There’s a line from a Courtney Barnett song, Pedestrian At Best, that’s been floating in my head for almost two weeks:
Put me on a pedestal and I’ll only disappoint you.
Tell me I’m exceptional, I promise to extort you.
Give me all your money and I’ll make some origami honey,
I think you’re a joke but I don’t find you very fuuuUuuUUuUUuunnnY.
The album Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit, came out in March of 2015. For those who were born yesterday, this was right before the explosion of mini personality cults we’re currently living through.
Did Courtney see it all coming? The rise of the micro-famous, the trap of expectation that people build around their appointed source of influence. Of course you don’t need to be micro-famous to disappoint. Over and over I’ve come to realize, there are times when you need to disappoint in order to stay true to yourself.
I listened to that album obsessively when it came out—I was working three jobs (a crystal shop, restaurant, fledgling yoga teacher) and sleeping on the floor in my parents tiny apartment because of delays in my new living situation. I was always in my car back then, driving across town from job to job, moving my car incessantly to avoid tickets and doing laundry at my favorite laundromat, RIP Foxes in Santa Monica.
This was the phase in my life entitled: Trying To Become A Full Time Yoga Teacher, but the only paid gig I could find was teaching at LA Fitness. I’d recently stopped attending community college because I thought there was real promise in the yoga world, but the oversaturated LA scene was proving difficult to break into
Did I give up? Not quite yet.
I hosted a free class at a travel hostel in Santa Monica. Every week I’d show up and teach three (at best) tourists that I’d never see again. No returning customers, meant no building a community. It became clear that I wasn’t exactly cut out for the yoga networking world. Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to commercialize a ritual in my life that I started as a toddler.
After a few months I let the friendly folks at the hostel down and canceled my class. I tried to quit LA fitness but they made it really, really hard (there was no direct supervisor) so I eventually no-showed for my classes as many teachers had before me. Skipping out on commitments has never been my thing and I felt terrible but I knew it was a necessary step.
Like so many times before, I had to admit I was going in a fruitless direction. Time to cut my losses, swallow whatever pride I still had and figure out the next step.
The steps have seemed to tumble into one another. When I was focussed on one plan, another was brewing in the periphery that I wouldn’t have expected. The concept of regret is never one that I’ve allowed in: everything has led to this point. Sometimes “this point” is great and other times it is a deep challenge.
Somehow “this point” is now a tiny house rural Spain, which falls firmly into the great category.
If you’ve been doing your homework and taking notes, you may have noticed that I’ve been out of town much longer than I initially planned. It was supposed to be a two-week trip, but so far we’ve been here for three. Our new return date is somewhere in the first week of March, because Chris got another job in Barcelona and I’ve been working remotely this entire time.
This is the longest I’ve been out of the country (only the third time I’ve left the country) and everyday it becomes less odd-feeling to be here. I can’t say it feels familiar, but the neighborhood corners are growing in my memory and that’s a first step.
In many ways, being here feels as normal as anything else. It’s entirely lovely, but strangely neutral. I have a tendency to feel things in moderation and being in a new country hasn’t changed that. It’s a comforting way to be and at times a maddening one.
Sometimes it’s similar to another line from Pedestrian At Best
My internal monologue is saturated analog
It's scratched and drifting,
I've become attached to the idea
It's all a shifting dream, bittersweet philosophy
I've got no idea how I even got here
This sensation could be in part because for a while I was mentally preparing to pick up and move. During the height of lockdown, Chris and I fantasized about moving to Berlin whenever Covid restrictions eventually lifted. We planned on downsizing to a small apartment in Venice, CA (because I miss the ocean) and spending the majority of our time in Berlin with artist visas.
Last year we toured a few potential apartments on the westside, but obviously it didn’t pan out.
Being here for this extended period of time feels like a funny manifestation of our European alternate reality. The universe saw us pining, plotting, pacing through tiny apartments and thought: okay let me see what I can do.
It may have taken a minute for things to fall into place, but we’re here!
Experiencing a version (however temporary) of what we dreamed.
Clearly I’m still processing it all.
All of which could end up nothing! But it’s something, because I’m here, right?
Maybe everything should just be summed up with this:
xx
James