Hazy Morning Walks, A Camera, Wise Words, An Apology, and A few Car Analogies
Hello, Ya'll!
Welcome to my substack, Chips & Champagne. I'm sure your initial response is, "Why that name?" and/or "Actually, that combo sounds good right now." Well, it's one of my special pairings after a long week or month of hard and good things. I want this monthly newsletter to arrive as if I'm the friend you meet at a dimmed moody bar, in a cozy soft tufted leather booth, on a beach hearing the crashing waves, the cool crisp air of the front porch, or in the back of your truck with the fresh smell of dirt and swatting away the mosquitoes. Chatting while watching the sunset and stuffing our faces with sea salt and vinegar kettle chips, with the loud pop of opening a bottle of champagne to pour into a fancy glass, a yeti mug, or even a red solo cup. Taking in each other's company and listening to our stories of failures and triumphs for the month. I'd also like to share what new music and books I've encountered each month. This will help me keep a record of what I'm devouring and hopefully inspire others to do the same. For me, painting, photography, writing, and psychology are all forms of art that my curiosity can't escape. Blank canvases keep appearing, begging me to make something from nothing. Whether it's a blank piece of paper, canvas, or screen— the possibilities are invigorating and frightening. Thus the birth of this newsletter with its quirks and serious thoughts, I hope to create something unique for my journey to get licensed as a therapist and write my first book. Each month might cover specific themes, an occasional interview with a friend or creative, learning experiences, and embarrassing stories.
April became one of my most curious, meaningful, and healing months. My dreams have morphed into words. Writing from the images. As Joan Didion said in one of her early New York Times articles on writing— "The grammar is in the picture." This morning I sat in my bedroom glaring at the stack of books I devoured this April, and I noticed the sun slowly peeking through our window. The direct sunlight first touched my resting dog's fur through the large far-right window. His fur glowed a deep burnt orange. I think he felt my stare because he turned and looked at me with those chocolate-brown eyes. It was now time to take him on his walk. A consistent routine we started in February has now become therapy for us. I've learned valuable lessons and reminders of who I want to be by taking my dog on these long walks. We go early in the mornings when everything is slow. Take in the fresh flowers and jasmine on Valerio Street up to the Rivera, with sights overlooking downtown Santa Barbara. Some mornings we'd catch cruise ships gliding into the harbor. The cloudy mornings and crisp thin air are perfect for absorbing even richer tones from the flowers and blooming trees. This reminds me of the verdant green mosses covering the Pacific Northwest's pines during the gray winter months. I miss that part of the world.
This month I've put myself in situations that challenge me to be more vulnerable. Vulnerable with close friends, family, and my husband. I close up when working hard on my therapy hours, sitting with difficult clients having dark nights of the soul, writing, or studying for my upcoming exams this year. I get in a quiet protection mode. It's not a bad thing, especially with the important milestones ahead. Still, I want to be more raw, honest, and compassionate and feel my life deeply. I read this line in one of my books this month, and it speaks partly to what I mean:
"Antifragile things need tension, resistance, adversity, and pain to break and transform. We get this by deeply communing with life and being part of it, rather than fearing our emotions and sitting on the sidelines."
Brianna Wiest
Opening myself more seemed like the universe's permission slip to say, "Okay, Justin, now I'll drop you a few unexpected situations in your lap and see how you handle them." So, In this month's newsletter, I'll do my best to share what I've learned by failing and trying to improve. The world is so fragile and dysregulated that I hope this can be a small reprieve before we drift into a busy new month.
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