The only way out is through
Alma on the eye of the storm
There are moments in your life where there is a hurricane in your kitchen. It is shattering what you bought and just cleaned, it is ripping from the hinges what you thought was unyielding. It is keeping you in a constant run, trying to piece back what’s breaking while the hurricane still roars.
You try to build something and the hurricane just reminds you it is there, and will be for a while. The more you try to fix, the more you try to escape, the more you try new ways to tackle it, the longer the hurricane continues. All the hurricane says is, ‘The lesson is somewhere else’.
And then you realise the only thing you can do is sit. Sit under a table with those you love, and just let it. Just feel. Times in life where you can only endure are just as vital as time you build. You may want to move, to fix, but just sit. Feel. The only way out is through.
Once the hurricane passes, and it does pass, you tentatively look up from your hiding spot, you unclench your knuckle-white fists. You carefully stand upright, assess the damage, the debris on the ground, and you realise that when everything else falls, there you are.
2024 gifted me with a best friend with cancer, a mother with cancer, an unwanted cross-continental move, a breakup, and the end of a job. All at the same time!
I don’t say gifted ironically, I truly don’t. As much as I wish these things hadn’t happened, they did. What I can do now is decide how I feel about them. And I choose the only thing that makes me stronger than these things, which is to find where gratitude can lie. Gratitude that everyone is now well, and stable, and travelling in the Philippines (shout out to my gorgeous Cass). Gratitude that I was not alone during any of these things, but rather witnessed some of the most selfless and beautiful moments of love I have ever lived. Gratitude is the antidote to that bitterness of asking yourself why. Gratitude is what forms experiences into lessons, and lessons into growth. It’s what gives the world beauty.
So in the midst of all that, I learnt the lesson we relearn and forget several times throughout our lives - that growth comes from discomfort. Discomfort that phones and laptops were built to escape from, discomfort we have pathologised and over intellectualised, discomfort that can only be dealt with by being felt. So that’s what they mean by sit with it.
I spoke to a friend today who told me she battles her feelings of inadequacy by always signing up to the next project, having multiple projects at once, always building. Then comes the overexhaustion, the depression. We feel we should do, move, activate. But what would happen if she just sat down and breathed, chewed on those feelings, and saw where they lead her? Would something more authentic, with better answers, speak back to her?
After the hurricane comes the rebuilding, armoured by the lessons you learnt if you sat still during the hurricane and just felt. My lesson was also that the things I built were not built with strong enough foundations. Learn the art of letting go. And start again.
If you’ve made it this far in the text, I’ll tell you that I no longer live in London. My love-hate relationship with all the city gave (people) and took away from me (money) came to a grinding halt for visa reasons. I can safely say, though, that I have learned far more from leaving London than living in it. And for that I am incredibly grateful.
Many people are afraid of one big thing that keeps them from achieving goals. I believe mine was building something and it being torn down. I didn’t understand how people carefully constructed their mountains of belongings, hopes, 5 year plans, responsibilities. Commitment-phobe, is what you might call me.
What I didn’t realise was that I was actually, indeed, unknowingly, building a home. I found my favourite 3am kebab shop. I learnt the shortcuts in tube stations to cut through the crowds. I learnt which tube carriage is packed to the brim, but if you wait for the next one it’s completely empty. I learnt what cinema places check the 25 and under and which don’t. I learnt what days my friends work from home, and what their favourite flowers are. I learnt what pubs my friends preferred and which they hated. I learnt what Italian deli makes Argentinian empanadas. I know that club in London Bridge still has my scarf. I loved you. I built a home. And it tore down. And I’m okay!
And while I loved the chaos of buying a free sofa off of FB Marketplace and carrying it down the street with amazing people, liked the 1-year contracts, liked the ‘it’s only for now’ jobs – I have accepted, finally, finally, that time is finite, and I am indeed building things. And I would like to face my commitment issues, and invest, and build things that are long-lasting – a career, a relationship, a self. And it will be done my way, I don’t doubt it – with confusion, trial and error, and undoubtedly many more countries. But it’ll be for something, deciphering the puzzle towards something. I don’t fear that anymore, I don’t evade. Moments like this year remind me that I am capable of it, so I have nothing to fear. I can love, try, build, expose myself – knowing I have survived rejection, heartbreak, failure, uprooting.
Responsibility comes from the Latin responsus, ‘to respond’ to a situation you are faced with. You shoulder a situation and stand up to it. You assume your life. You show up for yourself.
And I urge you after your hurricane, if ever possible, to travel to a warm, beautiful, walkable city. The sun on your face with music in your ears. A little coffee.
READING, LISTENING, WATCHING, PLAYING
This section is coming at you from Buenos Aires, Argentina - some are quite a summery recommendations. Maybe it’ll make my European babes summon heat, conjure it in their mind, and feel somehow warmer? Here’s hoping, and if not, please, flag them for your next hot summering.
READ 📚
Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend and the rest of her Neapolitan Quartet. Reading about Naples heat, Italian summering, and reading on beaches while in the heat of Buenos Aires makes my limbo-esque time here feel like a 1960s summering away from the big city.
Selva Almada’s Not A River (Esto no es un río) - An Argentine female writer. I don’t think there’s a more beautiful, harrowingly human genre of literature that Latin American magical realism, do yourself a favour and read it!
WATCH 📺
How to Survive A Plague - A documentary on the collective, almost militaristic organisation of ACT UP activism during the AIDS epidemic. Heart-wrenching, beautiful, and shows the actual labour behind activism.
La Chimera - Not enough people saw this gorgeous film! And I’m craving Italy.
Anora - I knew it deserved the Oscar win, but I didn’t think they’d actually go and do it!
DO ✨
Digital detox. 7 days, no social media (other than WhatsApp), no Spotify (I know), no Pinterest, no movies. Only books allowed (and cinema, but not too much). I promise you it’s like a brain fog lifts.
LISTEN 🎧
Please bear with me as I rep Argentina one more time.
‘The Burden: Avenger’ podcast by Orbit Media. It tells the story of journalist Miriam Lewin who was kidnapped during the Argentine dictatorship, survived, and whose investigation led to the trial and imprisonment of those responsible for the infamous 'death flights’.
Bandalos Chinos - an Argentine band for your hot girl walks. Start with Departamento, or Vámonos De Viaje, or Mi Fiesta, or Demasiado. I can’t pick.
Bad Bunny - Debí Tirar Más Fotos. Not Argentine, but I’ll allow it. Bangers.
This resonated so much with me, as someone who moved to London 5.5 years ago! Thanks so much for writing