True North

The Fates pull one gaze ~North~ as it pulls another ~West~ to the Right Place.

The Right Time. The Right Song. The Right Guy. The Right Question.

~

While I was facing True North, the right guy was facing West, toward a place we both had called home. My days had grown mundane, but it was a warm night in mid-July. Dressed in linen florals and bouncing curls — I reached for my classic scent. A combination of the perfume oil I had gotten for my birthday, the Atelier scent, named after my homeland, and the fruit that could always be found in my parents’ kitchen. As I stepped outside, the sky had been painted the colors of my aura.

Instead of the same song and dance—a drink that often led me to decline a second date —he asked to grab an ice cream and sent me to the very shop I called Mine. I took the scenic route through the park, and just before I stepped to the door, it opened. Our gazes locked, and we both jumped with surprise.

It was him.

We fell into step as we walked towards the park our apartments shared, and we talked about our fast-tracked journeys that landed us just around the corner from each other and our homeland.

“I actually went to cheer camp at your school. Gorgeous campus, right on the beach! I’ve always thought Santa Barbara was nice.”

I had made a habit of going for a post-work walk every day. It was perfect. We sat on the bleachers, facing West, eating my favorite sweet flavors. I had never really looked too deeply at watches before I had met him. However, he asked what I would do next, and his smile as he wondered about watches made me smile. As I had never considered the category too deeply. When I asked what he had, I looked down to see a watch that my dad had pointed to on our first trip to New York. A decade prior. What are the odds that two kids, who grew up on the opposite coast, no more than 50 or so miles away, land around the corner from each other on the other side of the country? I pointed to the tower and said,

“Just don’t stalk me.”

Even though I wouldn’t have minded if he did, it made him laugh,

“I’ll point out mine; we can stalk each other.”

Which made me laugh, I didn’t hesitate as I said,

“Deal.”

“The home of a thousand oaks, I definitely drove through it a few times. It’s beautiful! Do you ever miss it?” When he asked if I’d ever move back, I hesitated, wanting to say yes but unsure if I could. I shared what I hadn’t spoken about in years. The reason I refused to post anything political online, absolutely hated guns, and the mark it left on my home. The first thing I had ever written on a blank page.

“It left a bit of a mark on my mind.”

When he shared what had been on his mind, I reached for his hand, and the mark started to dissolve. It was warm. Many had reached for the silk banners in my hair; few were successful in their attempts. As I sat there bannerless with the right guy, I felt something I had been missing for years. Home.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, light rain clouds drifted in. My ice cream cup lay empty, right next to me. And a light breeze had it running away. We both started to move, before he insisted I stay at rest. Running to retrieve it, and drop our empty cups in the trash. My eyes followed him. I took the first break in conversation to really take him in, as he returned —kind eyes meeting soft eyes, and smiles grew. He sat down, knees forward, head straight, tilted up.

In a heartbeat, he pointed to the trees above me,

“Did you see that?”

And I wanted to take a picture. As I glanced behind me, I looked at the view I’d seen day and night. I had never looked at it quite from that angle. In New York, the light pollution from the skyscrapers prevents us from seeing the stars every night. Making its locals lightning watchers. It was one of my favorite activities.

“I must have missed it.” I shrugged; on any other occasion, I would’ve been sad. As we stood to circle the park, he reached out his hand to help me up. It was warm.

Good taste in manners. Good taste in humor. Good taste in music. Good taste in books. Good taste in personal Excel sheets. I had gotten into the habit of making Excel trip itineraries. The best gemstones and art in the jewelry world were more in demand than any person walking the very Earth they came from. On average, 8,000-15,00 steps across where its gatekeepers sit, when they were at home. From where they sat, they managed their personal calendars in accordance. I extended the habit into my personal life. It was the best way to manage my own time. And he had one too. Our formats may have been different, but the line of thought? The same.

“Have you ever tried gathering a bunch of guys? It’s like wrangling a bunch of cats.”

