november notes
being the adult in the room, the o.c., turkey lurkey time
This month I read Janet Malcolm’s biography of Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas for class (which I loved). Of Stein’s learned helplessness, she writes, “She tells us that she was the youngest of five children, the baby of the family, ‘and as such naturally I had privilege the privilege of petting the privilege of being the youngest one. If that does happen it is not lost all the rest of one’s life, there you are you are privileged, nobody can do anything but take care of you, that is the way I was and this is the way I still am, and anyone who is like that necessarily liked it. I did and do.’”
I don’t think I have ever acted as helpless as this, but as a youngest child I do enjoy feeling taken care of. In October when I stubbed my toe badly, I called my mom because I needed her to tell me it would get better, and after this phone call my mom ordered me gummy vitamins from Costco. At my old job, I was the youngest and least experienced person in the office and got to approach my coworkers with all sorts of questions and requests for assistance. No matter how much technical work I was responsible for, someone else would check over it and sign the plans and take legal responsibility for what I had done.
Now that I work primarily with kids, I am confronted with the uncomfortable sensation of being the adult in the room, the one who has an answer to questions, the one who steers the conversation back to math and physics if things have gotten off topic, the one who makes a judgement call on whether it’s fine for two people to leave to drink water at once (for some reason, this is almost never fine). I thought there would be a more ceremonious, or at least clear transition from child to adult, novice to expert, apprentice to mentor, but I am studying writing while also trying to teach it. Even though I know confidence is key, I voice my answers as if they are questions. I am a spoiled little sister but also an aunt. When my brother was 25, I imagine he must have felt older than I feel now, even though that makes no sense. I feel like an infant and an unc.
November notes:
If anyone was worried about how I would handle the end of The Summer I Turned Pretty, this hole in my heart has been replaced by The O.C. This fantastic show reminds me why I need to specify that when I say I am from Orange County, I am not talking about the public imagination of Orange County, Newport Beach. I literally never feel this way, but watching 25-year-olds pretend to be 16-year-olds wearing mini skirts in the middle of winter is making me nostalgic for my teenage years, being 17 and driving everywhere.
I’ve also filled the TSITP void by listening to romance novel audiobooks, including The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood and Great Big Beautiful Life by Emily Henry. The men are very big — huge shoulders, tall, casting enormous shadows. The women are small, semi-tragic, and plucky.
Something happens to me the precise moment that the temperature drops below 50 degrees. All of a sudden I am itching to knit and cook elaborate soups. I feel (and dress) like her:
November is on the lower tier of my personal calendar ranking, but Zohran Mamdani winning the mayoral election at the beginning of the month was enough to bring good energy to the rest of it. This might actually be the first time something I’ve voted for with conviction has been successful. The poll worker thought I was committing voter fraud because I nervously consulted my voter registration confirmation mail before telling him my own name.
I spent Thanksgiving with my childhood friend Chelsea instead of going home to California. My mother has said, verbatim, probably 100 times, “It’s so funny how you always end up near Chelsea.” Because I’m a brat, I tell her that she’s said that before and never marvel at the statement’s accuracy. This was only my second thanksgiving without my family. The first was in 2020; Valerie and I stayed in Berkeley, rollerskated, and ordered a glorious dinner of Chinese food. Even though it was my own choice not to go home (made no sense, a 12-hour round trip when I’ll just be going back in two weeks) I was visited by the You-Are-Alone, Nobody-Likes-You witch. I am anxious to be leaving New York in two weeks. I would also be anxious to not leave New York in two weeks. I have a wicked variety of FOMO that can only be treated by me being present in both New York and San Francisco at the same time always, with all possible combinations of my friends.
Recommended Reading:
Thanksgiving time has passed, but it’s never too late to pay respects by rewatching the Glee “Let’s Have a Kiki” x “Turkey Lurkey Time” mash-up.