Catching Up

random thoughts on imposter syndrome, a recipe, Zadie Smith, and more

It’s raining today. It’s been raining for a few days. The light kind of dribble rain, the one that’s constant and won’t let up, the one in the fall.

Yesterday I saw Zadie Smith speak at Rice University. I decided to go alone. In fact, I was almost not going to go. It was 3 P.M. dark and rainy and I knew there were going to be a lot of people there, but then I bought my ticket impulsively, to hell with social anxiety. To hell with being afraid to do things alone. I used to not be. When we first moved back to Houston 5 years ago I used to go and sit at Toute Suite alone for hours. A coffee shop downtown. I would go and set out to read and write. I don’t really do that anymore. I haven’t written in a coffee shop in a long time, really. I find it more difficult now, but maybe I should do it again. Anyway, I bought my ticket and I left at 7 P.M., it started at 7:30 P.M. I parked my car and walked in, following the signs, “This way to the temple.” The event was in a synagogue. I walked in step with a couple and an old lady by herself. Inside, I check in with someone and head to the Brazos Bookstore table. I had already made up my mind that I was going to buy a copy of Zadie Smith’s “The Fraud”, her newest novel. $28. I guess the 10% discount was a dollar off the sticker price. I didn’t realize how large it was, but I grabbed my signed copy and headed to look for a seat. I was there sort of early but still opted to find a seat near the back. Sitting in the back allows me to people-watch. I checked my phone, I had 15 minutes til Zadie started, so I watched the synagogue fill up. I was amazed at how many people were turning up in Houston to see Zadie. I imagined all of us in our varying homes reading Zadie, all our different thoughts and inspirations in such close proximity to each other. I was surprised at the much older crowd and wondered if they were donors or if they actually read Zadie, or both. And why did I assume her readers were only people my own age? Honestly, the past week or so I’ve felt incredibly lonely, and sort of defeated. And this reading made me so happy and inspired. It was nice to be around other people who love Zadie Smith too. I couldn’t help but smile the entire time Zadie was speaking. She’s so intelligent, so well-spoken, so interesting to listen to her speak, I imagined what it must be like eating dinner with her. I heard the girl next to me laugh too, and nod her head vigorously in agreement. I watched the two older men in front of me also laugh out loud at her witty remarks. I watched the interviewer grow nervous, and I couldn’t imagine being in her shoes. How intimidating it must feel. I couldn’t help but feel they were having two different conversations. Zadie going much deeper with her answers and taking us on different turns than the interviewer thought she would go. You could tell when she was thrown off, referring back to her notes to try to get on track. I wonder what was going through her mind, or Zadie’s. It is hard to be both the interviewer and the interviewee. Despite everything, Zadie said she felt optimistic for the world. That we can enact change and should in our day-to-day lives, in small ways even. It was refreshing to hear. She had such passion speaking. When it was through everyone stood up to applause and I almost thought everyone was going to shout “Encore!” But then we all started leaving because she was meant to sign books next door. I didn’t stay for the book signing. What would I say to a genius like Zadie Smith? Nah, better not to embarrass myself. So I left the same way I came in, alone, following the signs this time that said to garage. But I was not leaving lonely, as I entered, I was leaving hopeful, inspired.

—

A day before seeing Zadie Smith I had a podcast interview on my “brand”, which on Instagram I guess my brand is myself. I agreed to it because I liked the girl who does the podcast. We used to be connected years ago on Bookstagram. All the way in Australia, I would watch her life and she, mine. She dropped off Bookstagram to pursue her branding company. I didn’t really prep for the interview, I should have. I was just nervous so I kept avoiding it. Throughout the interview though, I just kept thinking about myself as a brand, which was a strange thing to think about, the why of it all, the how of it all. How did I get here? Where is here anyway? I don’t monetize my account so I’m really no different than anyone else. I don’t really know what I’m getting at. I just know that I love analyzing and thinking about social media, but I haven’t really done it on myself. I haven’t really thought too much about it, I’ve sort of just let it all unfold before me. And maybe why’s are not so important always. Zadie Smith said in her interview when the interviewee asked her why she decided the protagonist was who it was, something along the lines of her letting go and letting the novel take her where it was natural. She said she doesn’t fuss with the whys and leaves it up to the Freudians of the world. She just allows herself to be open and to know when to let go. I suppose that’s some advice I should apply.

