1. Since living alone I’ve felt more at peace. Not necessarily happy, 24/7—happiness, I think, requires all the pieces to fall into place…and at 24 years old, everything is just beginning to shift—but for the first time in two decades, I’ve been able to breathe.
Maybe “at peace” isn’t the right description. Relief is more accurate: For the first time in 20 years, I’m allowed the room (physically, emotionally, mentally) to just be in my own headspace. I don’t have to move around people or answer questions. I don’t have to explain anything to anyone. I can just exist, perched on my shiny new barstool, in sweatpants or a fancy AP set. I can revel in happiness and also wallow in sadness—experiencing every moment without interruption or feeling obligated to explain my emotions. It’s a relief.
Pride contributes to it too. No matter how horrible or overrun I feel, I’m put at ease the moment I step foot into my condo. This is my home—mine: the first thing that’s truly, indisputably my own.
2. I caved and got acrylics.
But in two weeks’ time when I’m left with outgrown nails and have to spend the next two hours soaking my fingers in acetone, I’ll chide myself for getting them in the first place and make an oath to never set foot in a nail salon again.
I love long nails, though. My (very valid) excuse is that they’re a necessary part of my costume for shows and shoots—it’s true that they add drama to each movement and articulate every gesture—but outside of my performance persona, I love how femme and (for lack of a better word) fierce they make me feel.
3. While we’re on the subject of superficial pick-me-ups, an abridged list of things that make me feel better immediately (albeit temporarily): Binge-buying books, applying Glossier Haloscope everywhere, pre-ordering bikinis, self-tanning, preening my condo, patting La Mer under my eyes, lighting up a Diptyque candle.
5. …so I’m reading again, more. (See no. 3, binge-buying books.)
. . .