No man is an island, Entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manor of thine own Or of thine friend’s were. Each man’s death diminishes me, For I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know For whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee.
John Donne
sonder [ son-der ] noun the feeling one has on realizing that every other individual one sees has a life as full and real as one’s own, in which they are the central character and others, including oneself, have secondary or insignificant roles: In a state of sonder, each of us is at once a hero, a supporting cast member, and an extra in overlapping stories.
Dictionary.com
It’s none of my business why someone is wearing headphones when they are walking around town, what they are or are not listening to, or why they chose to wear gigantic ones that look like a vintage glam version of a Korean War radio setup.
Especially when I take the bus or go to the supermarket, it’s hard not to notice mostly people my age and younger wearing large, studio-style over-the-ear headphones. I imagine they are a lot harder to lose track of than earbuds, might be more comfortable on the inner ear, and avoid the waxy grossness that in-ear headphones face. They might also be more cost-effective compared to earbuds for the time being.
More than anything though, I bet they help with overstimulation in noisy areas and visually broadcast to others “leave me alone.” I can definitely feel the need for that.
I tend to carry a small pair of off-brand earbuds around with me, but I don’t use them nearly as much as you’d think. In fact, except when I’m specifically trying to focus or I’m listening to an audiobook, I like hearing and connecting with what’s around me. Not for any grouchy, holier-than-thou, “put down your phone and touch grass” reasons either. Those opinions and the people who have them irritate me.
It’s because I’m a writer and a storyteller, and to tell good stories you have to learn to listen and find them first.
Go far enough down a rabbit hole, and you’ll find more than Wonderland. No subject or history happens in a vacuum and, if you are curious enough, you’ll find links to people, moments, movements, and concepts you might not have thought possible.
I’m reading an oddly engaging book that is, ostensibly, about a famous sibling rivalry in Battle Creek, Michigan at the dawn of the 20th century. The book is also about American foodways of the time, the history of medicine, and the beliefs of various Christian sects in America- namely the Millerites, the Grahamites, and the Seventh-Day Adventists.
You might think that’s a little far afield for a book on sibling rivalry- until you realize that the brothers in question were Dr. John Harvey and Will Kellogg. Together, they created the “wellness” industry, pioneered the mass production of food… and so helped give 21st-century weirdos something else to obsess over.
I’m writing this post while sitting at a beautiful new desk in the corner of my bedroom. It’s a 1940s Chippendale reproduction secretary desk- the kind that opens outward and contains cubbies, drawers, nooks, and secret compartments inside. It’s seen better days, but except for a little hardware and some polishing, the desk is in excellent condition.
It’s the kind of desk that fits my “dark academia hobbit” vibe perfectly. Sitting down at it just makes me want to write, and even better- I got it for free off of someone’s curb. It belonged to the original owner’s grandmother and it’s just “had its time with them.” They were glad it was being adopted by a writer though instead of winding up in a landfill.
I bring it up because, in the last week or so, various aspects of my life have turned for the better. I’m finally starting to lose weight again, my money management has improved so that I’m actually able to save again, and I’ve successfully pitched two new desserts at work in addition to getting a cost-of-living pay increase.
My dad would say “Don’t question it, just say thanks and carry on.” It’s a typically Jewish superstitious mindset- “When good things happen, don’t question it and don’t express too much happiness or it’ll all go away.” I catch myself in that all the time. I rarely say “everything’s great”- it’s always “I’m doing alright.” “Things could always be better” as a Jewish mental/emotional/spiritual/supernatural insurance against things getting worse.
I am starting to question and wonder about this, though, simply because this isn’t the first time it’s happened. A feeling of something “clicking” into place and unlocking a cosmic level-up. The best that I can tell, it’s because success cascades, and “winning” once can inspire you to succeed in other areas, consciously or not.
A better computer that can fit nicely inside with the front closed will be next, but you have to admit this is classy and cozy as hell.
The winery where I work has an excellent view. It’s a major selling point as far as our clientele goes- people can look down on the valley over vineyards and woodland while sipping a glass of wine and take it easy. It’s a magnet for photos and set dressing when weddings and celebrations buy out some space.
When I arrive to work early in the morning, that view is usually all mine- but I don’t take advantage of it at all. I have work to do.
That’s no one’s fault but mine, of course. I get in early because that’s when The Baker shows up. I get the most space and most access to the ovens for a limited time before the rest of the kitchen rolls in mid-morning to afternoon, and I need to get to work.
So I show up early, knowing I have work to do, but I always want to walk out on the patio where the guests sit- where I absolutely don’t belong during business hours (and in fact would prefer not to be)- and just soak up that view for a moment. The stillness. The vastness. My smallness. The soothing balm of scale and insignificance to start the day, and keep with me while I obsess over rolls, bites of cake, and bits of chocolate that manage to mean everything to me… and absolutely nothing at all.
I never do, though. I have work to do, and I don’t get paid- OR pay- to enjoy the view.
The ignorance, the arrogance, and the eager cruelty on parade into our eyes and brains (whether in caution or praise) gets to be way too much after a while.
Earlier this week was Passover. We didn’t do a Seder this year because timing and activity didn’t work out in our favor. Instead, Emily made chicken satay for dinner. I sat on the porch typing away at this piece after having scrolled through far too much nonsense. That’s one reason this blog post is so late- I simply haven’t had the bandwidth after coming back from Philadelphia.
I finished a small glass of grog (because rum is alright for Passover and I had rice lager waiting to be paired with dinner) and I chatted with a dear friend about the logistics of making Sephardic matzo for a change- as opposed to the hard, cracker-like Ashkenazi matzah I’ve had my entire life.
I wore white linen, watched the light change on Mount Tabor as the sun went down, and I’m listened to Ladino music as I wrote (but Zac Brown Band’s tribute to Jimmy Buffett, “Pirates and Parrots,” is still in my head.)
I spent the day in the sun. Here’s what I have to say about it all.
Glad I finally found a tweed vest that goes with that hat. Thanks Goodwill!
The Black Hat Baker 