The day the wind changed
self-portrait
When I stopped comparing and started living
July 14, 2024
Whether we’re aware of it or not, weather changes us.
The high desert winds can be so strong that it feels like you're walking in an agitated snow globe – scattered, scrambled, and erratic. Sometimes it can have the opposite effect. A clean sweep. Where every last bit, even the energy itself feels renewed. If anything is lingering, static or otherwise, it’s swept away by sheer force. The landscape as well as my mind becomes clear. Nothing yet everything remains.
It felt like that the other day while out for a stroll along the acequias, the irrigation ditches that criss-cross my neighborhood. In the process I recognized the origin of what has been contributing to a generalized discontent. I compare the quality of my day to day life to something I’ve romanticized: the chill, nonchalant, artsy, food-loving culture of the Mediterranean. And rather than seeing all that I do have, that in many ways is similar and pretty great, a level of dissatisfaction creeps in. Somehow it doesn’t measure up.
This doesn’t happen all the time, yet I’m not immune to it. Comparison, you see, can become a nasty habit. It forms ruts, often fast tracking sentiments of lack. It also seemingly makes what’s in plain sight invisible. I’ve heard this all before, perhaps you have too, yet I have a tendency to forget. The reminder: saturation into life itself.
While on the walk my self-induced habit of comparison and the filters I sometimes vehemently employ to maintain it short circuited. Thankfully, a wake up call to stop comparing. Like I said, the winds can either be disruptive or expose what’s true. And it’s hard to predict when, where, or how it all clicks into place.
If I peel back the layers of my comparative mindset further, what’s exposed is desire. In the most extreme unbalanced scenarios, envy. Ironically an emotion I consider a direct result to the habit itself. It’s dangerous, as it has the potential to reinforce the illusion of separateness or otherness. It says this kind of life doesn’t happen here, it happens there and consequently it’s perceivably better, more alluring, or prized. It’s what many fall in love with when traveling, naturally. And likely what draws many to eventually live there versus just visit.
From Tunisia to Türkiye, Sardinia to Spain…the Mediterranean unarguably has a vibe. One that seems synonymous with a relaxed cadence and ease, dry summer heat paired with simple yet incredible food, a hot mint tea or a chilled wine glass sweating in the heat. Languid mornings, with a good coffee are book-ended by slow evenings that stretch late into the night where delicious food, conversation, and music are none other than connection’s magnetic glue. Time and space to rest, walk, and cook are cherished. Community and food and time are honored. There’s an attitude but also a humbleness. All of it seems more relaxed.
A lot of this is true and based on my personal experiences. But my point is that it can exist in both places. Here and there. Home and abroad. It can be a lifestyle choice rather than a vacation from life.
The feelings of pleasure I get from experiencing nature, art, honey, wine, goat cheese, time with friends infused with heartfelt conversations, or a beautiful place to picnic or swim is not exclusive to a certain region of the world. Strong marketing may want us to believe otherwise. Admittedly I’ve romanticized life there. I have succumbed to the comparison trap. Thankfully, the wind knocked something loose.
Food writer, Alicia Kennedy paints a similar narrative in relationship to what we eat in her essay The algorithm of the mind:
“It’s important to be endlessly aware and self-critical when scrolling takes up inevitable time in our lives—time that is well spent if we are using it well: to understand other people and culture better, to understand our tastes and desires, to just have a laugh or relate to someone. It’s hard to know what we really like in this world, what we’re really responding to when we see someone’s outfit and it looks like it jumped straight off of TikTok. It’s why food is so good for bringing us back to ourselves, to real life: we either like it or we don’t. You can’t pretend. It doesn’t matter how good it looked on social media or who got cut a check to sell it to you. On the palate, true taste.”
I agree that food is one of the fastest and most obvious vehicles to feel alive and connected. It reminds me of our shared humanity. Our innate love of taking care. That we all, in fact, coexist in a pulsating, delicious, nature-based, gritty world where meals are the rhythmic beats that punctuate each day. And it’s definitely one of the transformative highlights when being in a place where food is valued and undeniably delicious.
photo © Erin Johnson Los Poblanos Inn Los Ranchos de Albuquerque
Whether I’m meeting up with a friend or enjoying the simple solitude of quiet garden sits, I do, truly, notice everything I’ve created here. As far as what’s true for me and what makes me happy, well, that's my responsibility. It takes discernment to weed through the stories of likes and dislikes which saturate my consciousness. Honesty to combat the prescribed missing-out remedy of consuming more of (insert thing) at an alarming pace. For me the best way to remove the proverbial blinders to the truth of right here, right now is to stop comparing it to some reality 5,000 miles away. Simply enjoy it for what it is.
My actual day to day is pretty darn close to embodying all that I love and value. I spend time every week studying Portuguese. I wake up early in the predawn hours; a ritual I prioritize and participate in no matter where in the world I happen to be. Not only is it beautiful at that time of day but I’m able to really sense the spirit of a place. The same is true when taking in the night sky or listening to the sounds of the city or countryside before bed.
I relish my coffee. Experiences with friends and family or travel trump the glorification of work. I make sure to take a daily stroll and tend the garden, for it takes care of me as much as I take care of it. I write. I make time to cook all sorts of things. I get outside beyond the walls which contain so much of this life otherwise I wouldn’t notice the crimson dragonflies or the giant mulberry tree dripping with ripe berries, and swaths of river grass moving like poetry in the wind.
For now I dig the life that I’m living. And it continually evolves. Perhaps a writer-gardener’s life in Albuquerque is not as glamorous as an artist setting up shop in a stone cottage in Cornwall or a flat in Milan or at a residency in Oaxaca. Or maybe I just need a good photo shoot and publish it to ‘prove’ something (kidding). Nevertheless, I’m going to start sharing what happens here. Because here is just as real as anywhere.
photo © Erin Johnson Valbonne, France
A well intentioned manifesto
How can I be less reliant on my car and have more intimate interactions?
How can I reduce the time I spend in front of a device or this computer and replace it with an aperitivo or coffee with friends or a walk with my husband?
Rituals are in the details, pay attention.
Surround myself with beautiful things and people. Quality over quantity. Less stuff.
Be outside as often as possible.
Prioritize cooking, it’s everything. Have grace while eating and serving.
Respect space both in the natural landscapes, like gardens and parks, but also in the interiors I inhabit. Thoughtful design has a profound impact on my senses and ultimately my entire being-ness.
What about you? Are you already living the kind of life you want? Is it filled with the objects, rituals, food, and people that contribute to feeling good, excited, content, curious…? Or are you preoccupied by comparing it to something else?
Yours, Erin