Return to Routine

Issue No.1: Routine | Time & Money | Film : Caterpillar | Movies, Books & Baths | Thx & Bye

As someone who grew up in Southern California, blessed/cursed with predictably balmy weather that seldom strayed too far on either side of 72 and sunny, experiencing all four seasons is a novelty I’ll never tire of.

Almost 25 years ago, this beautiful, quarterly climactic change in temperature and meteorological events, acutely experienced in some regions and not others, sealed the deal on my move to Chicago. Primarily, I moved here for the affordable rent and the music scene. But now, my life is so tied to the Midwestern seasons, I can’t imagine one without the other.

They define my wardrobe and my hair style and my skincare routine. I’ve learned during my last eight years of self-employment that they define my workflow and income, and thus my free time and vacations (or lack thereof). They define my happiness and unhappiness, my mental health and physical health, my sex life and my social life. They define my creative output and my hobbies and whether or not I feel like baking or drinking or sewing, or doing anything at all.

Writing this toward the end of what felt like an alarmingly quick summer, barely enough time to jump in the lake or make it to Miko’s, it feels like autumn is tripping over itself to get here. And I’m here for it.

Fall is the return to a familiar routine after a summer of sunburns and slacking off. And as someone on the OCD spectrum, routine is my boyfriend.

All seasonal shifts, especially this one, mark a kind of letting go that I can get behind. Similar to the new year or a birthday, both of which I tend to celebrate with symbolism over socializing, the transition from summer to fall grants permission to shift priorities — from the heat-wilted plants in the yard to the attention-starved sourdough starter, from uncomfortably cold pools and scalding hot sand to increasingly dark, 68-degree evenings that are just right for leafy walks in Blundstones, for long dinners with red wine, for writing.

The start of fall brings a clean slate: a meteorological move to hunker down and get shit done.

This fall, that means launching this newsletter — something that’s been on the to-do list for literally years. A few people who know me very well asked, “Why?” My answer? Because I have to; because the nature of writing is to write. My dear friend David wrote about this exact phenomenon in his most recent newsletter. (None of my writer friends have asked why. They know why.) 

Especially as a professional writer vs. a creative one, committing to writing something beyond the daily scratches in my journal feels important at this stage in my life, when I’m easing into my own autumn. Virginia Evans captured this sentiment beautifully in The Correspondent: 

I have to think that when it comes to seasons we all get one round. We are born and grow through childhood in spring. We live those glorious, lively, interesting years of our twenties, thirties, forties in summer. We settle into ourselves in autumn, that cool but not yet cold time, rich and aromatic. And in winter we age (brutally) and die.

Though I’m not quite there yet, biologically, I’m on the brink of fall. And I have shit to do.

Time & Money

I’ve been fortunate to spend time with several delightful clients over the past season. Summer marked the official launch of Arts First: a groundbreaking new nonprofit arts organization here in Chicago. We’re a tiny but mighty team, and the work feels really good. (Sign up for our newsletter!) I’ve also logged a lot of time working on a big case study for Eduardo Briceño, master of the Learning and Performance Zones; and a few smaller case studies for small-biz operations sensei Layla Pomper of ProcessDriven. I’m also happy to be spending time supporting a few projects for the design gurus at Span, and added a familiar block to the calendar a few weeks back: the return to teaching writing after a semester off.

A Film as a Caterpillar

How does a movie get made? 

Over the summer, I began learning the answer in real time, as a script I finished last fall is has entered the caterpillar stage of becoming a film. It’s called Breadwinner, and it’s a psychological thriller focused on themes of matrescence and mental health in pre–MeToo corporate America. Currently, there’s not much to show for it besides a very patient Instagram account, but there’s quite a bit happening in my inbox and on Zoom and in conversations with people who’ve been kind enough to chat about it.

Last month, a lead producer and a director officially hitched their wagons to Breadwinner, and this fall we’re moving into casting and vetting cinematographers and production partners. And, like any grassroots independent film team, we’re ramping up to pitch potential investors. If you or someone you know is curious to get involved from a financial standpoint, I would love to hear from you. Truly.

Movies, Books & Baths

As research for this new creative pursuit, I’ve been seeing as many movies in the theater as time and money allow. With Film Club (which is exactly what it sounds like), there have been two standouts over the past several months: A Sad and Beautiful World, aptly named and just a gusher from a tear duct standpoint; and Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma which was so smart and gross and hilarious, I kind of can’t wait to see it again.

I also dragged my husband to a sultry, late-August screening of Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet, which I distinctly remember reading about in a glossy magazine at The Hair Connection in Claremont, where I worked during the summer of 1996. It has aged perfectly. My husband wasn’t into it because it was “too ’90s.” Which, of course, is the point.

I’m not the biggest reader (that would be Elise Loehnen). But I have a nightly routine of reading in the bath, made extra luxurious when accompanied by a half-cup of lavender Dr. Teals salts and handful of individually wrapped Tony’s. Last night I finished Belle Burden’s Strangers and have an unexpected amount of feelings to unpack. Would I have enjoyed this memoir more (or less) if Burden identified as lower- or middle-class, or wasn’t white, or had to work to earn a living? Does that even matter, since I inhaled it and want to talk about it — both indicators of a good book? Also on my nightstand is Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs, and Steel. I’ve put off reading it for nearly 30 years…and then paused to focus on library holds, which feel especially urgent given our recent delays. (Sorry, Jared.) Other summer reads that blew my mind: Godshot by Chelsea Bieker (what a debut), Writers & Lovers by Lily King (legend), and Whistler by Ann Patchett (just so classically good).

Thank You & Goodbye
Thank you for reading this far. I would love to know your honest thoughts on this newsletter. What, if anything, did you savor? What did you skip? What are you drawn to in a newsletter — and in life? What would you enjoy reading here?

Enjoy your autumn, and let’s meet again on the winter solstice.