Happy 2023!
That, my friends, was a platitude. For it is January in Berlin.
Last Monday was ‘Blue Monday’, officially the most depressing day of the year. I was feeling so down that earlier in the day, another friend told me to get off Instagram until I could stop posting sad face selfies. In response, I sent him a sad face: :( He stopped talking to me. Sad times indeed.
There’s no sugar-coating it: It is horrifically bleak right now. It’s especially bad for anyone who struggles with their mental health, because everything we can do is simply a band-aid for better weather and natural daylight. Everything that is bad and unfortunate seems so much worse. I, personally, am oscillating wildly between showing up and doing all the things to stave off seasonal depression, and lying down in a puddle of my own tears and waiting for spring (or The End, whichever comes sooner) to come. I really admire the fellows (mostly really muscly men, apparently?) whom I see on Instagram emerging ecstatically from frozen lakes or pounding pavements in balaclavas. “I love that for you,” I shout at my screen, clutching a hot water bottle and wondering if I will live to see 40 (which is in 5 months, by the way: cue a fresh onslaught of existential dread).
It’s terribly lonely, the winter—and, apparently, renders my brain without a single original thought. But dating is impossible, because I’m a writer whose signature style is candour, and no one is trying to date Eeyore. What is an unfiltered sad sack to do?? It’s quite a pickle.
When I was a kid, my favourite book was called Winter Dreams, Christmas Love. It was about a high school girl who predictably falls for a dreamy older guy. Spoiler alert: she eventually ends up with him, once she saves herself from a toxic boyfriend she acquires along the way. Toxicity wasn’t a mainstream concept in the early 90s, but he had all the hallmarks of an abusive gaslighter; alas, this cautionary tale didn’t stop me from dating a string of them, even though it did also unrealistically skew my romantic expectations in a way that I think was unique to American high school tropes in 90s popular culture.
Saved By The Bell, Beverly Hills: 901210, Dawson’s Creek, Clueless: When I was growing up, we were actually kids while all the “kids” we saw on TV were actually grown ups. Today, actual kids are actual grown ups. Remember the “awkward phase”? That apparently doesn’t exist anymore. Last year I got asked out by the finest man I have ever seen in my life and then found out that he was 19. He was half—HALF—my age. I’m afraid that’s all I can say about this story without consulting a lawyer.
Anyway, as the title of my favourite childhood book suggests, winter was a magical time during which romances bloomed as rosy as the flush in a young girl’s cheeks. Ah, fiction. In hindsight, this book set me up for disappointment on all fronts. It sold me a story about winter and dating that, at some point, I finally stopped believing. Berlin well and truly doused any embers that remained in my hopeful heart.
We live, I think, to rewrite the tale—because, for one, there’s no narrative for single women who live alone and create their lives from scratch. We weren’t given an example, let alone a rule book, for how to run life on our own terms; we weren’t even shown what this might look like. All we were offered was Bridget Jones, a sweet but hapless mess we liked to laugh at. I never saw women approaching 40 who were empowered in their own right and chose their own company over anyone else’s, or how to navigate the occasional loneliness that inevitably comes from mostly preferring to be alone. On brighter days than these, I look at my life and feel proud of where I’ve got to all by myself. I know how much I like myself, and that I value freedom above all else. Unfortunately, we can’t like ourselves into getting out of bed every morning—for many of us, some days (or weeks, or months) suck more than others and that’s just the way it cuts. Don’t listen to any self-improvement gurus who tell you any process is linear—few things will make you feel like a failure faster than believing this.
I can’t outrun my bad days. However great I feel for months on end, some days I will not be able to get out of bed or find any meaning in life. Sometimes, it’s just chemical—or astrological, or whatever. Maybe I had too much coffee, or there was a really annoying song playing in the coffee shop, or the overhead light was too bright. Or maybe the weather is so awful for weeks on end that I can’t remember sunshine, my annual taxes and utility bills hit me simultaneously, the cold aloneless is miserably relentless, and the guy I lowered my standards for leaves me on read. It is sad. It is so sad that I am laughing.
