2024, july 8, berlin

when i was a kid i’d sometimes stub my toe on a threshold and some grown-up would say: ‘you’re tired. time for bed.’ that was the terror of adults—being told what i feel. and even if it was true, even if i really was tired, why did it have to mean bed?

sometimes staying awake, especially when you’re tired, is the most delicious thing.

the other day i asked mama when in her life she felt the greatest freedom. ‘right now,’ she said. i asked why. ‘because i can stay up as long as i want, i can go to bed when i want, and i can get up when i want.’

the freedom of becoming a grown-up is breaking loose from grown-up doctrines.

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2024, july 5, berlin

stepping out of the grindset means spending the whole day polishing something. it’s gently caressing a single monstera leaf with a damp cloth until it gleams. it’s going out to buff a few inches of canal railing, a stranger’s bicycle handle, a found coin, a beer coaster tucked between cobblestones. it’s polishing one’s own fingernail and pressing it against the philtrum to feel its smoothness. by polishing anything that comes your way, you can pause time and stretch out the summer.

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