So, in Sicily, my brain was completely clogged with salami, seafood, veal, cheese, pasta, blood orange mimosas, arancini, cannoli and wine. We were surrounded by the gorgeous sea and because there's a volcano there that still erupts periodically, the whole island is positively fecund with wild olive trees, wild pomegranate trees, poppies, wild oleander, jasmine, almond trees, chamomile, orange trees, lemons. Like, by the side of the highways, randomly growing in archeology sites. Palermo is like an explosion of Etsy fever dreams - herb gardens and succulents on every balcony and coverable piece of sidewalk.
So you can imagine that despite the fact that I am absolutely shamefully horrible with any language that's not English, I desperately wanted to stay. I mean, 65% of women in SIcily are unemployed, but dude that is right on track to have the life that Ali Wong always dreams about, that I want too! ("I DON'T WANT TO LEAN IN! I WANT TO LIE DOWN!) But blahblahblah you have a husband or something and a "career" and a stupid business and another book to write and the crushing oppression of your life back in Gilead/America to deal with. Because yes, in SIcily you can get a literal bunch of asparagus or a beautifully laminated Saint prayer card from a vending machine for a Euro, but the fact remains that they would be having none of my proud freak shenanigans there which would eventually get old. Eventually.
So before I took twenty hours and three connecting flights home (yes, [gender neutral] girl. For real.), I tried to map how my life would be when I got back. I read the Hyyge book and immediately had filthy American thoughts about the process (tl;dr - YOU CANNOT JUST BUY SWEATERS AND CANDLES AND BE HYYGE, AMERICANS!!!!!! FUCK YOU, YEAH WE CAN!) plus it's getting warm here for once.
So I also read half of KonMarie's book. If you know anything about her process and what a weird little kid she clearly once was, you understand that anything said past this point is going to be against everything she holds dear. Like. This is some garbage animal rendition of what she has spent a life time achieving.
Before I had my book out for a while, I would have pearl clutched too about not following my process precisely because goddamnit, do it right! But now with enough time, space, Campari, calamari and life, I feel very. . . fuck it. If you read half my book and learned half a thing, that's more than you had when you started. Bon chance!
KonMarie is unlikely to ever be about that life, just so we're clear. I will finish her book, but I was ready to start the process. I'm a garbage animal - as an author, as a consumer, as a reader, as a life choice.
So, I started mentally going through my closet when I couldn't sleep and figured out what could be gifted to my sister, The Divine Ms. M and what could be gifted to the Canadian Amazon Collective. I knew if I wanted to wear all those lovely silk things April2 had given me that have been shamefully wrinkling in a bag for quite some time (I have a steamer and winter is very cold, relax), I needed to really let go. So I started there. Jow watched with the same mixture of horror and admiration he usually has for this kind of thing. At first I had zero intention of refolding everything so it could be happy, but as I started weeding through my drawers, I realized I was feeling an energetic shift in my belongings.
Let's pause again here. If you know me or have read me for any length of time, you know that I'm not the fun kind of Witch generally who often talks about seeing past the veil, magical omens, clear examples of successful magic blahblahblah. Which is interesting because I get called "self help ish" periodically (bitch, wtf you doing magic if not to help yourself?) but self help generally requires breathy testimonials or dick waving claims of absolute triumph, which everyone still seems to want. "I don't know? Can't hurt, might help?" isn't really a book seller per se. You want clear, definite results. Like so much of life is known for producing.
Anyway.