Yesterday I spent about 2 hours photocopying my boss's book manuscript and, since our photocopier has been on the fritz, I had to literally sit next to it to make sure it kept copying. So of course there was nothing to do but read the book. Granted I didn't get very far as I am a super slow reader but what I did read was memorable.
In his introduction he talked about how our technological culture has rendered the idea of "place" meaningless. Because we can talk to someone across the country, or even travel there in a few hours, because we are constantly plugged into the interwebz via our phones and various other devices we take no notice of "place." "Place" has no bearing and hence we exist listlessly, without grounding.
I'm sure you all know where I'm going with this.
Jamaica Plain is my place. My body cleaves to it. In an email to my dear Fabian I described missing Jamaica Plain like I miss a person. I cried when I left. I cry about it still. Because I feel separated from something beloved. And when I read Rob's intro it was as though I finally realized why. Jamaica plain is my place, it is where I feel plugged into the world, into my life, connected deeply to my self and my beloveds. I don't know why this is. But here are some small, seemingly superficial reasons.
I went to get my haircut at a salon that is full of totally normal people. And no lie it's a fancy salon but their clientele are real people. I have never felt out of place there. I remember running around when I first got my hair cut off yelling about how attractive I was and I felt safe doing that. At a fancy salon.
After my haircut I went over to Salmagundi, my favorite store. I was trying on two of the exact same headbands in different colors, one black and one blue. I was torn between the practicality of the black and how much I preferred the blue. The girl who helped me (who's name I can't remember but who is so, SO cool) encouraged me to get the blue one. I chatted with her for a while about Tree of Life and how much smarter my brother is than me. Then the owner, Jessen, asked me to give another customer my opinion on her dress. She and I chatted about how we never wears belts. We giggled about her tiny frame and then I had to leave. She waved at me as I left.
I put the headband on immediately. It is a black band with a poofy royal blue flower on the side. People kept looking at me and smiling. I think often about my mom saying the reason dogs listen to Cesar Millan (the dog whisperer) is because he is his authentic self. That's how I felt in my poofy flower headband. Like the dog whisperer. Or something.
While walking down the street a woman stopped me and said "I see you bought your headband!" I must've looked confused because she said, "I was in the store and wondered how someone would wear that and now I see!" She touched my arm in a familiar type way. "It looks great!" and then she kept walking.
I walked to the T at Green Street where I almost missed my train. The doors of the train were closed but the conductor opened them all so I could get through one, all the while smiling at me. I yelled thank you, and he winked at me.
I know this could happen anywhere. And maybe it could for someone else. But JP is my place. My Place. MY Place. It is an integral part of my own authentic self. And so maybe it couldn't. I've always found love to be magical. The way my heart contracts when I think about my people... It feels so earthy and real and good to love them. I guess I just never knew I could feel that way about a place.
But I do. And man, does it feel good to love that place. MAN does it feel good to love.
And that my friends is the whole reason I started this blog. So thanks to all you who read this and encourage me to write it. I know it has become progressively less funny and more Feelngs but I appreciate you all following along. And a BIG thanks to the people who help fill me with joy and silliness. And a not as big thanks to every dog I've ever pet and every chunky bearded man I've ever oogled and about whom I've had subsequent remarkably inappropriate daydreams.
In his introduction he talked about how our technological culture has rendered the idea of "place" meaningless. Because we can talk to someone across the country, or even travel there in a few hours, because we are constantly plugged into the interwebz via our phones and various other devices we take no notice of "place." "Place" has no bearing and hence we exist listlessly, without grounding.
I'm sure you all know where I'm going with this.
Jamaica Plain is my place. My body cleaves to it. In an email to my dear Fabian I described missing Jamaica Plain like I miss a person. I cried when I left. I cry about it still. Because I feel separated from something beloved. And when I read Rob's intro it was as though I finally realized why. Jamaica plain is my place, it is where I feel plugged into the world, into my life, connected deeply to my self and my beloveds. I don't know why this is. But here are some small, seemingly superficial reasons.
I went to get my haircut at a salon that is full of totally normal people. And no lie it's a fancy salon but their clientele are real people. I have never felt out of place there. I remember running around when I first got my hair cut off yelling about how attractive I was and I felt safe doing that. At a fancy salon.
After my haircut I went over to Salmagundi, my favorite store. I was trying on two of the exact same headbands in different colors, one black and one blue. I was torn between the practicality of the black and how much I preferred the blue. The girl who helped me (who's name I can't remember but who is so, SO cool) encouraged me to get the blue one. I chatted with her for a while about Tree of Life and how much smarter my brother is than me. Then the owner, Jessen, asked me to give another customer my opinion on her dress. She and I chatted about how we never wears belts. We giggled about her tiny frame and then I had to leave. She waved at me as I left.
I put the headband on immediately. It is a black band with a poofy royal blue flower on the side. People kept looking at me and smiling. I think often about my mom saying the reason dogs listen to Cesar Millan (the dog whisperer) is because he is his authentic self. That's how I felt in my poofy flower headband. Like the dog whisperer. Or something.
While walking down the street a woman stopped me and said "I see you bought your headband!" I must've looked confused because she said, "I was in the store and wondered how someone would wear that and now I see!" She touched my arm in a familiar type way. "It looks great!" and then she kept walking.
I walked to the T at Green Street where I almost missed my train. The doors of the train were closed but the conductor opened them all so I could get through one, all the while smiling at me. I yelled thank you, and he winked at me.
I know this could happen anywhere. And maybe it could for someone else. But JP is my place. My Place. MY Place. It is an integral part of my own authentic self. And so maybe it couldn't. I've always found love to be magical. The way my heart contracts when I think about my people... It feels so earthy and real and good to love them. I guess I just never knew I could feel that way about a place.
But I do. And man, does it feel good to love that place. MAN does it feel good to love.
And that my friends is the whole reason I started this blog. So thanks to all you who read this and encourage me to write it. I know it has become progressively less funny and more Feelngs but I appreciate you all following along. And a BIG thanks to the people who help fill me with joy and silliness. And a not as big thanks to every dog I've ever pet and every chunky bearded man I've ever oogled and about whom I've had subsequent remarkably inappropriate daydreams.
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