I can't explain the state that I'm in—the state of my heart
dismantling.
Many, many years ago—an entire lifetime ago—I quit my very casual job as a barista at some cold and unloving coffee shop inside a hospital in Sioux City.
It was unloving in the ways a space can be—light grey walls, bright fluorescent lights, and only big enough for two other people to be present aside from myself, and only if they were standing in a [short] line. It all felt hurried and brash—the transactions, the conversations, and the days, weeks, months, etc. etc. etc. It was a blur of passionless options offering only passionless choices. It wasn’t a violent system, but it wasn’t conducive for anything aside from a decade-long nicotine addiction.
I responded to a random ad on Craigslist looking for a production assistant on a movie set in a lakeside city a few hours away from where I lived, quit the aforementioned soulless job, and looked forward to a fall spent with complete strangers, in a city I had never been, doing something I had no idea how to do.
Despite what this image circa 2013 may indicate, the days were long, uncomfy, and as fall began creeping in, cold. The day would begin at a very horrific hour of around 5am and end semi-drunkly well after midnight. The small crew of about 20 or so people grew to be quite close—telling stories about where we came from, but more importantly talking about where we were heading. I had no answers to this inquiry. At this time I didn’t have a bank account, a phone, a place to live, a path, a dream, or even a single rudimentary thought that was worth planting and nurturing. Everyone else seemingly had dreams or perhaps even goals. I didn’t even have a car. So I just listened. I listened to them talk about the people they loved and how they loved them; about how these small infinities of love gave them the drive to do the things they really wanted to do. Or more importantly, how it gave them the ability to even find and see the things they were passionate about to begin with. I observed. I Imagined these strangers-turned-comrades in their own individual lives in their respective cities—waking up with ideas and aspirations and grabbing coffee at some bustling downtown Starbucks before flying off to some other bustling city to visit some other downtown Starbucks.
Very unexpectedly, the entire crew was given an off day. This random day off from a very random job during a very aimless part of my life ended up being one of my favorite days of all time. One of the other PAs (pictured above) and myself decided to spend the day driving around listening to music, visiting any and all coffee shops, smoking cigarettes (even though he was in the process of quitting—sorry), and taking pictures of whatever. So vividly do I remember the sky on this October day. The pastel blue, the light grey clouds laid out like checkers over the horizon, the tops of the tallest trees cleaving the whole view into small, digestible portions. The soundtrack of the day was a blend of The Strokes, Spoon, another-band-with-the-word-dog-in-it, and Sufjan Stevens. The latter of the selection being what plays on an infinite loop whenever I revisit this day in memory. The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades Is Out to Get Us! easily rests in my top-10 favorite songs of all time. At the 3:46 minute mark, the line (which is the title of this blog-substack-?-thing) I can’t explain the state that I’m in—the state of my heart is recited as a small, haunting prayer. Since then, I most often find myself in this state. Back then, that unexplainable state would have been best defined as disconnected, but now it’s more akin to wonder.
In my opinion, wonder is the best state to be in. All of this, as in all of this hoopla, is to say that I learned how to wonder. I watched as strangers looked out into the unknown of their lives and saw something. I listened as they dismantled the various atrocities of their past and built them in pathways connecting them with the people they love or want to love. I stood beneath everything much larger than myself and wondered how best to express my gratitude for not having been crushed.
Small Magic
As a reminder, small magic is a brief dive into all the smallest joys that have kept me affixed to my appreciation. Here is my current list:
Tall buildings
History podcasts
Slippers
As always, I urge you to identify those small, lovely things that never fail to call you to appreciation.
Years ago, I wrote the first draft of a poem after this song, and a few weeks ago it was published in issue 2 of The Turning Leaf Journal (thanks editors!). You can read that poem here. (It of course shares the same title as this substack and the song referenced because I can be slightly obsessive over things!!!!!!!!!!)
If you’ve made it this far, thank you! Hope this meant something to you. Writing these is something I truly love. I’ll leave you with songs that are on repeat for me and a poem. Take care.
Music
Sufjan Stevens, particularly the song mentioned a few times in this thing
The entirety of Third Eye Blind’s self-titled album
Lonely by moow
Tender Green by Aarigod
Mini Trees
Poem of the Week
Substantial Planes
It doesn’t
matter
to me
if
poems mean
nothing
there’s no
floor
to the
universe
and yet
one
walks the
floor.
—A. R. Ammons