Floating down a river of thoughts on a little thought raft

And other notes about me dating my journals

Hello my friends! 

Thank you so much for subscribing to my newsletter. It warmed my heart to receive email notifications informing me that friends and acquaintances were signing up to receive weekly “hullos” from yours truly. 

I keep a journal (more on that shortly), but as a writer with renewed personal and artistic vows, I felt I needed a public platform that would hold me accountable to quality and consistency in a way that my journal, by its forgiving and supportive nature, cannot.  

It’s also a place for me to showcase my secret skill as a fortune cookie author (see below).

A love story

I feel like I’ve been courting myself during quarantine. There’s been a lot of checking in with myself, a lot of coffee dates staring at my reflection in the window, spaced out from whatever work I’m supposed to be doing. My attention span has gotten worse than ever, and as I drift away from the task in front of me, floating down a river of thoughts on a little thought raft, I often land under the same willow tree, which asks, “So, tell me, who is Katrina Eresman, really?” 

In the past, I’ve looked at myself with lots of judgment. But thanks to plenty of processing and therapy, that old habit is finally dying. For the first time ever, I’m checking myself out with curiosity, and nothing else. It’s like spotting a hitherto unseen alley in your own neighborhood and walking down it to find out what’s there. There’s time to explore in the era of COVID-19, because with the endlessly open schedule of the current social distancing lifestyle, I won’t be late to anything if I get lost. 

A big part of my courtship has been connected to my old journals, which I extracted from the attic late March. These notebooks go back years, with zero major breaks between now and middle school. 

(Although, to be completely transparent, a lot of the work in the earliest editions isn’t mine — a big percentage is made up of lyrics from idolized bands like Weezer and Taking Back Sunday.)

The most tedious years are my earliest 20s, which I think of as my dark ages. These were perhaps the saddest, most confusing years of my life. It’s palpable in the pages, where instead of telling stories about my day or interesting people I met, I mostly lament and cry and regurgitate the verbatim words and “lessons” of scary-bad role models that I had at the time.

Somewhere around 2013, things get more interesting. I (still) make excuses for the toxic relationship I’m (still) in, but you can tell I’m getting fed up. I actually sound like myself and I’m starting to live a little more outside of that negative world.

Things continue to look up, albeit in a meandering and uncertain way. 

In 2015 I’m in over my head. 

In 2016 I’m bored. 

In 2017 I return to rock and roll.

(Pictured: Me returning to rock n roll with Pop Empire, 2017.)

I am mad at myself for the time I wasted in my early 20s. I daydream about the things I could have done instead of agreeing to essentially be the property of a narcissist. I could have studied abroad. Could have kept that cool “Hail to the Thief” t-shirt my guy friend gave me, instead of throwing it away in response to my narcissistic boyfriend’s insecurities. Maybe I would have met people who were encouraging and kind, and in turn could have embraced my own ideas and goals, therefore making more of myself, gaining more experiences, trying more things. 

It feels gratifying to respond to my younger self from the other side of that particular mountain. Seeing the development and the progress gives me a positive outlook on who I might become in the next 10 years. 

What I like the most about these old notebooks, though, are the consistencies. Distractions aside, the things that excited me over the years do the same for me today. In this way, connecting with my younger selves has actually given me more confidence and more certainty in myself now, because I can see that my personal passions aren’t just a fling.

It makes me suspect that the same is true for everyone, in their own way. That there is a passion at the core of everyone that remains, even if muted, no matter the outside circumstances.

A song for you

I’ve been a bit obsessed with this classic doo-wop song, “I Only Have Eyes For You,” done by The Flamingos. Charming, saccharine, a little sad. It hurts me like it hurts to eat an ice cream Sunday on a beautiful day alone.

Fortune cookie

You don’t really know if you have a big or small head until you try on a hat. 

Thanks again for opting in on this disco adventure! ‘Til next week.

Katya