what I smell like.
top, middle, and base notes included.
I put on a stranger’s perfume yesterday.
Across from our rental basement apartment in Seattle, there are million dollar condos. The one directly across from us has become a bit of a Rear Window situation. Not because I (spoiler alert for a movie from 70 years ago) think the man living there has murdered anyone, but because for five years, I’ve looked into this modern glass box and wondered what it’s like. If it really is as glamorous as it seems over there.
At first it was just one guy—a bachelor. With his three stories, his minimalist decor, his rooftop deck. Then there was a woman with him—a partner.
I didn’t mean to spy; I didn’t make a hobby out of it, but I do see a lot. I notice the two women, wearing black scrubs who came twice a week to clean. I notice how he takes meetings in the living room—standing, pacing, tossing a ball. I notice his fancy cars. I notice (okay, Evan notices) his fancy skis he loaded into one of his cars on the best powder days.
Before we had a baby, my desk was at the window looking straight at this stranger’s life. I had little opinion, beyond my pure curiosity when there was movement in the fancy condo across the street. Now, my daughter’s changing table is at the window where a desk used to be. Now, when I’m wiping my daughter’s ass, it’s surprisingly depressing to look up and see this man park his Range Rover, unload his fancy mountain bike, leisurely cook dinner and open a bottle of nice wine, and then run around their home with his partner laughing, sliding around in the kind of socks and sweat shorts I thought were reserved only for ivy league schools. It feels like all of that happens within one blow-out poop from my kid.
I am jealous. And I can’t tell what it is I’ve been jealous of: the money? the freedom? their (unknown) job? the cleanliness of their home? the ease at which they seem to float from one room to the next? from one floor to the next? one season to the next? We are in the same neighborhood, on the same block, just a number difference of an address, but their life feels so far away.
Until yesterday. My mother-in-law is visiting and we were going to load up Marcelline to go to Discovery Park for a hike. As we were loading up the car, I noticed the condo across the street was having an open house.
“We’re doing this,” I told the team.
We all walked in and took our time and own pace around the million dollar condo across the way. Evan and I kept passing each other and saying things like, “It’s different, but actually bigger than I thought.”
I went into the main bathroom, to look around. I was absolutely jealous of the size of the tub and proximity to a huge his & hers closet. I looked in the mirror and before I truly knew what I was doing, I grabbed one of two perfumes on the counter and sprayed it on my wrist and on my clavicle. I put on a stranger’s perfume. I put it on without smelling it, even. I was scared and giddy, like a kid. Afraid like there would be security who came out of a hidden door of the closet (MORE storage??), I sped out of the bathroom, out of the bedroom, and up the stairs to the roof-top deck.
Evan was up there with Marcie. My heart was racing a bit, feeling a bit of rebellion, but then I caught the spectacular view.
“Wow, okay, this is nice.”
It was nice. Marcie took a seat on their outdoor furniture like she was right at home. I kept looking back—looking down—at our home. Our home—our basement apartment—barely registers. It was weird to look my own home and realize it’s impossible to see it for what it is, what it holds. You can’t tell that it’s actually a sunlight basement. You can’t tell that, though it is usually messy, it is filled with fun. There is so much life and so much laughter and so much love in that tiny apartment. The one with the window behind that cherry tree.
As we left the condo, my mother-in-law said, “It’s not a good layout for having a young kid… with the bedrooms are on the first and third floor.” She said it earnestly, which made me smile—like that’s why we’re not going to buy it. I love that she said it loud enough so that the showing agent and all the other people in earshot could think, “I guess they’re going to pass on this one.”
We went and hiked at Discovery Park and ended up at what Marcelline calls the “big beach.” It was low-tide and so we got to walk around and do some tide-pooling. For an hour and a half, we walked around on the beach, looking at sea anemones, crabs, clams, and shells. I walked along the shore and looked out to sea, only to be greeted by a Great Blue Heron who decided to hunt near me… we kept the same pace, walking and thinking.
We were almost done with our exploring, when we went up to a big boulder down the shore a bit. I got down real low to find a sea star! (formally known as starfish, but don’t even get Evan started on that… aCtUaLlY tHeYrE nOt FiSh.) We kept getting real low around the bigger rocks and finding more and more sea stars—it was so cool! (that’s right. there’s beautiful life down there in basically the basement apartment of the sea.) People would pass by and if they were close enough and we could tell they were down for exploring, we’d say, “Come look down here! There’s a sea star!”
I was giddy, like a kid. Remembering my rebellion and giddiness of childhood from just hours earlier, I smelled my wrist. I told Evan, “I put on some of that perfume from that condo’s bathroom.” And he shook his head and said, “Rachelllllll” in that way where he knew he was in for it. But he smiled in that way where he decided long ago that he’s in for it.
My body smelled like flowers, leather couches in a speak-easy, and money. At first, the scent felt displaced at the ocean shore. But in this time and this place in my life, this scent makes the most sense. This is what I smell like right now: it’s sweet and smoky: with middle notes of irresponsibility… with base notes of adventure… and top notes of rebellion. This is what I smell like. And I fucking love this smell.
A Little Woo:
You Know Tarot? I truly connected with Tarot for the first time in 2017, through a jeweler friend. She used the Linestrider Deck to give me a reading and now I still use that deck (and app!) almost every day. Tarot is a tool for self-reflection and I love it. Today, I asked how my writing and my art would go… like how it would be received… I’m obviously feeling a little bit overwhelmed with leaving on a big trip and quitting my job.
I’m not going to share with you my whole reading (I love keeping secrets with myself), but I will share the card that came in the Future/Outcome position of my reading.
It goes on to say…
In the future positing, this card reminds you to “hold on,” and that all your work and investment will pay off even if you can’t see it coming together yet.
I loved that. I can’t see anything coming together… yet. But I trust it will, because it kind of has been coming together for us to feel good about this jump. I’ll hold on. Thank you, Tarot.
Quick Hits:
Jam of the Week: Jarv Dee X Bad Colours - BEAT DROP.
(cannot stop listening/dancing to this song. as soon as it finishes, I start it over.)
I’m Getting Red Carpet Ready.
(I absolutely love SIFF, so I’m beyond excited for this full-circle moment.)Speaking Of Perfume: I’ve Been Wearing This.
(I got a sample in a SIFF swag bag before I had Marcelline and I knew I wanted to use the scent for something special. so during the pandemic, when I had a newborn, I started wearing this fragrance. I did that so that years later, I could put it on and remember this sweet time. it’s working. I wear it now and remember my squishy baby and the beauty in our small world.)New Fave Stand-Up?
(reminder: Trans rights are human rights.)Hi, I Live In This Jumpsuit Now.
(thanks to my MIL who took me shopping for an early-birthday gift! also, y’all take me out somewhere so I can wear this… which I also bought… it was on super sale!)
This Made Me Chuckle.
(picture me saying out loud to my computer “that better fucking be the Kentucky Derby” over and over until basically the last one.)
(another lifetime ago, Evan and I went to Paris and stayed at this magical hotel. everything about it felt like we were in a naughty Wes Anderson film. [ex: there was this floral carpet that when you looked closely, you saw the “flower” were actually genitalia.] when we got to our room, there was a radio playing some terrestrial radio and it had just the best music. I never found out what station it was playing, but now there’s this Playlist.)
France Will Look Different This Time Around.
(and one can only hope it looks a bit like this.)
Thank you for being here. I love writing and love knowing that some people read it. I hope it makes your life lighter and fuller and you feel companionship in these news(love)letters, because I feel you here and it’s everything to me.
xxo,
Rachel.