Cuts, Secret Outings, and Adulthood

Today I messed up, big time.

  1. Instead of weeding, I chopped two of Zaza’s favourite little trees down which were just beginning to flower.
  2. I went on a two-hour bike trip that miraculously turned into four hours of me wobbling along the road.
  3. I got a gash across my calf and then while biking I also tumbled off and hit the side of my left ribcage.

I started complaining about this to Kristy, who then said to me, “treasure it – cuts, bruises, falls, biking in the sun – all of it, it sounds like childhood and in five years you won’t have anything like it anymore, in all likelihood.” And then I stopped complaining.

I kept beating myself up for the little trees, though I have learned the French, though they are not politely nice when they are upset, forgive easily. I had to keep reminding myself that I am not being graded. There is no end-of-term evaluation where the tree will take a toll on my GPA or my career opportunities. Heck, do I even know what opportunities I am looking for while I work in the countryside in the south of France?


Today I decided to bike to Pont du Gard, which amounted to a 30 km bike road and by the time I arrived at the UNESCO Heritage site, I was exhausted, had a bike even though I wanted to walk around and explore, and didn’t bring a bathing suit that I could jump into the cool-looking water under the bridge. And so when I came back home and Zaza qsked me where I had been I didn’t mention exactly where I had cycled to so that I would have an excuse for her to take me again one day when I could explore and swim next time around.


Today I finally reached out to a few beloved mentors and friends to ask for advice about the future, and also about the present, about this play and the one going up this October. Navigating the world of collaboration in the theatre is a whole new thing to me, especially because I’m only realizing now that it is not the theatre that is hard, it is what I, and we, care about that is truly challenging. I keep having to remind myself of the words from a poem by Rupi Kuar, “do not sacrifice honesty/ for relatability.”


Tomorrow the four of us are going to go out for lunch in a restaurant in town, because it’ll be Friday! Cleaning the pool this morning was gross as I waded through dead bugs and maybe maggots, but it ended quickly because the machine wasn’t working. (This was after I killed the trees and felt awful and had zero right to complain about my work tasks.) And then we had a roasted chicken for lunch and lovely raclette for dinner, which was basically just potatoes,melted cheese, and bacon. I miss vegetables, as does my skin, but I’ll try to get her to buy some soon.


 

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