Baggage = Caravan

In advance of our caravaning to each other:

I used to wish that I was an unremarkable girl, especially when it came to relationships. I was told more than once, by men who sought something less complex, that it might have helped. I don’t see my experience, or my intelligence, as baggage anymore. It’s a caravan.

Or as Nabokov, of course, put it much more aptly, and beautifully, in his Speak, Memory, “As a company of traveling players carry with them everywhere, while they still remember their lines, a windy heath, a misty castle, an enchanted island, so she had with her all that her soul had stored.”

Making It Politically

Sex On Inauguration Night:

I saw a picture of Barack and Michele Obama dancing face to face at the inaugural ball, and I immediately started wondering if they were going to have sex that night. I wonder what it must be like to be so close to a lifemate after having gone through such a major transformation, from gangly law student to American figurehead. Does sex have a place in that world anymore? ...

It’s hard not to see the sex between them, watching the Obama’s dancing against a blue sea of heads gazing up in the darkness. Barack’s forward-leaning posture, his chin jutting hungrily into Michelle’s face, I can almost see the thoughts in his head. The wetness, the warm touching of skin, the rhythmic thrust inward, straining to ascend, the hips rising in anticipation of his momentum. The arch up, the coming together, the falling back, the dilated pupils, the clenched hands, fingers interlocked.

Frugal Childhood

Memory: Wrapping pennies in brown paper bag rolls for fun so we could take them to the bank. Does this explain my obsession with saving money? Were my parents just using me for cheap labor? Does no one do this anymore?

 Here's advice for how to have a baby on the cheap.

Instructions For Being Alone

Exhibit A:

I’ve been through a million — OK, three — breakups before. I’ve spent plenty of time single in between. I thought I’d be good at this alone thing by now. I’m an only child, for crying out loud. Instead, on the heels of another split, I’m amazed at how difficult just being by myself can be. I have friends – they are wonderful — but I feel a suffocating solitude at the end of the night, in the morning or at any moment of the day that isn’t scheduled with distraction. It wasn’t this way when I was coupled. Just the knowledge that I had “a person” to call my own (even though I know in my bones that you can never truly call another person “your own”) was a comfort; that knowledge itself was a constant companion.

How does one become good at being alone? This question might be uniquely poignant for those of us fresh out of a breakup, or still in our 20s, but it’s a question people confront at all stages of life and for all sorts of reasons, whether it’s a big move to a new city, an unexpected death, a divorce or any countless number of things that life can throw your way. And regardless of your romantic status or friend count, it’s nice to be capable of enjoying a movie or dinner alone. A friend told me a story about an acquaintance who is married with kids: She has a meltdown whenever her family goes out of town; she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

[Judy Ford's] practical tips for conquering solitude are to get creative (“creativity is the cure of loneliness”), push yourself to “do something you have never done before” (like taking yourself out to dinner), admit your loneliness to others (“you might be surprised that they feel lonely too”), “get cozy with the gaps,” those empty spaces in between plans, and remind yourself, “Loneliness is not going to kill me.” These aren’t easy fixes — and may induce eye-rolls from self-help haters — but they’re crucial to happiness, she argues: “To experience wholeness, first we experience the void.”