Which made me laugh,

“A bunch of guys? No, but I’ve planned quite a few girls’ trips. It’s always easiest to create something shareable. We like to have a little culture or adventure in the morning, some restaurants, a little fun, and nature. It’s always best to plan it with some flexibility and reservations in advance. A lot of my friends are in different places; the hardest part is getting time to hop on the phone. Once we’re all together, it’s pretty easy.”

As we rounded the next corner, he asked it. All it took was one question.

“What do you believe?”

And after bouncing through what I knew about the traditional Faiths, I hopped through Fate, Chance, Luck, Serendipity, and Evil Eyes. I admitted—

“I’ve always liked the idea of the Greek Gods.”

The night sky softly fell upon us, and like a gentleman, he offered to seek cover beneath the trees. I opened my palm to the sky and looked up to feel the rain and softly called out,

“This doesn’t really bother me, but we can! Does it bother you?”

And he looked at me, just within arm’s reach. All it took was two heartbeats. He stepped forward,

“No. It doesn’t bother me.”

And then he walked toward me.

He watched me bob and weave outside the lines, walking as if I was drifting along freshly kissed ice, with touched-up blades. And through the clouds, just as the last of the sun kissed the horizon, the sky lit up. In the distance, the God of the Sky looked back at us and smiled. Lightning. We stood still in the moment, not having to ask if the other had seen it.

Our gazes met, open windows. One looking True North, one looking West.

I wrapped my hand around his arm, “You still need to show me where your place is so that I can stalk you back.”

As we approached a puddle of mud, displaced from the rain, he held out his hand, palm up. I looked at it in a heartbeat. I was used to a running start and a leap over mud.

“To help you over the mud.”

And my smile grew as I took it. Switching sides on the sidewalk, we arrived outside windows facing west as a potentially scary character passed us in the park. He pointed up,

“Mine is the one with the disco ball! It was the first thing I hung up.”

Countless facets hanging in a window, reflecting and refracting light, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him. And I wanted to take a picture. As my gaze followed his arm, I knew. For him, I’d gladly make the time. Like a gentleman, he walked me home. And as I closed my door, I stared out of my windows.

True North, indeed.

~

He was leaving for peak summer and asked me to wait. I wasn’t sure I’d still be on his mind, knowing the adventure could be a whirlwind. I waited. He was certainly still on my mind.

The day of my sister’s wedding, someone else needed to drive my mother’s car. Rowdy groomsmen were a concern behind the wheel. As I handed over the keys, I asked,

“Dad, let him drive his car once, right? Can we make sure he’s behind the wheel and not one of the groomsmen? Everyone needs to arrive at the ceremony safely. And… Mom was really excited about this car.”

There was a pause between me, my sister, and her new sister in law as we exchanged glances. Thinking of the crash that had left her in pain, and my father insisting on safety. The nerves in my sister’s eyes dissolved. Without another word, she gave her husband a call.

~

As the timing would have it, before he announced his return, I booked a spa weekend in Miami with my best friend from COVID. We always see each other when we’re homesick or feel alone.

She was a New Yorker who grew up between Atlanta, Alabama, and New York. Living a few blocks apart, we had spent countless nights in a dark time of the world, laughing! Having navigated moving, friends, family, relationships, travel, and career together for years, we always say we were like sisters. She had moved to Miami, as she often lived life with the wind. Bringing my niece to the beachside. I had regular flights sprinkled throughout the year. Miles did nothing to weaken our friendship, as we had traveled many together from New York to Italy to Nice. As I woke up after an evening arrival, we outlined the weekend.

“He puts together Excel itineraries? Sounds familiar…. I like that he grew up close to you. And he sent you recommendations? We love a rec! We’ll merge them with mine. What should we add to the itinerary?”

It was a mix of restaurants, homemade meals, and quality time with the puppy I helped raise. Mid-morning pilates, an afternoon at the spa, lunches in the sun, and evenings to dress up for no reason. We ducked into his recommended listening bar. Down the rabbit hole, I found a scene that made me feel right at home: Disco balls, a sound system, good music, and good people of every color in the rainbow. On my last morning, we included the Rubbell, per his recommendation. I thought about Alejandro Piñeiro Bello’s Tormenta Solar and Claro De Luna for days, long after my return to New York.

