Growing Pains

in my twenties :-)

A boy I dated once said to me—dead serious—that his legs hurt because he “had growing pains,” while we waited for a Venice Beach bus that never showed up (I love LA public transit). Unfortunately, he was 5’6 (at best), 20 years old, and was trying to ask me out (boys, amirite). I told him I was pretty sure it’s impossible to have growing pains after the age of 20. Needless to say, our relationship didn’t last very long (and no, he didn’t grow any taller), but this story resurfaced time and time again over bottles of screw-top Trader Joe’s wine with friends—because it tends to make everyone feel a little better about their most recent lackluster Tinder date. At least he didn’t try to convince you he had growing pains, right?

But lately I’ve been thinking that I would like to retract the statement about growing pains not existing after twenty.

Because recently--somewhere between cleaning toilets in Andalusia, hitchhiking my way across Spain (oops forgot my parents read these too) to barely catch a flight, and mermaid-drawing lessons with my 6 year old cousin--I was struck by a bit of a revelation, that I am profoundly happy.

To be clear, I still have no f!ing idea what I’m doing next, cry over my own complicity amid the suffering in the world (weltschmerz anyone?), and admittedly felt victimized by the volume of umbrella-sharing couples crowding Granada’s narrow streets (from under my soaked-through raincoat)…but still, I feel at peace with myself in a novel yet deep, unshakeable way. My growing pains are subsiding, softening at the edges, relieving a pain I was woefully underprepared for as I smiled in my graduation cap last June, cozily watching The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants with my roommates, vaguely finishing up final papers. What’s with all of the coming of age movies about turning 16, but never about 23? Where was my Perks of Being a Wallflower, my Lady Bird? Perhaps they would be too messy; if not a little anticlimactic, lacking satisfying resolutions.

But what the hell, let's get messy. The more I share about myself with others, the more I realize that none of us has ever had an entirely original experience in our entire lives anyway.

For my part, I felt shaken at the shoulders with a mirror held to my face, desperately struggling to answer the question: Who do you see in that mirror? Who is she? Without the group chats named after inside jokes slowly fading to irrelevance, the GPA that didn’t quite earn special graduation cords, glowing letters of recommendation for “a pleasure of an intern,” color-coded Google Calendars, and t-shirts from apply-only student orgs now demoted to frayed pajama shirts? Who is she? What does she want? What does she need?

It hurt because I didn’t know how to answer any of those questions. I didn’t like who I saw in the mirror. I didn’t want to listen to her whine about being tired, confused, lonely, about the stories she kept digging up from her past. In college, that voice had been so easy to drown out, with a smorgasbord of harmless pain-killers: Passing exams, hosting the best parties and potlucks in Westwood, days that started at six am and ended at midnight, running marathons, saving the world, and “fixing” other people’s problems.¹ It had been so easy to avoid the simple, painful fact that I was not friends with my own self.

I hated everything about my first 9-5 corporate job in Washington DC, but especially how much time I spent by myself. The sudden proximity to my own thoughts and feelings. How much harder it was to distract myself from myself—though not for lack of trying: I took myself on 5-hour walks ( & DC is not that exciting). I applied to jobs and master’s degree programs I didn’t want, then sent 15+ minute voice notes to my friends about them. I browsed Paper Source and Whole Foods with nothing to buy, filling my head with podcasts in French and endless Spotify playlists. Anything to drown out the sound of my own voice.

When you’re feeling down, stressed, or confused, everyone² tells you to “take care of yourself³.” Blablabla. What is that supposed to mean when you don’t know who that elusive “yourself” is? When you haven’t had free time since Saturdays in fourth grade, how are you supposed to know what you even like to do? When you are an expert at looking at the bright side and making the best of the situations you find yourself in, how do you, now, go about choosing those situations yourself? What do you mean no one is going to tell me that I must apply to medical school, or where I have to live, or what I need to do after work?

I didn’t know what else to do (my mother, unfortunately, was not forcing me to go to medical school) (I did ask), so I leaned in. To contend with the pitiful, paralyzing fact that I did not like who I saw in the mirror. I set about befriending her, through those awkward arranged playdates where someone has to say “sooo whaddya wanna do now?” every ten minutes. I asked myself how I felt. I journaled. I slept in. I made pasta at home while my Very Cool and Popular parents⁴ went to parties four nights in a row. I read books about the brain, in search of some confirmation that mine was working properly. I didn’t really know what I was doing, or why, or what I was looking for.