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Things I took away from my podcast interview:

1. Where is the line between doing things for yourself and for your viewers?

2. Am I a brand? Are we all brands without contriving to be?

I read somewhere once that influencers are in the service industry, and are meant to serve their viewers. I don’t know how I feel about that. In a way, I see where they are coming from, but then another part of me disagrees.

A view of my desk. I love when the light comes through.

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In Zadie’s interview, she says we don’t experience time linearly, which is why she doesn’t write linearly and jumps around in different times. She was saying our traumas and memories are constantly popping back into our minds so we are always constantly being taken backwards in time.

When I was mentally preparing myself for my own interview the question I was most nervous about was the one I knew would come first. “Describe yourself.” “Tell us about yourself.” “What do you do?”

A month ago or so I randomly had lunch with a pretty well-known drummer, apparently anyway. I don’t really know anyone so to me he was just a normal older French dude. He asked me what I do. “Oh, I’m a writer and photographer? Haha.” I felt awkward. I didn’t know what to say. Are you asking me what I do for money or what I do that speaks to my soul? He looked at me confused, “Why are you laughing and putting it as a question? What’s funny? Are you a writer or not?” His response took me back, and I instantly felt stupid and embarrassed. I straightened my posture and sat up, “Yes. I’m a writer.” I said with finality. “Good,” he said back. But I kept thinking about that moment. The “haha”, the question mark I put after my sentence because I felt uncomfortable. Why? Because of money? Are we only something if we gain monetary value from it? I practiced saying it over and over in my head, “I’m a writer and a photographer.”

A writer and photographer

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I made a delicious BLT + egg the other day, and then again and again the following days. Your basic white bread that is not really fresh at all. I need to go back to making fresh gluten-free bread. Anyway, I toasted the white bread and had some turkey bacon frying in the pan, lately, I’ve been having to add avocado oil to it otherwise it’s too dry, and there’s nothing to fry. While that’s going I cut up some Roma tomatoes and get my arugula washed and ready. Then I put vegan mayonnaise, I know it seems hypocritical because I’m eating turkey, but it’s just that regular mayo hurts my stomach. So vegan mayo on both toasted slices of bread. Oh yeah sometime during all of this I have avocado oil on another pan and I’m frying up an egg, sunny side up except not runny, so what do they call that again? Then the best part, piling all the pieces together. And to finish it off I add a good amount of jalapeños. By the time I’m done eating, my hands are messy and dripping with oil and jalapeño juice and I’ve blacked out.

I somehow did not take a single photo of this BLT + egg I was obsessed with. But I did take a photo of my empty messy plate after I devoured a Nuetella and Strawberry Crepe.

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Speaking of food, I had not-so-great vegan fettuccini alfredo with “lump crab” aka mushroom at Hayden’s gig last week. It was a vegan restaurant, but it was mostly just too salty, and a little cold. But I ate it anyway, while listening to Hayden play the drums with a group he was subbing in for. It was rainy and cold out so they had them play inside. It was small and intimate inside, and I felt like I was sitting right under their noses, but it was so good to hear Hayden play live again. He sounded like butter. Everything he was hitting was so smooth and blended so well. It felt so familiar to hear him play, how can I describe it? I brought a friend with me and it was her first time hearing him play live. How funny, I thought. Hayden playing the drums feels like a part of his soul, I can’t imagine not being able to know him without getting to watch and hear him play. It would be like seeing only half a person. The drums feel like an extension of him, like his voice. I’m not doing this any justice, to write about it I would need time to reflect and well, I guess lately I’ve been short on time.

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I’ve been having a lot of vivid dreams again lately. I guess my subconscious is trying to tell me something. I’ve been thinking about voice lately, and how I sometimes wish I sounded like Nora Ephron, or maybe a little element of her. I like how she’s funny and conversational. But then Hanna’s voice comes into my head echoing, “Your voice is your voice!” Like it’s nothing to think about at all, like get over it you can’t change it. And maybe that’s true. Then I think about Zadie and her interview again. I think about how much I love her fiction, and what a feat it is to write fiction. It seems infinitely more complex than essays, but maybe that’s just because essays come more naturally to me, I can’t even imagine writing a 500-page book about historical fiction. But I dream of it anyway.