Honey No. 5
Feat. the importance of returning to your element, a list of current faves, and a tale of toddler empowerment (mine)
Hi my friends! How’s your Sunday going? This week’s Honeypot is going to be exclusively written by yours truly, so buckle up! We’re gonna have some fun 😎. The start of my year has been a bit of a whirlwind so far- I got back from a 10 day, multiple-family, East Coast adventure, had lots of work, my birthday, and performed in a friend’s play reading, all in one week! It was so fun! It was so much. Tons of good stuff in there, but I’m grateful for the space to sloooow things down this weekend- to rest and reflect and integrate and do my laundry. You’ve gotta sit still to really taste it all! And January is the ultimate reflection zone.
The reading I was in this Friday was a new play written by my dear friend and brilliant playwright, Beth Hyland. Beth and I met because we were set up as roommates for a summer after I went through a horrible breakup, then five years later she set me up with my Absolute #1 Guy, Jesse, at her own wedding. Can you even believe it? Sometimes Life really plays the long game! It was such a treat to start the year off meeting a group of talented artists and performing an incisive, hilarious piece of work (Beth’s signature combo, sorry!). After the reading I was buzzing, high off the experience of sweating under hot lights and making people laugh, thrilled to talk with a group of new-to-me people at the bar. I love to meet exciting new people the way I love a stack of new books waiting for me next to my bed- there’s an abundance of treasure to be discovered, and I just can’t wait to dive in.
The next morning over oatmeal and coffee, I was gushing to Jesse (A1G) about the people, the play, the rush of performing. How I’m starting the year feeling full, and familiar to myself. “You were in your element,” he replied warmly. And I was like oh…duh! A reflection so simple it blew me away. In the past few years (let’s say almost 4? lol random!) I have been lamenting how unlike Myself I have felt. I felt boring, I felt small, I felt amorphous. If I wrote, what would I say? If I met someone, who would they even be meeting? Falling in love with Jesse while I was in this space was a confounding experience- I’m not saying that I don’t know who I am when I’m not on a stage, I do! I really do. I’m saying that in the devastating whiplash of lockdown’s isolation, I lost the context for myself. I lost access to touchstones that grounded me in my developed reality. I forgot about my element. “I’ve been like a shrimp out of water!!!” I told him through a mouthful of oatmeal, and he said, “Ok!” God, I love that guy.
Of course, there isn’t always going to be a reading, or a role, or a job- that’s what makes this industry so famously *~*ExCiTiNg!!*~*. But I feel invigorated by the intention of keeping myself connected to My Element this year. How can I seek out spaces where I can be big? Where I can dive deep with new (and familiar!) people? How can I connect myself with opportunities while maintaining the mindset that they’d be lucky to have me? I don’t know! It’s only the 7th. But we’re off to a good start.
P.S. The Honeypot is a huge part of that element, and I want to thank you all so, so much for joining me on this journey. Your support means so much to me, as does sharing this with people who you think would enjoy. Thank you thank you thank you.
Things I’m Loving
I know I’ve recommended Claire McFadden’s monthly newsletter before, but I just read this month’s and I am fully obsessed! Read if you’re interested in gathering creative inspiration for your year, commissioning a drawing of a personally meaningful house/building (what a good gift!), or just generally having a good time.
I ran out of the Ursa Major Vitamin C serum awhile ago and I am needing to restock! This has made a huge difference in my skin, and keeps it bright and happy. You can only IMAGINE what it’s looked like since (dark, sad)!
Purple sweet potatoes in general. Who was keeping this from me? I watched some of that Netflix series Blue Zones, which features parts of the world where there are an unusually high number of centenarians and explores the secrets to their longevity. I stopped watching because the host sounds like Gilbert Gottfried and was constantly trying to bully elderly Japanese women into uttering sound bites like “FRIENDSHIPS MADE ME LIVE TO 105,” but one takeaway was that purple sweet potatoes are soooo good for you. And they’re delicious? Get a grip!
Ok while we’re on the topic of random food obsessions, short-grain rice is….the best? Don’t know if I can elaborate, but it’s the only kind I’m reaching for these days.
Years ago I was walking around a CB2 in Chicago (one of my favorite self-soothing activities) and was stopped by two people who asked if I was a. interested in design, and b. willing to participate in a short survey about the design blogs, etc. I followed in exchange for a gift card. I was like baby, you’ve found THE RIGHT GIRL!!!!! The first blog I mentioned was
- a truly impeccable curation of beautiful design inspiration from around the world. She has now transitioned her blog into a substack, which I believe she is about to put behind a paywall so scan it quick now and consider supporting (like I do!) if you’re so inclined. Or follow her on instagram @SFGirlByBay!Suay Sew Shop is an LA spot that uses upcycled materials to create beautiful home goods and clothes. They have racks of thrifted clothes, free clothes, and also a community dye bath with a rotating bunch of colors where you can give your old belongings new life (we have a stained white duvet there that’s being transformed into a beautiful yellow-y olive right this very minute! They’re moving to a new spot in LA so they’re having a big sale this weekend-some things in person (thrift deals, discounted rolls of fabric) but many are also available online, including 20% off all pillows and cushions.