But lately, I have noticed that my eyes don’t hurt as much from looking at my self; my ears don’t ring when I hear myself say “I don’t know” again. I don’t want to go for a 5-hour run or scroll endlessly on social media when I am alone. I don’t have to listen to music and podcasts whenever I walk, because I don’t mind hearing myself think. I create more. I’m more vulnerable (HI GUYS). More cringe. More people know my secrets than ever (I sleep in socks). I enjoy learning about myself. I am okay not knowing what my next steps are because I trust myself enough to figure (sh)it out when the time comes. My self and I, we are tender new friends. This realization is essentially the foundation of this newsletter, the art of not knowing. Because now that I have a friend, it’s actually kind of fun.

Growing pains! After age twenty! Who knew!

---

(hellooo so it felt/feels a little selfish to write all about my silly little self and plop it into your inbox on a random Sunday. as I wrote, the thoughts ‘I’m being dramatic’ and ‘who tf asked?!⁵’ circulated my brain incessantly. I mean I guess you could have just deleted the email. but you’re here, even if you didn’t ask, so thank you!)

Lately:

Eating: My current hyperfixation combo is any white cheese with (apricot) jam, or apples. Jocelyn (age 6) tells me this is Bluey’s favorite too. (“are you secretly Bluey Alexandra?”) (“maybe”)

Reading: Seems like all the Cool Girls are reading Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar, so obviously I had to as well. I’m almost done, and I’ve really enjoyed. Akbar has the kind of writing that invites you to devour, following Cyrus Shams through addiction and loss and art and being Persian-American. Recommend.

Short Reads: The Invention of Trash is so good. How to be life's personality hire literally had me taking notes on how to be Cooler—which, I know, probably just cancels things out.

Writing:

• I wrote a mini-essay on joy. I think it’s kind of cute & you can read here.

• I wrote my recipe for a simple kale salad and my homemade Granola recipe too! Also, I wrote a post all about magnesium. You can find them in my Nutrition Section ).

  

Listening: Kevin Kaarl, king of my Latin Indie music moment. Somewhere between Caamp and Milky Chance, but in Spanish. Also having a Fleetwood Mac moment, which I tend to whilst traveling because you can’t travel by train without listening to “Seven Wonders” at least once, it’s a rule.

Other random thoughts and things I read that are currently living rent-free⁶ in my brain:

1. My little cousins say that American accents are “gangster.” This they tell me whilst sipping sparkling water and eating marmite toast in their 7-piece school uniforms.

2. This: “A charming person is not one that glimmers but holds a mirror to your glow — a conversation with them makes you fall for them by making you fall for yourself.” ✨

3. My dad’s old friend called him A Liberal (derogatory). (**giving myself a pat on the back**)

4. I remain at a loss for words regarding attacks on voices of dissent in the US, the most recent being the arrest of Mahmoud Khalil (among others) at Columbia University. I wish there was more we could do, as he remains in detention in Louisiana, far from his support network (& his 8-month pregnant wife), but here is the link to donate to his emergency fund, if you can. This piece by Megan Thuy offers actionable steps, including phone numbers you can call complete with scripts. !!ALSO, the media discourse splitting hairs on the fine details of his green card status is meant to distract from being human & caring, but remember that they wouldn’t try to silence voices if they didn’t matter.

5. Everyone in London seems to be out running (training for London Marathon?), decked out in their Salomon and Gymshark and Patagonia vests (obviously). London is deliciously flat (after 2 months in the mountains in Spain), with endless cafes for me to treat myself to my post-20km matchas (instead of investing in my IRA) (IM KIDDING DAD), andddd it’s been sunny every day for me so far. Thank you London 👍👍👍👍

& finally, a few miscellaneous pictures of pretty moments:

Painted sky, Cousins!, Spanish almond blossoms, Tower Bridge, Río Aguas Blancas, Granada, Crayons!, Run date🥰, etc

Okay I love you guys! All of you! Thank you so much for reading, being here, etc etc etc <3 I hope that, wherever you are reading this from, be it your desk at work (looking at you, Genevieve) or waiting for a bus in El Salvador (hi Frogabel)…your life is full of many bright moments. And one last thing! Even though I ABSOLUTELY can (and will) talk to a Brick Wall, I would love to hear from you--you can reply to this email, leave a comment, cold call me on Whatsapp or whatever and I would be so happy. Did I mention I love all of you?! Okay bye! Until next time!

Love,

Ale

1. Gotta love other people’s problems for convincing yourself you definitely have none!!!!!!! Also, friends who call you out on your bullshit make the world go round. <3

oh yeah photo proof, owning it

2. “everyone” being Instagram therapists and self-help books about inner peace

3. I am a major offender tbf.

4. The Popular and Cool Parents in question:

5. those with brothers who reply to stories with a “who?” followed by “who asked?”🔥 will understand #roasted

6. freelancing, some (Sam) would say