spoiler alert: I have not been keeping my cool

It’s Tuesday morning and I’m sitting at a coffee shop trying to write about my fear of going to the doctor’s. It’s impossible to concentrate, though, because my eyes keep darting to my phone, willing it to light up with good news—either we got the fourth house we put an offer on, or we didn’t. In some sort of miracle, this particular house has been on the market four days and we’re only the second offer. It’s an impeccable mid-century house I’ve only ever dreamed of having, with a shiny kitchen, wooden ceiling beams, desert-y landscaping, and more windows than I can count. My hopes are creeping higher, but this is the post-covid real estate market and there is no precedent for anything. When we were writing our offer Jacob told our realtor to include the naming rights of our first- and second-born children. He was only half kidding.

Have you ever wanted something to happen so badly your teeth hurt, but your fate lies in the hands of someone else? It’s an impossible scenario that flies in the face of how we think the world should work. In an ideal world, we’re supposed to set a goal and work hard until it’s achieved. There’s no guidebook for when you’ve set the goal, worked hard, done everything right, and a faceless force vetoes your best effort for no clear reason.

When there’s no obvious path forward, sometimes distraction is the only answer. Outside of working and obsessing over houses, I’ve been throwing myself into meaningless tasks like looking for the perfect sandals and creating the ultimate summer bucket list. These things may seem inconsequential, but they allow me to have, in whatever small way, a modicum of control. While I’m researching strappy slides I’m not thinking about why the mind of a seller is so fickle. While planning a breakfast picnic I can forget, for a moment, that my fate is being decided by a stranger.

It’s Tuesday afternoon and I’m lying in bed intently rewatching the videos I took in the dream house, imagining the next chapter of our lives. This is something I haven’t allowed myself to do with our previous offers. But the sellers already verbally accepted our contract; it really feels like it’s going to work this time. I text Jacob to brainstorm furniture arrangement in the master bedroom. I look up short-term rental laws for the in-law unit in the basement. For the briefest moment, I envision Christmas with our family in the light-filled living room.

But I should know better by now. My phone finally rings and I pounce—it’s our realtor. “I don’t have good news,” she begins. “The sellers had second thoughts and decided to go with the other offer. I’m so sorry.”

A deep sigh is all I have in me. “Honestly, nothing surprises me at this point,” I respond. “It would’ve been too good to be true.” It still feels like a punch to the gut. Guess I’ll just go back to planning breakfast picnics until I have the courage to open zillow again.

“A dominant impulse on encountering beauty is to wish to hold onto it, to possess it and give it weight in one’s life. There is an urge to say, ‘I was here, I saw this and it mattered to me.’” —Alain de Botton

I feel equal parts attacked and validated by de Botton’s observation. Sometimes I wonder—what is the point of all this documentation? But, listen: I was here, I saw this and it mattered to me. This is reason enough to carry on.

I was here

San Diego, mid-May / ten girls, made family by blood and by love / a week together in a tiny beach house

I saw this

Gretta did yoga on the beach early in the morning and saw dolphins. The rest of us wanted to see them too, so that evening she performed an impromptu dolphin-summoning dance. No such luck, unfortunately. Perhaps the dolphins were intimidated by her spot-on impression.

Thursday was too cold and misty for the beach, so we drove to Balboa Park to see the rose gardens. Margaret found a patch of roses whose petals were yellow on one side and red on the other. With glee she covered up their name and asked us to guess the variety. Condiments, she gave as a hint. Salsa? No, but close! Ketchup and mustard? Yes! We asked an older gentleman to take our picture and his eyes lit up when he realized he’d have a captive audience for his antics.

At 11pm Margaret and I stood whispering in the dim kitchen; we got on the subject of feet and how odd they are. On a whim Margaret burst into Gwen’s room and said, “Gwen, are you awake? Show Carlotta how weird your feet are!” Gwen obliged (they’re not that weird). We tried to muffle our snorts to no avail. I can only hope in thirty years I will be showing off my sister’s feet to my daughter-in-law.

On our last day, determined to have a beach day, we put on swimsuits even though it was really too cold. Half of us eventually ran back to bundle up; the other stalwart half toughed it out. How many girls does it take to collapse a beach umbrella, you ask? Five in our case, and we still didn’t do it successfully. Oh well, what we lacked in technical skills was made up in amusement.

It mattered to me

After wine and pasta we had a group hug, all ten of us. Huddled together, Carla cried as she told us she couldn’t imagine better role models for her girls and the rest of us cried too, thinking about what we’ve lost this year and what we’ve gained in each other. I hope I have daughters so I can raise them to be just like these women.

All images shot with a single-use camera

While you were gone I buried my nose in the lilac bushes and thought of our first home together. Do you remember it? The little cabin with the big windows and sloping floors, with the unfinished spare bedroom and the unruly lilac bush in the backyard? It wasn’t much but it was where we pledged our lives to each other. 

While you were gone I pierced my nose and made an offer on a house; our dog howled and I did at least thirteen crossword puzzles, so it’s safe to say both of us are lost without you. I’d never gone so long without talking to you. It felt like part of myself was missing, cliche as it sounds. Sometimes I scare myself on purpose, imagine things like what if everyone I loved disappeared, letting myself indulge in the tragedy before crashing back to reality—a twisted gratitude practice. There was a time last summer when I was convinced that all my problems would be solved if I were free and unencumbered. I realize now how wrong I was.

The sad and the scary loom large in the corners of my soul. I’ve thought before, I cannot be happy until those things go away. But that would be accepting defeat. Look, the peonies are unfurling and my love has returned! Move over, calamity—there is plenty room in this life for joy, too.

Here is a truth: the earth is burning. Here is another truth: we are still here.

Armageddon is a biblical concept, the name of the place where the last battle between good and evil will be fought. With their greedy licking flamed tongues and rancid smoke plumed fingers the wildfires are raging apocalyptic monsters—and yet here we remain, soft creatures who beneath unholy skies want nothing more than a juicy hunk of watermelon and a spray of lake water. Isn’t it easy to believe Armageddon is here, now?

Photos taken during the horrific Cameron Peak fire in fall 2020. See the preview below or view the full series here.