A Small Case for the Magical World

So, I'm testing my theory on how life works.  Unemployed for a month and believing that the right thing will magically come my way because the right thing always comes my way and it is always magical when it does.  I might be a downright proper fool for this theory, but I'm sticking with it. 

I mean, realistically, though, it's pretty incredible how all of this is running and operating and going on along with no conceivable power source, no plug and no batteries.  To me, that means there's obviously something mystical occurring.  How this is here at all.  How we stay moving and think.  So, in my opinion, it's no far cry to assume that mostly everything is working in some mysterious way that I don't understand but kind of have to believe in and acknowledge, in some sort of way.  And the way I do that is trust.  And bravery.  Or, really, being brave enough to trust it.  And to just say, I have no idea how this works, but it's goddamn astounding.  And so my own small life is too.  That's what makes the most sense to me, anyway.  It always has.

Also, I'll have you know, it's no unfounded theory, either.  For me, at least, life has a proven track record of not steering me wrong when I just throw the reins into its hands and say, "Ok, here you go.  Lead the way. I'm at your mercy and, well, I always have been anyway, whether I want to be or not. So do what you will."  

And then I say, "Surprise me!"  Out loud, too.  Just to really drive the point home.  

Oh, and how I've loved the surprises so far, the detours I've been taken on that have led me to things better than anything I could have expected.  It's like that with everything, though, the detours and unplanned are the best, life unfolding in ways that are quite remarkable.  And we could never have crafted it so well ourselves.

Like when Zooey was in town for a week and two of our days were more incredible because of what was unplanned than planned.  First, the day we went to breakfast in Silverlake and decided to walk back to Hollywood, five glorious miles that took us all day long, but it was the most perfect crisp winter day and the best company I've ever had.  And we found ourselves stopping in little shops, getting educated on tea by the most pleasant young English chap, climbing the wall of El Cid, because I've never been there and it was closed but we just had to see what was down there, popping into bookstores and browsing our hearts out, stopping for a Bloody Mary by the Koi pond at Home and learning ever more about each other.  

And then the next day, we had bookend plans, but nothing in between, and we started out at the LACMA for the Stanley Kubrick exhibit, which was amazing and breathtaking and so much of what I expect of the LACMA, and then decided to walk a few blocks and discovered the craziest most jam packed antique store I've ever been to and there was so much to see and we just looked around and played in there together with all of these interesting artifacts and paintings and swords and masks and sculptures and I don't even know and then I remembered that there was this little wine bar called Sheddy's in the area and we found it and crept in and sat in the tiny beautiful red room and got sangria and the strangest appetizer of chips and manchego and jalepenos and avocado and it was all just delectable.  The ambiance of that place, the whole day.  Feeling how much I love this life and that there are so many wonderful things and unexpected moments and how good it is to find someone whose hand you could take and just walk through the world with forever.

And so it is that I've found the wonderful little hidden secret of just seeing where life takes me.  And so it is that I have learned to say to myself, wait for it.  Something beautiful is going to emerge. Something real.  The right thing.

Roosevelt

ph. by k. fatehi

What a day it was, the other day!  Just when you think you've got it all under control, holding your head high, stepping forward, conscientiously, bravely, determined, to whatever end.  Well, that's when it gets you.  Just because, I guess, sometimes it has to.  I do know that you've just got to be sad sometimes.  And not understand. And be confused and overwhelmed.  

I was making a quesadilla for lunch, and a slight panic was setting in and I was trying to avoid its presence, and  then I sliced myself on the can of beans and my finger was bleeding and I went to get a band aid and there was one, just one, left.  So that was good, I suppose, I only needed one.  But, still, that already made me sad.  Why don't I have band aids? And then I was eating carrots with ranch waiting for the quesadilla to cook and somehow at some point a carrot slipped or something and flew into the air and ranch splattered all over me, down the front of my shirt and all over my face even, which was kind of funny, just because, it was like, seriously, I can't even eat carrots? So I was standing there in my kitchen with a ranch splattered shirt and face and a bleeding finger and I just, little by little, crumbled.  I peeled off my shirt and washed my face and climbed into my bed and curled up freezing and just cried and cried for the better part of an hour.  And I fell asleep, all curled up and not knowing anything.

The next morning I gently nudged myself out of bed.  And delicately, ever so delicately, went to the window and looked out to the blue crisp day.  The sky was bright and life was continuing out there.  It was still chilly and the birds were chirping all around the park.  And I was a part of it still, looking out at it. And I made the hot chocolate and marshmallows that my sister sent to me just because and poured some strong coffee into it and sat at my table.  And I was quiet. 

And then it was Christmas Eve and Bethany and Johnny and I decided to go to the Roosevelt.  We went to 25 Degrees for burgers first, sitting all cozy together in a red booth, burgers stacked high, talking about life and laughing on Christmas Eve in Hollywood. 

Afterwards, we wandered over to the Library Bar for a cocktail which was fun but funny because the mixologist was just a little too arrogant and young to win us over and though we were slightly repelled, we enjoyed it more because of how bad it was than how good.  That seems to be how it goes sometimes.  And we laughed some more.

At the end of the night, we sat in the old lobby together, in the big leather couches and chairs, the lights dim and warm, sharing gross drinks and stories and that sweet and lovely Christmas Eve and it seemed, somehow, sacred and holy, and, I don't know, but I felt blessed beyond measure.