I told you, these are bleak times. And they can make me forget all of the things I have to be proud of, and all of the ways that I am awesome, and all of the people who love me—and remember only all of the ways that I have failed, all the things I don’t like about myself, and all of the people who don’t want me. I have to remind myself this is normal; what else are we going to listen for in the dark than the things that scare us?
Speaking of relationships (were we? Forgive the tenuous segue, we do love a tangent around here), I’m exploring an exciting new realm of dating recently: friendship. Who knew you could be friends with a romantic interest? Apparently a lot of people, but I recently became aware of this when I developed a close friendship with a guy I liked rather than dating him. I never stopped liking him, but I just spent my time getting to know him rather than compromising my judgement with romance and stuff. It gave me room to really see him as a person, and let important feelings, such as trust and safety, develop—or not, the latter being the more important metric.
Now I only want to be friends first with people I want to date. Naturally, I have to be attracted to them first—but I’ve realised even guys I’m initially attracted to become less attractive when I prioritise other metrics such as: Do I like you? Do I like myself with you? How is my nervous system behaving around you? Am I interested in how you think and what you say? Can I speak freely with you? Are you someone I want to hang out with all the time? Do we have fun together? Do I feel safe with you? Based on anecdotal evidence, I predict it’ll save a lot of time to discover I don’t actually like someone before I become too emotionally invested to be objective.
I’m used to the presence of anxiety when I start dating. This might just be the way that I’m wired, or maybe this is just how dating is. But for once, I’d really like for my guard to already be down when I become romantically involved with someone—to know who they are and what to expect from both them and myself. Also, to know that we like each other for who we know the other person to be rather than an idea of them we’re unfairly projecting on one other, an inevitable route to disappointment. This is an especially useful exercise for me because I’m never not nursing a crush or three, and I can stand to disabuse myself of imagined versions of people I haven’t taken the time to get to know so I don’t ignore red flags, like that guy I dated whose favourite band was Coldplay. (I’m sorry, but THIS is a CRIME; they are not so much a band as a bland, and I should have walked away from the beginning.)
Guys in particular are so wary of being friend-zoned, I’m not sure how easy this new initiative is going to be to pilot. But I’m confident it’ll be worth it, and I see this as an extension of rewriting my story. I’m too long in the tooth to be waiting to be swept off my feet. The last few years have been arduous and reminded us of the value of support; for me personally, the most important thing that I’ve come out of this period with has been community. So it feels right that 2023 is for friendship, not fairytales.
Things that helped this month
Juice
I did a juice cleanse, which you’ll probably know if you follow me on Instagram because it’s all I talked about for like a week. I talked about it so much you would think I invented the juice cleanse. I don’t know how so-called influencers can tolerate colonising wellness—I feel like an insufferable bore after just a week of odious gut health-related musings (navel-gazing, literally).
It really was worth it, though. I was interested in trying it for a digestive reset, but I didn’t expect I would feel it more mentally and emotionally than physically. Yes, I was hungry—but the hunger wore off after a day and a half, and I was left feeling calm and lucid. It made me realise how much noise I create in my body by giving it so much work to do, and it’s made me want to cut out stressors and stimulants like caffeine and food that’s harder to process. It was also a great time—because I was conserving my energy, I limited activity: I stayed home, journaled, and read two whole books in a weekend.
This is the one I did—the brand is co-owned by a friend of mine, but I’d go back to them again for value and expertise. I really appreciated their thoughtful, beautiful content and the way their app guided me through the whole cleanse.
Truth bombs
This has fast become my favourite podcast. I’ve been reading Glennon Doyle for about six years and she has tuned me into a lot of really major topics that have encouraged me to examine myself more thoroughly. This podcast is such a wealth of knowledge and discourse, and mirrors many of the discussions I have with my close friends. If you’re into “the work”, this is a great resource. This week, I’ve listened to this episode twice because too many neurons were firing the first time to digest it properly. I think everyone will find something for them in the 172 episodes (how do they produce so much content??)—if nothing else, their “Embarassing Stories” and “Easy Fridays” episodes are always a delight.
