Hello,
Tuesday. Happy post 4th. I had a nice weekend laying very low- had some
fun out at Storm King and enjoyed the city's Exodus as well. New York and
staycay is a good combo. I got to see the very wonderful Danny Lyon show at the
Whitney, which I highly recommend if you love photography. It's fabulous and
rich and tells great stories of American midcentury moments in time.
So lately as I've been crawling out of my own ass, I've noticed that an awful lot of people are full of shit. And I was going to write a post about how everyone's pictures of sun soaked jaunts to the Med and well-coordinated sunset gazing in Montauk had me vexed. And then I was going to talk about running into an old colleague last week who couldn't stop bragging about her success. Or the very good friend who recently told me she was sorry we were not "in the same place" right now when it came to Summer fun time aka $50 lobster rolls in the Hamptons or #sunsoutbunsout. I was going to write that I can't even escape this meshugas in real life- not five minutes ago on my way back from the gym I saw the cutest dog, and when I asked what breed he/she was, I received an answer from a chicly undone Brooklyn woman with expensive highlights that this dog was from somewhere in Bohemia (I can't make this up) and shouted out the name of the breeder as if I should know who it was. I didn't.
I was going to ask if it's all worth it- the endless hair pulling, sleepless nights, and hard conversations at work that get rewarded with a top notch social profile full of bohemian dresses and well set tables and well toned abs? I was going to wonder aloud if it was possible for me to use some derivative of the word "bohemia" twice in one post. It was.
I was going to write about how living in New York can often feel like a come uppance circle jerk filled with overly puffed chests. I was going to say that it's hard not to feel the need to get real, to wonder what else is happening in my friend circle besides a Type A entitlement of which I am often guilty?
But all I really
wanted to write is that regardless of whether you were hiding from the
world or toasting your good fortune with some well-brewed kombucha this
weekend, you're ok. And by ok, I don't necessarily mean great. But you're
ok. And that's, well, ok too. The fact that we are all here and I am writing
this and you are reading this is proof of that. Because coupled with my reverse schadenfreude for my social circle is an empathy for many who may not be doing so
hot, or worse yet, are losing their lives in this global shit show where life no
longer feels safe. Perhaps that's why we want to live in our social profiles
rather than living in the real world. I kind of get it- all of our social
sharing is our way of confirming and affirming that we are all ok. Even when ok
may not feel quite as AMAZING as the lives being lived on social media. I feel myself coming out of the dark for sure, but I'm probably not going to wear a headscarf in Southhampton any time soon throwing my head back in laughter and delighting in my own self worth. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
And I can't guarantee I won't want to hide under the duvet from time to time, you just will probably never see a picture of it. I'm too busy being fabulous for all of that. Or at least that's what social tells us.
Cause that's what's up this is sharing really caring kind of Tuesday in the 212. Yours, in being ok with being just ok. Stuart Smalley has nothing on me. Ooh, selfie. XO