{ 0 comments }
I’m always nervous before a Stranger Dinner. Who will show up? Who won’t? It has been a trial and error process to see what method of invitation/confirmation will turn up the most guests, and I think I’ve got it down because there are seven women seated at my table by 7:30. I have to scramble for chairs, so accustomed to a couple no shows that I always overbook, and can barely squeeze 8 people around the little table in my kitchen.
We are nervous and making small talk interspersed with small puddles of silence that threaten to suck us in. There is one bottle of wine and I pour it carefully into each glass, making sure we all get some. Wine is a key ingredient at a stranger dinner, not only because it gives us something to do at the very beginning of the meal, but because of the important role it plays in loosening our lips. But today I am broke, and the couple bottles I usually try to ply on people isn’t around to save us from nervous shyness. We are making it along but I see something deeper here.
I turn to the questions written in by the guests that I keep as conversation starters when words get a little hitch in their giddy-up. I invite these women to ask their questions, or a new one if they want.
We start with an exercise. One younger guest wants to explore our first impressions of each other. We are all too hesitant to say them out loud, so we write a different name on the top of 8 sheets of paper, folding the page up as we write our observations and pass them along.
This breaks the ice, and we continue thinking of questions, topics, experiences we want to talk about and opinions we have to share. We kill the wine. We eat food enthusiastically, exclaiming over all the delicious array of tastes we have managed to gather into one place. I can never stifle the amazement at the way dinner always seems to turn out balanced and delicious.
Three hours later, fully stuffed and connected, we write a different set of impressions, marking the end of the dinner. Each guest leaves one by one, trading recipes, hair stylists, getting rides, and saying goodbye. One guest is left.
“So is it really over? I can’t believe I’ll never see these women again, after how sharing such intimate things with each other. I feel so connected.”
“The possibility is always there.” I say. “Maybe you will see them again, but at least we had tonight.”
“Are all dinners like that?”
“Each in their own way.” I say. And as she leaves, I sit there, amazed myself that it could be true. These evenings with strangers are magical in a way that is new and surprising every time.
{ 0 comments }
The laundry has been stacking up, but the dishes are finally done. I unclogged the sink and made some red clover infusion, but I need to clean, there are guests coming and there is much work to be done!
It can be so overwhelming. All the day to day activity that goes into keeping yourself dressed, fed and housed everyday. Oftentimes I wonder how people seem to do it all. Their blogs are religiously updated with beautiful layouts and pictures. Their houses are spotless and all seem to get beautiful natural light all day long. I find myself spending so much time just looking at neat and tidy spaces and carefully curated home collections, envious and feeling like my tiny, eclectic apartment with my mishmash of furniture and half finished art projects will never measure up.
My life is messy. Something is always left undone. Often, I will call for a break when I just can’t do anymore. I like to relax at the end of the day. I like to read. I like to cook and eat. Listen to music and do the dishes. Sometimes I feel like I’m lazy. Because it seems like the only way I ever get a to do list done is by forgetting about it and losing it. There’s no way to keep track of whether I’m being acceptably productive or not. And I never am.
I live in America, a place where you have to work hard and constantly if you want to be successful. But sometimes I want to stop striving. Sometimes I just want to live and enjoy and not constantly worry about covering my expenses, or being the best person I can be. But there seems to be no escape. Even my dreams stress me out, because I worry how will I ever become that cool, amazing, accomplished, beautiful person I want to be.
Sometimes I wonder if my dreams are even really a true reflection of what I would be happy doing, or good at. Will I still be unsatisfied when I finally have reached the goals I set out for myself?
Sometimes I get stuck. I can’t move forward, can’t go back, and I don’t know which way to turn. What am I doing? Where will it lead? What could I be doing better?
The questions never stop. And I am left to wonder what it is I’m supposed to be doing. Where I’m supposed to be. Who I will become.
Yeah, I dunno. What to do, what to do.
{ 0 comments }