You’re reading Try Stuff Energy, a newsletter on putting yourself out into the word and trying stuff. Written by Caitlin Sowers.
A gentle warning that an eating disorder will be discussed below ~ if it doesn’t serve you to hear about that, pls skip.
These brief thoughts have sat in my drafts for a long time but now feels like a good time to hit send.
Sugar cube sweet potatoes
If you cut a sweet potato in half, each half into four lengths, turn the lengths ninety degrees and cut sugar cube sized squares, you’ll be doing what Rachel did before I walked into her sister’s kitchen on an early morning last fall. I notice the perfect orange cubes immediately, neatly placed on a baking tray waiting for the oven to warm. Their time-consuming shape makes me feel important. She’s making us breakfast and smiles “Hi Cait”. The pandemic has emphasized the warmth of this simplicity, a friend cooking breakfast.
We sit our plates down on the dining table. She asks how I’m doing and the words fall out of my mouth so quickly I’m surprised by their urgency. “I’ve been struggling with an eating disorder. My relationship with food scares me.” I realize I’ve admitted this to myself for the first time. She nods, her eyes attentive, listening. I’m safe. Her silence holds space for the shame I’ve been filled with to exist somewhere outside myself. I tell her more. I sense a comforting thought form, that if I’m scared of this, I cannot be this. There is some part of me that can fight.
I would find the strength to later that year, and my conversation with Rachel was the first step. I think of the tenderness in what she did for me that day when I take the time to cut my own sweet potatoes into sugar cubes, making myself important.
Put your shoes on
I feel the warmth of sun on my face. I’m sitting alone in a bustling cafeteria that book ends a public market. The tables and chairs match the wood panelled walls reminding me of a cozy ski chalet. To my right is a large window filled with a blue sky, in front of me a mostly finished chai tea blended with hot milk and butter. I’m indulging in a german sausage topped with onions and sauerkraut on a soft potato bun. I’m surprised by all of this, particularly my good mood.
An hour earlier I was talking myself out of leaving my apartment. My main arguments included not having the right sneakers, both my water bottle and film camera being unable to fit in my tiny backpack, not having scrolled through 25 cafes to scout the optimal lunch destination, and an uncertain reading on the temperature outside. I’m taken out of my melodrama by a few paces around the apartment followed by a peek out the window, where I’m confronted with the reality that the people below were able to leave their apartment this morning. I decide to put my shoes on, choose my water bottle over the camera, and set off on foot.
Soon into my walk I need to pee. This is not uncommon for a person who prioritizes a water bottle over most possessions when leaving home. I’ve walked further than I planned and realize the nearest is on Granville Island, a tourist spot I usually turn my nose up to. I’m in no position to be picky and duck in to use the restroom at their public market. As I move through the bustling crowd to find an exit, I feel a growing charm toward the vendors and families happy to be here. I slow down. A warm and spicy scent lures me toward a booth serving hot masala chai tea blended with butter. I order one without taking my phone out to read a single review. Soon after I find a sausage for lunch, and a freshly deep fried cinnamon sugar donut for dessert.
While I eat I watch the families outside. My phone vibrates with a text from a friend asking if I want to meetup, they happen to be around the corner. I smile at the whimsy of one yes, leaving my apartment this morning. I believe they call this going with the flow.
Filtered reality
In late 2020 after a mandated quarantine I find myself downtown for the first time in months. Like a zoo animal released in the wild, I tentatively explore my natural habitat. I study faces like they are foreign, fascinated by how 3D they appear. I feel curious, stimulated, and unfamiliar with my pack. A far cry from the casual conversation I had the day before with coworkers from behind a computer screen, my first layer of protection, the second, my apartment’s four outer walls.
I notice the three inches of skin above a woman’s cotton mask working in a floral shop, which look blemished and textured, her acne evident. I leave, stepping off the curb only to pass another woman, I clock her skin as textured and irritated. This pattern repeats. I scan the faces as I walk, realizing imperfect skin outweighs the perfect. I wonder how I haven’t noticed this before. Confused, I scroll instagram in my mind, recalling the hundreds if not thousands of perfectly clear faces I’ve seen throughout lockdown. The dissonance is jarring. Working remotely for three years has meant virtual reality is my normal. Like a fish in a living room tank, after long enough I had forgotten it was an imitation of the real thing.
Thanks for reading 💞
Caitlin
If you found your way here but aren’t yet subscribed, you should fix that.
I love love your writing style Cait! Thanks for sharing these words, curious to know did you take a writing course at some point? I'd love yo take one and looking for inspiration