The Breadcrumb Trail

...But did you watch?

Last night, at my local drugstore, I was perusing the December issue of American Vogue, with SJP on its cover, when I heard a voice behind me.

“Did you watch?”

It was at least the fifth time I’d been asked that, though it was the first time the question was posed by a stranger.

“Yes!” I said. “Did you?”

And just like that (sorry, couldn’t help it), we launched into a twenty minute conversation about our lives, our selves, and just how much a show can mean.

There are no And Just Like That spoilers to be found here — whether you watched or didn’t, whether you care or not, it’s no matter. There is likely some cultural touchstone that lands the same way for you. Perhaps you remember where you were when you first encountered it, how it shaped you, how it helped open up your world. And even if you’ve changed, even if the material aged poorly or your taste now veers in an entirely different direction, it did its part. It affected you.

Watching these characters some fifteen years later felt almost like a school reunion. First I couldn’t get over how much they’d all changed. Then I was forced to realize: so have I.

Maybe it’s the end of the calendar year, or the way holiday lights demand cheerfulness regardless of our circumstances, but I always find myself growing wistful as December draws to a close. I see versions of myself everywhere — in department store windows and familiar movies — like the ghosts of Christmas(es) past. Without intending to, I find myself meandering back along the breadcrumb trail, passing all the old landmarks of who I used to be.

The story of my life so far has not been linear. It’s not terribly direct or well-plotted. But when I look back at the major points, at the choices and circumstances leading up to this moment, I can see that they form a sort of constellation, jagged yet purposeful. The pieces connect in ways I couldn’t have predicted or anticipated.

Michelangelo believed the sculptor was a tool of God, not creating but liberating figures already contained in the marble. I maintain that writing feels similar — not inventing characters, so much as holding space for them to reveal who they are. Maybe being a person is much the same. Are we all just waiting to be uncovered, further refined with each passing day?

The earliest breadcrumb, which is to say the first time I remember encountering myself, goes like this: I am seven years old, wearing a sweatshirt from the original Broadway production of CATS: The Musical. It’s adult sized, pilfered from my mother, so it fits me more like a dress. I’m huddled on the floor, behind a green velour La-Z-Boy recliner. Though I am hidden from view, my presence is known: the keys on my Smith Corona electric typewriter (my most prized possession) are audible from the next room, if not the neighbor’s house. I am writing a book about a vampire camp counselor, inspired by my favorite author, R.L. Stine.

That — that weird little nerdpot — is who I am. I left her there, behind that chair, and it took me years to find her again. In practice, it was less a matter of finding myself and more an act of remembering, a process of accepting and coming home to what was already there.

One of my favorite books by one of my favorite writers (Anna Quindlen’s Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake) touches on this very topic:

“It’s odd when I think of the arc of my life, from child to young woman to aging adult. First I was who I was. Then I didn’t know who I was. Then I invented someone and became her. Then I began to like what I’d invented. And finally I was what I was again.”

And did this photo make me want to buy glasses? Tell me I’m not the only one…

I am loath to admit that, like legions of others, Carrie Bradshaw played a larger role in my choices — career, fashion, and otherwise — than a TV character probably should. She was iconic, I was impressionable; the rest is history. I blame her for some questionable dating decisions and plenty of less than comfortable footwear. But in a way, she helped me find my way back to that small typing person, and for that, I will always be grateful.

I thought I’d filed this little piece of my history away, only to be revisited in the occasional Instagram meme or when reminiscing with college friends. But HBO had other plans.

Standing by that newsstand, opening up about lives past and present, it was good to be reminded how a piece of art can capture the universality of experience. One fictional woman connected two very real ones, and that is its own sort of magic.

I’m not one for stretching a franchise past the point of relevance, but there is something to be said for getting a glimpse of characters after the final page turns, after the credits roll. “And they lived happily ever after,” of course, leaves much to be desired. But what if we instead concluded our stories with, “And they continued to evolve.” That I’ll keep on watching.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring the Solara Occulto Tarot Deck by Amanda Spicer

It’s safe to say I spent the entire stretch of my twenties feeling utterly lost. On one particularly low day, I was broke and confused and decided to walk around the West Village — when the going gets tough, I have a habit of wandering through picturesque neighborhoods, hoping some of that energy will rub off on me.

As I crossed Carmine Street, I saw a person with a Penguin tote bag — that iconic orange penguin on a black background — and instantly I knew. My next role was in publishing, and it would be at Penguin. And that is exactly what came to pass. (To be clear, there were a lot of other steps in between. But you get the gist.)

This was a Three of Wands moment. I had a vision, and it helped me shape my reality.

Have you ever done a guided meditation where the teacher leads you to a scenic place? Perhaps they tell you to visualize a field of lavender gently waving in the breeze, or waves crashing against the shore. Or maybe they invite you to picture your own safe space, a tailored environment that brings you comfort.

The Three of Wands wants to take you through a guided meditation, but instead of leading you to a peaceful place, it grants you the permission to dream. Where would you like to go? What would you like to see? How will it feel when you get there?

Maybe it’s time to strike out on your own. Maybe it’s time to turn that hobby into a side hustle (or that side hustle into a main hustle). Maybe it’s time to seek a new routine, plan a trip, start writing the thing. Maybe it’s time to take just one step in a different direction.

The Three of Wands reminds us that sometimes, when we’re trying to bring something to fruition, before it can become tangible, we have to imagine it. We need to see it first.

Great athletes visualize their performances ahead of time. Public figures visualize delivering a speech. The idea is that visualization forms a neural pathway so when it’s time to execute, you’re prepared. It feels like you’ve already been there, because in a way, you have.

In the days ahead, allow your mind to wander into the realm of possibility. It can happen anywhere and take any form you please. (A meditation teacher once told me that an excellent time to practice visualization is just before sleep or immediately after waking, when your brain is more relaxed.)

Visualization isn’t limited to events or challenges, nor does it have to be rooted in the material world. You can picture how you want to feel. What you want to learn. How you want to impact others. It can be as detailed or as simple as you wish. Let your imagination run free.

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