Modern life is a dark and light-filled, spiraling rabbit hole. With time being so precious to us all, how it is it that ordinary days, and time spent online, transpire at a rate faster than my cardio minutes on the rowing machine? Of course I know, but goodness—chalk the month of September up to having moved at the speed of light. I was on planes, trains, and automobiles (again). I was at a very special chocolate festival—which I will write about soon. I have moved (again); new apartment, new roommate, and a new oven to tame (my first trials produced mostly burned results I’m afraid).
In trying to understand how to “sell myself” in recent interviews, I’ve been studying my personality in further, getting confident in the messaging surrounding what makes me unique. I’ve long identified as a connector, a weaver, a silent leader, and via 16Personalities, I’m told I’m an INFP (introverted, intuitive, feeling, prospecting), of which 4-5% of the world’s population also belongs. In re-reading the traits and familiarizing myself with my contemporaries, I stumbled upon the apparition of the film character Amélie of Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain. She is also an INFP, courageous in kindness and empathy, yet haunted by an overwhelming amount of data, thoughts, fears and details passing through her mind, and hers alone.
I’m in a new phase now. I can’t quite put my finger on what that is, but things have changed. I’ve started new hobbies, I have new interests; it’s invigorating as much as it’s frightening to leave old habits behind. Two weeks ago I started playing the piano from YouTube video tutorials. On Monday I rode my bike for 62 miles (100kms). I dived into genealogy records that listed a relative who sold hail damage insurance in the Pyrenees. I’m ready (beyond eager) for a new job.
There are things I do now that I would have balked at a year ago. Some of these choices are by financial necessity, some are conscious, and others happenstance of present-day situations. Friends, I made brownies this weekend with…wait for it, supermarket chocolate. It was gifted to me by a neighbor that announced their hesitation to use it because it expired over two years ago, but I have also purchased white label and national brands that would have never made the cut 365 days ago. I will still buy and support from my favorite artisans when the opportunity or impulse arises, but frankly—I am not spending on this luxury at the rate I once did. I recognise the privilege I had to be immersed in craft, in a particular time and place, and with the frequency which I did. Humbly, I am more equivalent to a “common consumer” these days. ::Sidenote; thanks to Pulp for the nostalgic trip and musical distraction as I write this post.::
The duality exists—that I am an everyday participant in global exchange systems based around my convenience, as well as being an advocate, enthusiast, former maker and certified taster. And yet, I have never been more calm about existing in both worlds. I don’t have to always choose, because I don’t always have the choice. I can gratefully accept the leftovers of others, save Too Good To Go orders from bakeries without asking “but, where is the chocolate from in these pastries?…no, I mean but who made it?,” and eat the Belgian chocolate cake at a friend’s birthday party. And yes, a part of me wants to battle for better, and another just wants to say ‘thank you for thinking of me’ ‘I’m happy to have this.’
It could be called my Amélie Poulain phase—and you’re welcome to try it too. When we find ourselves in new places, with new people, or stay in the same spot but view things from other angles, accepting, investigating, or snapping mental photos of the part of our lives most ignored—such as the girl drinking water in Renoir’s Luncheon of The Boating Party (1881), the thing that’s in the middle of it all, yet intentionally disconnected from the onlooker’s gaze—what can we see inside us, what commonalities make us recognise we occupy the same spatial elements of the painting we call life? Can I focus on cultivating a particular taste for small pleasures…oddities, curiosities, the briefest of exchanges that mark the seconds of the day, our connection to others—like the Fairtrade chocolate offered on a Meetup hike, or the valiant attempt to hold the metro door open, the train lurching forward anyways, two strangers exchanging faces of ‘I’m sorry, I tried’ and ‘thank you anyways’ in the same instance. We’re all trying, aren’t we?
Don’t forget folks, subscribe for more content like this, or rather unsubscribe if you don’t desire to be privy to more tirades regarding my increasing banality. I offer no promise of joie de vivre because I’m still actively looking for it too—but yes, there is still chocolate most of the days, and it helps.
Hi Lauren
I really enjoyed your writing about the girl with the glass of water. I spent about 10 years reproducing that particular painting, “Luncheon of the Boating Party”. It took a long time because I was pregnant during some of the time and stopped to care for babies or moved the painting because of toxic oil colors. Mine was the exact size of the original, which I have now seen, but hadn't when painting...about 6 feet by 4 feet. A large painting like that, especially a reproduction, involves lots of introspection.
I appreciate your perspective right now. You see both sides of the table (the story and the silence) and have made the in-between beautiful. I always say that in-between place is like a sunset. Not dark and not light...they are coming together in perfect harmony.
Not many can find this harmony but I am not surprised that you have.
Your writing always inspires. Thank you for sharing it.
With deepest regards and wishing you well,
Susan Brown
Beautifully said, as always Lauren 💕 I can’t wait to hear about where you have landed.