Remembering my 20 year old self, I wouldn’t ask a question, but more-so express a wish. All I would want to say is "Natasha, you're amazing! Keep moving forward!" Why? Because my 20’s were truly the peak of my curiosity, spiritual growth, physical health, and intellectual development. I truly found my place in society and community in my 20’s. It was critical for me to build a strong foundation then. So I made mistakes, learned from them, and rooted deeply into my adventurous spirit. So even now, from the height of my life, I would repeat this wish to myself over and over again. I would tell myself to be more flexible and even more curious.
To be frank, I wasn't expecting that answer. I was expecting something deep and philosophical because that's who my grandma is, but her answer was so simple. It made me realize that my own perspective on life (in my 20's) has been very serious. I am afraid to make mistakes despite the fact that they will continue to happen. Every move of mine needs to be measured, calculated, and deeply weighed to protect a hypothetical future self. This made me realize that perhaps I need to give myself the space to be more flexible, too.
