I always kept the readers in mind, trying to ensure every email delivered substantial value. The last thing I expect that value to come from is a plain old personal journal.
I started writing when I was eleven, publishing online when I was fifteen. At thirty six for the very first time, I am writing as there is no audience, and here is the scattered September of mine…
Things that got me excited this September:
Waking up to a voice message from B.
Buying fancy headphones for my dad. The exact ones he skipped when researching, because “this would be an unnecessary expense; he can get good enough quality for a lesser price.” My father is that person who never wants you to worry about them. Always doing just fine. Asks for nothing. Happy when his loved ones are. He’s the first to bite his lip whenever I run into trouble, yet the absolute last to complain about his own problems. (If you love a person like this, you know too well how secretly terrifying this is.) The type of character who inspires entire novels, leaving readers rolling their eyes at how unrealistic they are.
Watching a live comedy club improv performance with a friend I don’t have to pretend I’m fine with.
Finding a quiet path on a walk with another friend on a day the whole city was buzzing with Warsaw Marathon loudness and last summer tourist remnants.
Finalizing the (almost 2-month-long) recruitment process into Meta and getting the job offer. I have never met such kind and welcoming people. Eventually, I didn’t accept the offer for personal reasons, but even the pre-entry experience was exceptionally positive. I haven’t felt this much sincere appreciation at a professional level in a very long time.
My dad calling me to ask if I created an e-delivery account for entrepreneurs. Iykyk.
Hearing from B. that he’s proud of me.
Seeing my doctor at the quarterly check-up. I told him I feel numb; he said that’s amazing because that’s finally something he knows how to fix. We listened to Linkin Park after.
On a flat line, finding elements of life that excite you and listing them is like taking a breath of air when, for the rest of the time, you live underwater. This is the moment when I would disclaim something like: “It’s uncomfortable to show vulnerability, but if this helps at least one person, it’s worth publishing.” Feel free to scratch that. Most likely the only person this blog entry will help is me. And I don’t want to be ashamed of it, hiding behind a pose of some greater good. Let’s admit I’m writing for an average good and move on.
Another September highlight is getting back to the Demon Copperhead story. I have an interesting relationship with this book. Not as awed by it as the rest of the world seems to be, but I get the phenomenon and respect it. I only wonder whether Demon’s character is honestly making people alike feel seen, or if it’s more of a not-so-gentle reminder for those who were dealt at least a little better hand in life to count their luck and keep it close.
Running two yoga sessions (covering for another teacher) – equally draining and fun. Especially the second one. I miss having enough serenity to lead classes regularly.
Re-watching The Diplomat in prep for the next season. Women dream of hearts and flowers; mine is the loyalty and respect at a Hal-and-Kate level.
You try to save the peace, you try to save the marriage, you keep talking. You talk to the people who want to kill you. You talk to the person who just blew up your life. You stay in the room because that's the job. You never stop talking.
The Diplomat. 2023. Season 1, episode 8, "The James Bond Clause." Directed by Alex Graves. Written by Debora Cahn.
Booking a single ticket for Arlo Parks’ concert. I gave up on denying myself music experiences when I can’t find anyone who’d like to go with me. Thanks to that, I experienced one of the most magical moments of my life at Ben Howard’s outdoor concert a couple of summers back. Highly recommended.
Finding a new healthy dish in the local breakfast place that I actually enjoy (this is rare).
Purchasing new books (this is not rare at all):
King Heart, by Lily King, translated to Polish by Dominika Chylińska
Blue Sisters, by Coco Mellors, translated to Polish by Anna Tomczyk
(I have had it in original since 2024, but never picked it up – giving it another go in my native language).The Highway Code (I don’t even know why I bought it.)
Dina, dina, by Agata Romaniuk
Sploty, by Anna Ciarkowska
Violet Bent Backwards Over The Grass, by Lana Del Rey
Adding a quote to my notebook:
It’s good to know the truth and talk about it. It’s better to know the truth and speak of palm trees.
— Arabic Proverb
***
I’ve always been decent at swimming. Decent at recognizing what I need to keep myself afloat. I think my brain is taking a break from knowing how to swim. It’s confusing. You watch this and do nothing, being used to a different me. What do I need? How can you help me? I’m living underwater. Some people call it drowning. Not sure this is a state you can instruct your savior. But I’m living here quietly. Without struggle. Without making noise. Without splashing water all over the place. Occasionally, making a few tactical moves that let me surface and grab a lousy breath. Some people call it diving.
That was September of mine.
October has found me a diving tube, and now I breathe easy here. Writing letters to my future self. Occasionally noticing the coral reefs.
Maybe I’m gonna tell you about it in November.
Love,
Lena