~

New York | October 2024

I was spending a few nights of Halloweekend with a new group. Girls I had known in college, but was never close with. Every party invite was from roosters. I had been the queen of hearts and Cupid the year before. To match a set of my finger tattoos written in white ink. I liked to upcycle Halloween accessories with my existing wardrobe and had no qualms about costume repeating.

The Dress Code - Circus.

A trio of girls was getting ready in the tower. One of which left clothes thrown about. I put together something that could pass as a “Flame Thrower”. On my monthly cycle, with an overpacked schedule of back-to-back nights with different circles, I was irritable and tired. The night started at one of the hottest new bars, where we met some friends of a friend. While they seemed like perfectly fine people, it was clear we did not share the same taste. I would’ve been happy to end the night after the party that ended up on Page Six.

The group had been split up; a fellow Castle Dweller departed, as I got dragged to an underground dwelling of Virgo. I agreed for the sole purpose of mobilizing East, towards my home, and quieting a directionless girl. She incessantly insisted we go chase after a rooster whose name I never learned. We arrived to find that he wasn’t actually there, despite what he had told her. As she saw his message that he was at the door, she mentioned ruining his life, and I said the only true statement of the night.

“If you want to leave him at the door, leave him at the door. He’s an investment banking analyst; I’m sure he has much bigger problems.”

As they reunited, she was smiling, and the group separated to dance. The music was good. Still, the remainder of my crowd were the type that could not have a good time unless they were receiving male attention. However, when a man in a mask came to join us on the dance floor, they immediately rejected the addition. I desperately tried to catch a better look at his watch, feeling familiar eyes. I was unsure if it was my fatigue, Mother Nature, or the reminder of the guy that was never far from my mind. Realistically, the odds that it was him were about 7%— he could’ve been anywhere. But there were certainly moments, and I wondered enough to turn around like a needle on a compass, trying to find True North.

The last three standing, we had gathered to what I had hoped was an exit plan. Only to find another location had been determined. Another establishment named after one of the Gods. It housed records from Apollo. As the topic was debated, the meeting was brutally interrupted by a boy asking us one by one, in a row,

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

I would’ve said anything for it to be decided it was homeward bound.

~

Los Angeles | December 2024

It was the first time I’d been back in LA in half a decade. My sister and her husband had migrated somewhere warmer, and the family was eager to spend the holidays in warmer weather. My flight had a delayed takeoff, and I was just getting over a cold. I woke up the next morning around 10 o’clock. My body was still settling into the timezone and my late travels. The sun was bright, and I eagerly accepted the keys to my sister’s first car. It was the first car I drove behind the gates of the community where I grew up. In a cashmere sweater vest and vintage jeans, I moved with the top down and the music loud as I went to the nearest açaí bowl and sat in the sunshine. Every holiday season, my mom would pick a day to decorate. My parents got an ornament for their first Christmas together, and my dad would put on all the speakers in the house to hang the lights. Mom is always the one to say,

“Let’s get a picture!”

Back in my homeland, the guy who was never far from my mind drifted closer. As I drove down Laurel Canyon— headed towards the Pacific Coast Highway, I put on an old playlist and thought of my childhood summers spent barefoot between houses. Mornings as an 818 teen, on the five-dollar beach bus, after cheer practice. Pool parties often led to cliff jumping at La Brinca, a place where teenage stress over college applications was banished for a few hours, in the presence of adolescent thrills. On afternoons under the sun, we’d strip our beach layers and strip our worries. We’d peek over the edge. Either drawn in by the challenge or the promise of just a few seconds of absolute weightlessness.

Everyone would ask,

“Are you going to jump?”

When they should’ve been asking,

“How are you going to jump?” 

