Last you heard, on the fourteenth and final song of the album, I hit a wall after days in the studio, listening to my voice break in all the same places, no matter the warmups, the cups of tea with honey, the brief recesses to the dining room, which had become an explosion of culinary supplies while Lawrence and his wife painted their kitchen two shades of pink. We would all struggle in our lifetimes to recognize a genuine wall. One that cannot be moved through, around, or over. And that was one such moment for me. So, I flew home, and two busy months passed during which I went viral twice, hit 50,000 followers on Instagram, celebrated my five-year anniversary in Nova Scotia, visited 24 Canadian lighthouses, saw every lighthouse on Staten Island and every lighthouse in South Carolina, stayed in my first lighthouse on Daufuskie Island, hit my 500th U.S. lighthouse in Massachusetts, and celebrated my 31st birthday on Martha’s Vineyard. And then, I was back in Richmond one final time, out on a farewell tour of sorts. I began all my visits to this glorious city the same: at Stella’s. Stella’s had become its own little village by this time. In August of last year, it was a mediterranean restaurant with a to-go-style grocer/wine shop across the street. Out front, there were three vintage fiats and bistro sets. Now, there was Stella’s boutique next door and a new, Blade Runner-style tavern across the way. I liked knowing things were changing and seeing how. The city had become mine, in a way. I sat at the end of the bar and conversed with my favorite bartender. I knew to inquire about his son born in October. A libra with a long face and large eyes. He asked me how long my trip was this time around. I told him, sadly, only a few days. I ordered blueberry cocktails and listened as the women next to me tore their way through subjects, friends, and espresso martinis until neither of them had awareness enough to gauge their noise.
Thoughts on GLP-1 for aesthetic weight loss, and the role of food in the pursuit of an impossible dream
A mere two weeks had gone by since week four, and I was scattered. I flew into Philly, drove along the Delaware coast in sought of its mostly underwhelming...