Prompt 115: Return to Paris
Alex Gaertner & Revisiting Mercury Retrograde
Hi friend,
I’m writing to you from Paris. My partner Jon had to travel here to perform and promote his new album, and after months of heads-down busyness on various projects, I decided it was time to take a break and come along for the ride.
The first day we were here, Jon was busy doing interviews and taping a TV show, but I didn’t mind. It’s been nearly a decade since I lived here, and I was excited to get out and revisit the city alone. That morning, I set out for a long walk from our hotel in the Sixteenth Arrondissement toward the Third, where I used to live. I walked along the Seine, stopping from time to time—at Shakespeare & Company, where I bought Leila Slimani’s latest novel, at a little café, at a shoe store. (I had worn impractical heeled boots, and at mile six I couldn’t take it any more and had to spring for some tennis shoes.)
It was a glorious day in so many ways, but it turns out a ten-mile stroll was a bit much. On the way home, I began to feel bad and then worse. I got back to the hotel and climbed into bed, and that’s where I stayed for the next three days, in a kind of feverish haze. I have to admit—I was scared. The last time I was in Paris, I arrived in high heels and left in a wheelchair, and I worried that history was repeating itself.
I ended up texting a bit with my friend Elizabeth Lesser, who is so good and wise. “A somatic response to Paris!” she said. “But let’s tell a new narrative about the strength of your body. Suleika returns to the scene of the trauma and tells the ghosts that she’s a new version of herself.” I can’t tell you how much solace those words brought me.
I had planned to share a prompt this week inspired by art in Paris, but given the unfolding of events, I was inspired to change my mind. Instead, we’re revisiting a prompt from last October. It’s by my dear pal Alex Gaertner, about Mercury Retrograde, and how the reemergence of the past can be difficult, but also an opportunity for self-reflection and growth.
Sending love,
Suleika
P.S. In the next week, we’ll be posting a discussion thread for our Book Club—we’re reading Kate Bowler’s beautiful new memoir No Cure for Being Human. To join the discussion, also our Studio Visit on October 31, become a paid subscriber!
Revisiting Mercury Retrograde by Alex Gaertner
Lately I’ve been thinking about people from my past—old friends, ex-lovers, former co-workers. One moment, they’re a part of your life. The next, they’re gone, only a memory.
There’s a reason for my preoccupation with the past. Mercury retrograde is here, an astrological phenomenon with an infamous reputation for wreaking havoc and causing mayhem. For those unfamiliar, Mercury retrograde is a three-week period that occurs three times a year, during which time Mercury (the planet of communication) appears to move backwards in the sky. Just like the moon affects the tides, Mercury affects the Earth, causing disruptions, delays, miscommunications. During Mercury retrograde, which began on October 14 and will end on November 3, we’re advised not to start anything new: no projects, no relationships, no jobs. [Note: This year, it’s September 27 through October 18.] This is a time to pause, to rest, to reflect. It’s also a time to think about our past, and how we’ve changed.
One of the things Mercury retrograde is notorious for is that certain people from your past appear out of blue. Just last week I saw a childhood friend on the street. Years ago, this person was my best friend, until it became clear to him that I was gay—then suddenly he wasn't. When I saw him, I started thinking about the boy I used to be: the anxious, closeted 12-year-old. And as I saw this old friend, I was surprised to realize I felt nothing. I felt free, I guess. The sight of him didn’t inspire anxiety because I understood I am no longer the person I used to be.
I use astrology as a tool to deepen my understanding of the self, so I can contextualize what I’m experiencing—thoughts, feelings, encounters—with what’s happening in the sky. Which is precisely why Mercury retrograde, although popularized as something that you should be afraid of, is also a time for growth.
Your prompt for the week:
Write about a time when you encountered someone from your past after many years. How did it feel to be suddenly reacquainted with this person? What did it reveal to you—about who you were and who you are now?
Write about the experience as a scene.
If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments below, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.
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Once, I saw a handful of old high-school friends at a concert. James Blake was on tour after the release of his studio album "Assume Form." This was into my second or third year of college. I was chronically lonely and depressed, desperately looking for some form of meaningful social connection that could nourish my emotional health. It was school, work, eat, sleep, repeat. Nothing else in between. I knew they were going to be in attendance. At some point, we had crossed paths. We briefly chatted about what we had been up to thus far in college, how our lives had been. I was so bubbly with excitement that I almost couldn't contain how content I was to see the familiar faces of old friends that I identified with. They were my cherished childhood friends that I loved. For whatever reason, they didn't reciprocate those feelings of joy that I had. I was gladly informing them of how happy I was to see them again, but I could tell in their mannerisms and body language, they appeared awkward and uncomfortable from me being there. We had talked about hanging out after James' performance, they were tiptoeing at inviting me. We initially agreed to all meet at a nearby bar, but when the time arrived, I was the only one present there. Drinking by myself. I had phoned them asking where they were, and none of them answered.
It was a significant heartbreak, more so than any romantic heartbreak I experienced. I was severely melancholic after that experience. It uprooted my sense of self in connection with others and the rest of the world. I've had many similar experiences like that. You realize that your sense of the past and your relationship with reality is merely a smokescreen. I told myself, "Not only do I not have any friends. But the ones that I thought I had weren't my friends at all. They were my false friends." It was hard for me to grapple with. I'm still internalizing it.
Now, I'm just learning to be alone without being alone, to be comfortable in discomfort, and to seek real connections in places where they can be cultivated. Even if I were to surround myself with circles of seemingly beautiful and tasteful people, I know it's not a qualitatively good experience. Just because you share physical space doesn't mean you share an emotional one. When I'm feeling the most melancholic and depressed, I feel as if a filthy glass window, or a wide gulf, has been placed in between me and the rest of the world and it's impossible for me to relate to everyone on the outside world. I'm only observing from a distance and becoming absorbed in my own pain. All the wisdom I've attained is evaporating, and I'll never learn anything new. On better days, I'm meeting people and getting to know them. My condition and experiences can be an instrument through which I can discover compassion and beauty that I didn't know existed in unexplored depths of emotional experience.
Starting over after a major life transition is like tossing the Scrabble board, when you are winning, and you want to start over but the game is in Italian instead. I have to teach myself the language well enough to pick out the new Italian words, and hopefully have a great time in the process. Returning to places of my transition hasn’t been easy, but I always go, and I go forward. I first heard your TED talk, and I knew I wasn’t alone. Thank you!