A cute new book shop
You know I love an independent book seller, and I passed by this delightful bookshop the other day. They have an ephemeral, but extensive, collection curated around a single theme that changes every few months, I believe. Currently it’s ‘friendship’, and as well as the main collection in the front there’s a staff’s pick section at the back full of books that the team personally recommend. I could spend hours browsing in there, which I intend to do because they have cute little chairs in there probably for that very purpose.
A cute new wine bar
Here are some things I love:
natural wine
groovy music
dancing
great service
Italians
—ideally, within walking distance of my home. So I was extremely thrilled when I happened upon the opening of a cute new spot on my way home last weekend with an abundance of all of the above. It’s a lovely place where you’ll probably find me quite frequently from now on.
Japanese home cooking
This editions plugs are heavy on local food and drink, because I’m only seeking comfort in places within walking distance—and there’s little I find more comforting than Japanese food that looks and tastes like anything my many obachan made me in my childhood. This is my favourite Japanese spot in Berlin not only because it’s excellent, but it also has such a welcoming vibe that I feel like I’m going to see family every time. They only do hot food in the winter, and I’m making the most of it.
IFC
That’s “Indian fried chicken”. Myself and several other friends have got hooked on Gully Burger at Markthalle Pfefferberg, which is a sometimes-indulgence that frankly is getting a bit out of hand lately. I don’t know how they make it so delicious, but it’s unreasonable to the point I feel a bit indignant about it—on behalf of chickens, and my waistline. My order is the chicken burger with cheese fries (the loaded fries are rude, also), and it goes great with a margarita or a glass of orange wine from Valla Vino.
Claws
If you’re not vain about your nails, or don’t want to be, keep scrollin’. Last year, I learned about builder in a bottle (BIAB) polish. It’s a gel polish that strengthens nails to encourage growth. Key selling point: it is soaked off rather than filed off, which is what destroyed my nails in the first place. Now they’re sharp, on-point, and pretty all the time, which is coincidentally also how I like to keep my attitude. I’ve found it helps when I have a job that involves seeing my hands all the time (sike, I’m a touch-typer; this is just a flagrant defence for my vanity). Upkeep-wise, if you go for nail art then they need to be redone every 4 weeks or so; if you go for a solid colour, they can simply be refilled whenever you want. Love me some low-maintenance perfecshun. My favourite salons are Maggie in Prenzlauerberg and ISLA in Mitte.
Stand-up
Like a good sad clown, I’m laughing through my melancholy. Recently I most enjoyed Chelsea Handler’s new special, and Jo Koy’s. (Jo Koy is her ex whom she references in her special—I’m still sad that ended, and actually she discussed the breakup in a great episode of the above-mentioned podcast; it was a very moving and inspiring conversation on love and self-friendship that I really recommend listening to, whether you’re in a relationship or not.) Other comedians who keep me from the brink are Matteo Lane, Marie Faustin, Sam Morrill, Taylor Tomlinson, Atsuko, and Vidura B.R., whom I’m really excited to be going to see in Berlin in March (I think only his Lisbon and Amsterdam dates are not sold out, but worth checking).
Cats that helped this month
Not my cat, but this has brought me endless joy this past week—I love it so much I’ve turned it into a Whatsapp sticker so I can spread the joy:
My children continue to be blessings, although their auntie (my cousin) got them a bit too used to treats over the holidays and now I have to keep the beasts snacced around the goddamn clock or all hell breaks loose.
In fairness to Olive, it’s mostly Munchie who acts a demon. Here he is plotting his next campaign:
She, meanwhile, asks for nothing except the occasional snuggle:
They are both perfect.
I noticed this morning that it was starting to get light out by about 7:45. Brighter days are coming, y’all. Hang on to your comforter, meds, or hopes—whatever it takes.
Meanwhile, please enjoy this seratonin boost.
Deuces,