Some liked a running start, others preferred to stand right at the end and launch themselves up into the air. The girls were constantly squealing as they felt the rush beneath them, as gravity pulled them into the water. The boys dared to do tricks, posing midair, spinning, flipping, laughing all the way down. They would slyly ask when they’d get a chance to race my car down the main road. Every California kid’s unofficial beckoning into teenage society came the day they got a car. A car meant freedom. Freedom to go wherever your friends, vehicle, babysitting money, and your allowance could bring you. We would drive to the hidden beaches in Malibu. Eyes closed, hands to the ceiling as the lights of the canyon’s tunnels approached,

“Make a wish!”

We’d exclaim, caught up in the taste of sunshine, salt-air, and the promises of our futures as if the sky above could hear us better if we were just a little closer to earth. As I took the familiar twists and turns and saw the approaching tunnels, I made a wish. The sea came into view through the valley of Malibu’s peaks, and I felt like I had truly returned to my homeland. I sat with the sun high, the air was chilled, and the waves were crashing upon the shore. I wrote a token to the God of the Sea and a Goddess who had emerged from the very seafoam I watched. I wasn’t sure at the time who exactly I was wishing for, but I decided to send a message to the guy who had been on my mind. I knew he appreciated the same land I did. He had also flown to a warmer climate with his family; they flew South.

~

Talking Bodies

The weather was gloomy in LA when my sister shared her dream car. As we sat in her ideal leather, I asked about the stereo, and my mother asked about my love life. She was hoping to hear a new story. While I had accepted invitations and was open to getting to know others, there was someone on my mind. We had exchanged messages over the Holidays, and I couldn’t fight the smile as I said,

“Well, there’s this one guy…”

As they peered at a photo upon request,

“Oh! He’s quite handsome!” My mom exclaimed. “Is he nice? Where’s he from?” She was pretty pleased to hear he had grown up not far from home. “He has kind eyes.”

“Wait… REALLY cute…” My sister tested, “Would you want kids?”

“A total gentleman! I mean… I’m not sure what he’d want, but I’m open… I’d happily be HIS wife.” It was enough to induce shrieks of shock. For the first time, my sister said with soft eyes, “Well, I hope it works out… You should see him again. Where would you raise them? New York?”

I didn’t hesitate when I said,

“Maybe… or maybe Santa Barbara…”

My sister turned, surprised. She hadn’t heard me mention anywhere other than New York in years. “That actually makes a lot of sense for you… Both of those!”

It seemed the Fate of the “Chic, childless Aunt” was slowly starting to change…

~

Los Angeles | December 2024

A Family Car

As my brother-in-law drove me to LAX, we talked philosophy, medicine, and life. As I told him about the guy on my mind, and the right question that changed it all,

What do you believe?

He sat forward in the driver’s seat, fist in the air,

“Hell yeah! You should see him again… You know… it all changed for me the night I met your sister…”

~

New York | January 2025

Shortly after I flew back East, the Palisades and Eaton fires erupted. A beautiful part of the land, full of sunshine, waves, families, and communities. It is a place everybody loves. My sister stood bravely, as she kept everybody informed, and I fearfully checked for her every chance I had. The fires lasted twenty-four days. I had been sending and receiving messages with the community. The kids of the land were not unfamiliar, as we had witnessed early fires and small evacuations throughout childhood, and they seemingly grew worse every year. A message from the Village was always welcome, especially in scary times. When the embers of destruction lay to ash, and the sun started to peak through the clouds, the community of Buddha statues sat tall amongst the little that had been spared, and the world gathered to help its people, and the children holding hands. I reached for the guy who was never far from my mind. Both kids of the same homeland, who shared an equal amount of love for what was lost. When asked, “What can we really do?”

My answer was, “Share resources and pray. That’s all we really can do.”

~

The next time we saw each other was after winter had started to pass; I had missed him while he was South and had sent a message. I was eager to see him. Time and miles did nothing to create a distance between me and the thought of him. It seemed whenever we spoke, we were always with our families. He was the one name they wanted to keep asking about. The one name that I wanted to keep talking about. A part of me always wished he were with me.

