Author Archives: ashtellsstories

To stay, fall in love, decide what my ultimate career would look like, tour an apartment and get a first hand arts education from some guy named Greg who I’m pretty sure adopted me? Because I’m feeling like day one is the perfect day for that.

Important context, I love a good fountain pen. If we have talked frequently during the quarantine, you probably know fountain pens replaced perfume shopping for me. I’ve collected five so far, which is the most restraint I could show. I guess six now, considering I found a fountain pen store today while on my 7 mile “walk until my feet hurt too bad to not be able to make it home” adventure, and it is glorious. It’s called Papier Plume, and they make their own ink and I am in love. In love with the store, in love with the paper, and definitely in love with the shopkeeper who I can say is now cast as the most interesting human I’ve ever encountered.

Does it count as getting lost if you’re doing it intentionally? I’m not sure if it does. I took whatever turn I felt like for hours, just trying to absorb as much as possible. People are still playing music in the streets, I can still drink cafe au lait’s, and it’s kind of nice not having drunk bachelorette parties throw up near my shoes. I was fully expecting today to just be an “absorbing” day. Window shopping, listening, and sitting any time I could find a park bench to tape record the music. And just when I decided it was time to turn around and start the walk back home (which is not on Frenchman, contrary to what I thought and have been telling people for the last month), something pulled me down one more left turn instead of going right like I was supposed to. And there it was, the most beautiful store I have ever seen.

Am I being dramatic? Yes. Too cheesy? Absolutely. But, it’s true. They had stationary imported from France, bottles and bottles of ink that they mix in special collections for limited release, Murano glass dipping pens, a woman positively FRETTING about the store making sure the colors were cohesive, the smell of linen and nothing but linen, all sorts of shining wax that the handsome shopkeeper gave me a discount on because I just walked up with handfuls. I honestly didn’t know what to do with myself. I wanted to move in, live under the table of ink pots and discount postcards. Tell my work I’m sorry but I actually am required to give this place 100% of my attention now, please tell our funders “yikes” from me. In case my point isn’t clear enough, I love it. I love being somewhere that just makes me feel like all of those strange longings and urges and things that make people roll their eyes at me ARE OKAY. There is an entire store dedicated to fountain pens. Do you know how many places I stopped at in California to ask if they carried fountain pens? Ask Jorden, she had to drive with me to them.

So to be in a place where I can stumble on a store that has been there for twenty years just…existing? In peace? I’m happy. Over the top, over the moon happy.

There’s a lot of other examples of this happening. I recorded a man playing one of my favorite songs on the saxophone today, there’s a perfumery that has been around since the 1843’s that makes custom blends (okay, maybe I’m not entirely over my perfume obsession), every balcony has plants dripping over the side, everyone has frizzy hair-not just me! It feels like this city is everything I love come to life.

Which is crazy, because it’s an actual whole city with a whole population of a whole group of humans who probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing I think their home is a fever dream of my wildest fantasies come true. But I’m starting to think this is what things feel like when you’re in the right place at the right time. That everything was made for you, that even if it’s been around for 200 years it’s fate that you met it right then and right there, that something as benign as a crack in the sidewalk can feel romantic.

I have grand plans to walk along the river this week. After that I want to find some swamps. And I can guarantee, I will think that bayou is just the greatest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life. I tried being reserved with my excitement before I came out here. I didn’t let myself think too hard about anything in case something happened and I couldn’t come.

But I’m here. I made it. And I’m happy.

Oh, and I cut bangs.

At some point in my life, I read or heard someone say everything you really want is on the other side of fear. I’ve been picturing it as this giant wall ever since. For some people their wall is a chain link fence, for some it’s more of a pile of rocks. For me it was cinder blocks. Cemented together. Stacked taller than most buildings. Basically impenetrable.

I know I don’t necessarily come off as afraid. I don’t hide under a bed when someone knocks at the door, or run away when I hear a loud noise. But I do cut myself off at the knees basically every time I get the chance. I’m not afraid of external things, but what would happen if I let myself actually live my life the way I wanted. We don’t need to get into why. That’s what I pay my therapist for. But the action was making me short. Foot and shinless and standing next to a big ass wall.

The only reason I’m doing this trip is because my mom didn’t let me back out. People have started referring to my plans as whims or schemes, because I don’t follow through with them. This time though, when I went to change my mind and tell my mom the list of reasons why it wasn’t a good idea anymore (even though it was a decent idea the night before) she stopped me. And told me “I think you’ll really regret it if you don’t do this”. So I operated in a semi-blind panic for the next three months while I saved enough money, talked to work, told my landlord (and roommates), consolidated and packed my things, said goodbye to everyone I know and care about, held my breath, swallowed my anti-depressants, and basically didn’t blink for 90 days so I wouldn’t screw anything up. There is only one thing that makes me more nervous than my own whims, and that’s disappointing my mom.

Which is how I came to be here. Writing to you. From a creepy, awesome, terrifying and incredible split shotgun in the seventh ward of New Orleans. And you know what? I’m not scared. I’m not on the other side of the wall. I’m not even sure if there was a wall to begin with. Fifteen minutes after driving away for the last time, I started smiling. And saying “yes” over and over and over. And everywhere I’ve gone so far, driving through sunsets and storms in Arizona, stopping to take a picture with a cactus and some aliens in New Mexico, falling so far past in love with Texas Hill Country, pulling up outside of this delightfully weird house in Louisiana, I just kept smiling and feeling the yes.

Driving from Texas to Louisiana meant driving through marshes, lakes, rivers and streams. Which meant a lot of bridges. For reasons I can’t explain, bridges are my biggest fear. Hate seeing them, being on them, being near them, hearing about them, all of it. My head gets swimmy just thinking about needing to drive a motor vehicle up over a bridge. No thank you. BUT. I had to take nothing but bridges for almost two hours today. Call it desensitization, or call it literally the only option available to me if I wanted to see some willow trees, but I wasn’t afraid. Well, I was a little afraid. But not enough to change my mind.

So far, nothing has been enough to make me change my mind. And I don’t want to. I want to be brave. I want to know that even if I’m afraid of something that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to make myself small. Especially if the only wall that’s in between me and what I want most out of life is one I put there.

You will get comfortable again

You find the best spot in the bed, your leg hitched over the curled up blankets to stretch your back. Arms wrapped around the pillow you spent too much money on, chin perfectly supported on the corner. One hand tucked under your forehead, fingers tangled in your hair. The other hand balancing a cell phone so you can read a book.

And then it’s time to turn the light off. And suddenly you feel like your whole body has melted into the bed and if you disturb it you’ll never find this level of comfort again.

But you have to turn the light off.

And I promise you. If you just push, and get up, and turn it off, that when you lay down your body will adjust. You’ll find a new way to move your leg to stretch somewhere else, maybe even put a foot under the sheet. Your pillow will still move for you, and your hands will still support all that you need. you just need to find your new space.

And you will be comfortable again.