my at-a-distance dearest one,
the leaves are starting to mute in their brilliant colors. today, the sky is a thick gray blanket, and while I could so comfortably cozy up to this setting, I wish we could venture out and take a walk in it together. lace up our boots and venture out before the rain returns, share what thoughts have been keeping us company, and maybe swap a few stories—the time I baked a pie on too little sleep and bit into an over-salted catastrophe or your list of favorite songs you reconnect with this time of year, as if an annual visit with old friends.
there’s no denying this month has been a touch cursed (and not in the fun way). at least, I hope it hasn’t been the same case for you. I love October, but after a string of eye infections and increased anxiety, my dog’s newly chipped teeth, and a freshly purchased back tire, things have seemed more adult-spooky than paper bats and thin cotton spiderwebs. of course, these are such minor things in comparison to what’s experienced at large, whether watching a/in danger of war, bracing for another round of covid, fearing what the winter might bring, or facing upcoming holidays with incredibly tight purse strings—regardless of where you might be, it’s a lot. but I won’t stuff this well-intended letter with an ever-expanding scope of worry. is it too late for us to return to easier days of blood drops drawn with lipstick and movie marathons for a while?
I will say, when I’m feeling overwhelmed or need to be lifted out of a spiral, lately I’ve become such a sucker for those ambiance/asmr videos. do you know what I’m talking about? those dreamscapes with oldies playing in the next room, or sounds of a fireplace when it’s cold out and you’re cursing the fact that there are so few living spaces built with fireplaces anymore? it feels a little charming and a play on imagination, to conjure a daydream kept simmering on the back-burner, or a room to relax in, made of just the right ingredients: sounds of thunder, a crackling fire, or the low hum of movement in a coffee shop, visuals of a storm-soaked city, a dimly lit and cozy living room, or a rain-spattered window.
(secretly, the more specific, atmospheric ones are my favorites, like carriage rides with hooves over cobblestone and Victorian bells, scribbles on paper in a studious library, or a small corner in the back of an Irish pub featuring distant laughter or a poured drink every now and then). I want to write the way these soundscapes feel—scribble myself into calm by painting a scene, a room to step into when needed—not to stay, of course, but even just a moment to catch your breath. anyway, that’s what I was hoping for in this little quiz.
is it the most relatable thing? probably not. am I feeding my inclination for maladaptive daydreaming? eh, maybe. but I’ve got a new therapy appointment for Friday and what is fiction writing for, anyway? <3
I hope this little breathing space brings whatever it is you need—a place to smash and scream, a safe and cozy spot to catch up on sleep, a calm reverie to slow your heart rate to, or a story to carry behind your thoughts today.
with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
fireplace fund (venmo): schuylerpeck