~

New York | Spring 2025

On a night like any other, I was out and about— open to what the night brings. The room was crowded, the music loud, the people interesting and kind! I saw a sign, one that made me want to take a picture. When I got home, I put on a favorite album and let down my hair. I picked up the phone and sent a message to the guy who was still on my mind and constantly drifting in the wind. We set a date.

With a soft knock on my door, my heart stopped before starting to beat wildly. I took a deep breath to steady it before breaking out into the smile I only seemed to have for him. I had selected some personal silks for the occasion. A French name that sat in both New York and Los Angeles. He had been traveling with his loyal band of Alley Cats. When I sent for him, he was North, with his family, and he planned to make his way to my doorstep. While I had previously hosted some gatherings with friends to celebrate the milestone, I hadn’t invited a man into the Tower. I had given it some thought and time to decide with a clear mind. Behind the door revealed a tall glass of Guinness with a California kid smile. They call the Irish ‘Lucky’ for a reason. He was just what I had been looking for. I didn’t want my expectations to be too high, given that a bit of time had passed since we last saw each other, but I had wanted him countless times over the distance. Some people were just worth waiting for. He made me want to throw everything else to the wind. I certainly hoped he would stay awhile. If things went well, perhaps he’d be there when I returned from my own travels.

He had brought a bottle of wine that reminded me of our homeland, and he looked pretty damn good opening it when he was standing in my kitchen. It turned into my favorite bottle of wine. A perfectly balanced blend of citrus, apricot, and chamomile from New Zealand. The cork sits with my collection of matchbooks. As we settled in the living room, he looked like he belonged there. Talking about family, and my plans to return to the stones and jewelry, starting with a short trip to France. I had spoken with a number of Houses, and he mentioned a House that I had been afraid to reach for. The house that created a watch I had dreamed of and spoken of since the days of my first Olympics. As we laughed over tales from previous lives, I was happy that I waited. His stories of travel made me laugh in a way that no one else could. He asked me to rank the following in order of importance:

The Ring

The House

The Honeymoon

My answer?

1. The Home

2. The Honeymoon

3. The Ring

With the right guy, it doesn’t really matter how big the ring is, just that the house feels like a home.

~

The lights were low and the music was on in the other room. The silk was from Nice, and he handled it more carefully than I did. The produce was fresh, and my hair was down. I didn’t hesitate. Everything else in my life felt like a maybe, but him? Yes. Just yes. He liked how I had created a mirrored effect with the piece that hung above my bed. A photo that I had overseen during a marathon. Haute Couture and Haute Joaillerie down mirrored staircases. I had placed the brooch featured. He said it reminded him of famous labyrinth sketches. I told him of my wishes to go to surf camps, play cards with the locals, and run through the waves of Brazil as midnight struck a new year. To cleanse the soul. We joked about the difference between millions, billions, and trillions. My favorite song from my favorite album had him reaching for a loose curl that had fallen in my face.

When he mentioned passing the keys of the Tower to the next generation and the generation after it, I saw it, what I could never quite see with anyone else. With him? Yes. He observed how the light on the far wall landed, and told me never to change how I had arranged it. Purposefully simple. When he complimented the view, I was looking out at the sky and turned to find he wasn’t looking out at all. Once again, our gazes had met, open windows. One looking True North, one looking West. All it took was two heartbeats. I asked him how he heard music, and he asked how I saw it. And when a gentle face indicated a tender spot, he held out his hand, palm to the sky, just within arm’s reach, and then he asked about my first memory. A memory I had told him about on our first date. In three heartbeats, I took it. He was warm. In each other’s arms, I thought,

Him? Yes. I could stay like this forever. He can stay as long as he’d like.

When he asked about my perfume, I told him it was my classic scent. I had worn it on our first date. He saw the same homeland I did on the bottle, and the same scent as the candle he had sitting in his home.

A Love Letter

Written with Honey