Reading · DOUBLE TAKE · RSS Amplifier

“Once I read a story about a butterfly in the subway, and today, I saw one. It got on at 42nd, and off at 59th, where, I assume it was going to Bloomingdales to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake – as almost all hats are.” ~Nora Ephron.

Already an early riser and still on European time, I'm writing this newsletter at 5 am the morning after returning from Italy.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what I call “precipice moments”—when you’re standing right at the edge, somewhat precariously and a little bit thrillingly, with the knowledge (or maybe the hunch or the voice of the universe in your ear) that the next move, however seemingly inconsequential, sets in action a series of changes.

I don’t know; perhaps the election, the disastrous debate, and the events that followed have brought into stark detail the impact one person’s decision can/may/will make. Or, maybe it's that I just returned from climbing the Dolomites, wherein I was literally hanging from the edge, and every move I made held actual life or death significance (oh, NBD!). Or perhaps it’s lighter than that. Maybe it’s simply because I spent the rest of the trip post-climb, wandering the streets of beautiful Italian villages, making spot decisions about whether to turn right or left, swim or sunbathe, read or sleep. Decisions that resulted in a midnight disco in the tower of an ancient castle, an impromptu concert by Cat Power performing obscure, deep-track Bob Dylan songs in a centuries-old amphitheater, two books read cover to cover, 60 miles traversed by foot, sunset cold plunges, and tours through canals that were so tight and precarious (read: thrilling), we had to duck our heads under bridges to fit. Yes, this all happened. And yes, it was epic, awe-inspiring, and life-affirming.

Anyway, the many hours of walking, climbing, cold plunging, and reading got me thinking about choices (both profound and perfunctory): the thousands of them we make at every turn that collectively shape our story. I’ve always gravitated toward the idea that every interaction, introduction, mistake, delay, inaction, bridge, mountain, tunnel, hurt, or happiness—no matter how trivial, mundane, or imperceptible, like the flutter of a wing—has the potential to become something. Some call it the Butterfly Effect, others say “sliding doors.”

Pop culture has found fodder in The Butterfly Effect for decades. Cult classics like Back to the Future and Sliding Doors, the iconic 90s film featuring Gwyneth Paltrow as Helen—a woman whose life is depicted as going in two wildly different directions based on whether she does or doesn’t catch a train—are just two. In Sliding Doors, the foremost question asks: “What if that seemingly irrelevant thing didn’t happen or happened differently?”

I often think about how one thing has led to another and how chance encounters and big decisions carry equal weight in the fabric of my life—a move to NYC due to cold emailing a brand, the spontaneous Uber share during a rainstorm that yielded an apartment, the random breakfast meeting that caused years of heartbreak, and the unexpected double date that changed my life…

At my college graduation, my dad advised me that my first job would not be indicative of my entire career. Instead, he assured me that my career would have at least seven iterations evolving over time through experience, chance introductions and new opportunities—so long as you’re open to it. And then he told me not to worry, for the magic ahead is greater than my ability to dream. He was right.

In my early twenties, I was interviewing for my “dream job” in San Francisco. In the final hours, IDEO, the company, changed course and decided not to create a fashion division, meaning the role I was interviewing for no longer existed. I was crushed, but looking back, it was all wrong for me. Like so many things I coveted, I didn’t really want the job, but my ego did.

In point of fact, it was a blessing. The following month, I met my daughter's father in Los Angeles and moved to New York City on a whim. That was 18 years ago. Had I moved to San Francisco, who knows where I'd be!? I certainly would not be “me” without my girl or my city. Both of which have shaped me.

Eleven years ago, I attended a 40th birthday party in July in upstate New York. Over 100 people were in attendance, and I, the girl with over 300,000 photos on her phone, have only one picture from that weekend—a photo of people sitting around a fire, all blurry except for one person, whom I barely knew and wouldn’t until almost a decade later…

Eight years ago, the morning after the Presidency was lost, I stood on the corner of Ludlow and Rivington, waiting outside of Soho House for my breakfast meeting to arrive. There I stood, blissfully unaware that my entire life was about to veer wildly off course. I call it the train I wish I’d missed. But of course, I’ve since learned that sometimes, you must go off course to course correct…

Three Thanksgivings ago, I stared out my taxi window and finally said yes to a double date that would forever change my life…

Last month, I walked out of an elevator and into an airy hallway with herringbone floors, thus marking the start of my next and possibly greatest adventure yet…

Today, I'm writing this newsletter from home—a loft where my daughter and I have lived for the past six years, which I found after meeting a stranger in the back seat of an Uber Share, a stranger who would become my neighbor. This home saved me when I needed saving the most. It has also been a haven for my daughter and girlfriends. In fact, just yesterday, one of my best girlfriends reminded me that her daughter had taken her first steps here and that she used to sleep on my sofa while launching her revolutionary jewelry brand (Her Substack is worth a follow, too.)

Often, my man and I talk about how hard it was to get to us—the pain felt and caused, the twisty turns, course corrections and misgivings—knowing full well that we wouldn’t be here without all of that. Plus, the people we are today are not who we were 20 years ago; chances are those two people would never have fallen in love. After all, 11 years ago, he was just a guy in a blurry photo at a party upstate.

Sometimes, when it's just me and the keyboard at this early hour (now 6 am), I marvel at how life unfolds, with moments leading to paths intersecting like a web in ways we will never fully understand. I marvel at our many daily decisions—Who to spend time with? What job to take? What president to elect? What street to walk down? Who to date? Where to travel? What to eat? What to wear? Where to move?—and how they have the potential to lead us to new experiences, people, and situations, which can change our thinking and, ultimately, our course in a heartbeat. Sometimes all it takes is the tiniest idea introduced by someone whose attitude or perspective you admire to transform what you see and feel. I marvel at the magic that greets you when you say yes to the unknown, the date, the new walk home, the pop into a shop, or the RSVP to a dinner party.

As I continue to marinate on my many life choices, I give myself grace in knowing that sometimes failures get you where you're meant to be. And I remind myself that the small stuff is the big stuff and that every decision, big or small, is inextricable from the story. After all, there's no way to get HERE (believing in magic and learning to fly like a butterfly) without first being THERE.