Body Talk
In a move that surprised almost everyone in my family, I was a very early reader. They weren’t surprised because I was particularly dull or dense as a child- more so because my parents were not the Baby Mozart, helicopter types who would have cared that I was developing at a particular rate, one way or another. What mattered most in my house growing up was imagination, play, and listening to your body, who would often be your best teacher. From the time we were tiny, my Dad would ask me and my brother what our “heartflowers” were telling us, an intro-level term he coined to teach us about the idea of intuition. Though at the time my heartflower was strangely fixated on the fact that my little brother should not have been born, my parents nevertheless continued to encourage this deep listening over any more academic pursuits. There was no coaching, no poking or prodding, no begging me to learn faster than I was able; just a startling call from the mother of my preschool friend Jessica, reporting that I had just read the words “max-i-mum cap-a-ci-ty” on the elevator ride up to our playdate.
I am so grateful that the concept of shame was not billboarded in our home, because a. It would have been terrible if I had been made to feel shame for a skill I developed naturally and took such great pleasure in, and b. The way that I was gallivanting around with my freaky newfound superpower would have been a very easy target. I would read out loud to my entire nursery school class, leaving illiterate toddlers crying in my wake. At bedtime, my mom offered to read me a story-a time-honored tradition amongst parents and their tiny children, she assured me- but I patted her hand and said, “that’s ok Mommy,” wanting to just read the book by myself. She received the sick confirmation that I was not simply parroting words I had memorized, when I looked at the back of a square, convertible car and read “Jep!” an error that I am still kicking myself for to this day.
Although my parents never made a fuss about any capability I could- or couldn’t!- access as a child, our across-the-hall neighbors were eager to put my tiny show on display; let’s call them Tom and Cassie. Tom and Cassie were childless, wealthy, and a little oblivious, which is perhaps the only combination of traits that would lead you to ask the two-year-old child of your next door neighbors to read The New York Times aloud to your Upper East Side dinner guests. I remember that their apartment felt grown-up, forbidden and exciting- probably because they didn’t have any children and everything seemed to be made of glass. They had bowls of M&M’s out on their many crystal tables, which I was later told were put out just for guests, especially the little ones, but that Cassie otherwise kept hidden from the healthily-bellied Tom. But my sense of object permanence was loose and my love of forbidden candy was great, so I never minded skipping across the hall to read for some grownups and reap my chocolatey rewards.
During one of these nights of great dinner theater, I was standing in their living room with Tom by my side and my parents nearby. Even with M&M’s only being allowed on special occasions, Tom was a big man, made all the bigger by my toddler eye. In my memory, he has premature gray hair (confirmed) and is always wearing suits, even in his own home (no way to know this one, but even if it’s not true you understand the feeling). My dad was a Daddy who would jump on the bed with me, the first to join me in talking with squirrels in Central Park and the last to make me feel like there was something I couldn’t do or understand, just because I was small. In the limited roster of Men I had met in my few years on earth, Tom was a strange one for me- not quite a Daddy, not yet a Grandpa, just a man who wanted me to read the newspaper to his adult friends while he stood nearby in a suit. That night I must have done a remarkable job of reading about how President Clinton had just appointed Ruth Bader Ginsburg to the Supreme Court, or whatever, because Tom sauntered over to me and put his meaty hand on my little shoulder. And in an act of unprecedented Stranger Danger and advocacy for my tiny self, I offered a quote that is now famous in my family, saying, “Dont. Touch. My. Body.” prompting him to quickly give me some goddamn space.
This story is often repeated in my house, and I recently asked my mom if I had ever had a similar reaction- I have never been particularly touch-sensitive and did I mention their access to the M&M’s? But my mom reported no, I must have just had a feeling. Because the thing about Tom is that Tom is a lawyer. And in the years after we moved from that apartment, Tom went on to have many interesting clients. Tom defended Bill O’Reilly in his allegations of sexual harassment, represented several Russian clients with close ties to Vladmir Putin, and was a personal friend and private lawyer to our very own Donald J. Trump. Tom represented Donald Trump for decades, representing him in his first divorce, bankruptcy cases, during the sexual misconduct allegations as he was running for president, and even during his presidency in the investigation of Russian interference in the U.S. elections. As far as heartflowers are concerned, mine had knocked it out of the park.
Given the amount of overlap in their worldviews and their morals, it’s surprising to hear that my parents lost touch with Tom and Cassie as the years went by. We moved to the suburbs, and they moved on to more nefarious interpretations of dinner theater. And while I’ll always be proud of my tiny self for being such a strong and early reader, I’m even prouder of my read of famed scumbag and neighbor “Tom.”
Have a wonderful week my friends! I hope you’re enjoying the snow if you’re in a snowy spot (NY I’m looking at you), and I’ll see you right back here next Sunday :)
xx Olivia