Overdue Part I

Yesterday I returned late in the evening from the APS conference in Baltimore, MD. Physicists are an odd bunch. They don't wear deodorant, they lean a little too close to you, and yet, they're oddly formal and intellectually austere. I'm a little in awe of people who earn their keep by working purely in theory. Sure, applied physics is a different field, but physicists - perhaps even more than my humanities kinsmen - really dwell in their heads.

My boss and I went to an amazing restaurant - The Helmand - in the Mount Vernon district of Baltimore. We walked passed historical landmarks, a cheesy equestrian statue, cobblestone streets, and delightful little restaurants that packed great food and ambiance. The Helmand was apparently opened by the president of Afghanistan's brother. The jovial waitstaff, mass of exposed brick and painted murals, and soothing primrose lighting were a tonic to strained nerves. Book publishing people like to drink, which is a big bonus in my mind, since the 8 of us drove through about 7 bottles of red wine - Pinot Noir and Syrah - over the course of the meal. And Afghan food is really close to Lebanese food, which is one of my all-time favourite cuisines. It's incredibly simple and elegant, but the spices are so cleverly combined that even the most plain vegetable dish becomes memorable. It reminded me a lot of when I went to stay with Raya and her family in Vaucresson, on the occasional weekend when I lived in Paris. Her mother put together the most beautiful but simple table: delicate spices, good company. I hope my home someday looks like that.

Ingrid and I finished off our meal by sharing vanilla ice cream flavoured with cardamom and served with mangoes and dates. I feel lusty just thinking about it. It's terrible to romanticize these things, but minus the conversation (which was very book-centric, and involved lots of juicy insider commentary on publishing and US vs. UK offices), I began thinking of the bedouin dining experience - eating off large brass platters with one's hands, piling vegetables onto flatbread, sharing food with one's neighbours. I've always been easily seduced by that sort of thing. Plus I look great in sequins.

One of the nice things about attending conferences is that they enable me to get to know both the books and my bosses much better. And I've never come out of a conference disliking either -- the more I learn about the booklist, and the more I interact with my editors, the more I appreciate the larger value of what we do, and the personal charm and kindness of those with whom I work. It sounds cheesy to say all this, but after driving back for almost 3 hours with Ingrid, I felt more open to her. And although we won't always recreate that chumminess in the office, it makes the daily rigour a little easier to know that you have a personal as well as professional rapport with your supervisors.

I've been really remiss about blogging, so there's a lot of backpedaling I need to do. I saw Lina for brunch about 2 weeks ago, which was great! We met up with Chris - who I hadn't seen in months - and went to Cafe Orlin at St. Mark's Place for brunch. I also went home to CT for a night, saw a musical with my parents, and helped Vanessa vacate her ex-boyfriend's office out of which she was working.

The latter was rather emotionally charged. As one of Vanessa's friends noted, women occupy men's spaces to such a great extent...oftentimes, when the relationship ends, a woman's departure empties the man's life of a huge physical presence. Anthony owned and worked out of a large studio for years, but even after only 8 months of cohabitation, Vanessa's breakup made bare his entire space. I tried to imagine what he would feel when he came in the next morning to work with his clients and discovered the vacant rooms. I imagined his stomache dropping, and a sudden psychological barrenness in response to his surroundings.

Ending a relationship is intense - in terms of what you leave behind, what you take away with you, and what you confront moving ahead. Seeing Vanessa go through this stuff makes me realize that breaking up is like undergoing a death in your immediate family. Everything changes - and your everday life has to start a new cycle. Even for the casual observer (and am I ever really casual?), the emotions in the air were heavy. We essentially moved Vanessa out of Manhattan and into a real life in Princeton.

At the risk of sounding like Carrie Bradshaw (someone I never like to channel), all of this makes me wonder about what it means to travel light. I've always been a big fan of bearing your life around you in the most streamlined means possible - a few letters and photos, a well-worn book of poetry, and a head and heart full of memories, quotes, theories, and expectations. I guess that after all the moving around, it makes more sense to me - and seems safer, even - that identity would be something you sustained in your mind rather than something that you constructed in the objects around you. Call it cowardice or self-protection. Juxtaposed with visions of legs entwined and trusting eyes are images of untidy beds and conversations that end in a stalemate. Can you possibly want this to be part of your life?

And yet, how giddy and gleeful to be with someone else...to wear an incipient smile every moment...to have experiences that belong as much to him or her as to you. I don't know how "together" travels light, but I'm hoping I'll soon learn. And there's my bid for optimism, dear reader...