The grass and the king
I still believe I can tend to the seed of any type of grass I want, and with enough patience, it’ll bloom into everything I need. And every single day, I am grateful to have learned the difference.
When I was a child, my grandmother had a favorite saying: l'erba voglio non cresce neppure nel giardino del re, she would tell me. The “I want” type of grass doesn’t even grow in the king’s garden, literally translated, or —figuratively— I want doesn’t get.
It was a good life lesson, I guess. Certainly one she, born in ‘34, had little choice but to live by. I, on the other end, was a bratty and bossy eight year old and I didn’t have a single grain of patience. But I want it, I would whine, referring to: the giant Barbie truck my friend Silvia got for Christmas, the new Bratz collection even though mom says they’re trashy, a kiss on the cheek from the cute boy with the rattail, my parents’ 24/7 undivided attention, the chance to sing on the Zecchino D’Oro: Italy’s annual children's song competition, time to play with my toys and read my books and not have to do my homework, validation from my Italian teacher that I’m the best student she’s ever had, and to be a real witch like Hermione.
I wanted the grass and the crown and the whole garden.
Just give it to me. I’ll take good care of it and replant it when I’m done, make sure it can grow back for others, so we can all have everything we need.
I’ll make us all kings.
*
In one of my favorite movies, Zach Braff’s 2014 indie Wish I Was Here, the main character is an out of work actor struggling to provide for his two children amidst a family health crisis. He’s reassessing his career, his relationships and his faith, so he goes to see a rabbi.
“What about my dream?” he asks, smugly. “Doesn’t god believe in my pursuit of happiness?”
“No,” replies a stern Rabbi Twersky. “That’s the declaration of independence. Thomas Jefferson cared about your happiness, God wants you to provide for your family.”
I watched Wish I Was Here with my family, and at that line, my dad laughed and laughed and laughed. It’s a well-delivered line fifteen minutes into a heartwarming comedy, not necessarily the stuff you win Oscars for, but it stuck with me. I was studying to be an actress at the time, and the only reason I could afford to do so was because he had chosen to provide for me instead of listening to Thomas Jefferson for himself. The irony was not lost on me then, and it is not lost on me now as I ask, is it bratty to pursue a dream? It’s a privilege, of course, let’s start there. But doesn’t that make disregarding it even more of a waste?
Is it cliché, or even totally besides the point, to ponder whether you could water a seed until it turns into something that looks a lot like happiness?
If you align your wants and your needs and realize the Barbie truck was never part of the dream, but perhaps joy and adventure and play and belonging are ––well, then, are you allowed to say: that’s it, that’s what I want.
I’m not gonna spoil the ending of the movie, if you haven’t watched it, but I think Zach Braff agrees with me. Not only are you allowed, but that’s the only thing worth doing.
My big dreams have shifted and changed approximately five thousand times since 2014, when I first watched Wish I Was Here. I’m glad I didn’t end up pursuing the version of happiness that I thought a career as an actress would grant me, because I now know that path would have destroyed everything I love about, well, me, in the process.
But I still think the “I want” type of grass grows both in the king’s garden and in the space between our fingers, and I still believe that it’s our life’s work to turn those seeds into something beautiful. Whatever that means for you or me, however different they may be. However long that may take. Life, like a poem, is a series of choices, says Maggie Smith. This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.
*
My favorite song from Let It Bleed is Gimme Shelter (”I tell you, love, it's just a kiss away, it’s just a kiss away”) because it’s everyone’s favorite, including Rolling Stone, and of course it should be.
But in the Bad Winter of 2015, I played a different song over and over. You can't always get what you want, I’d sing under my breath. I’d walk the eastern stretch of the Heath four times over and get my heartbeat up for the best part, you just might find, you get what you need.
How I imagined it back then went something like this: you won’t get this audition, but they’ll love you at the next one. Yes, you need to break up with your boyfriend, but perhaps someone else will come along and love you better. No, you shouldn’t have downed an entire bottle of wine in an afternoon, but you did, and you will survive that. You’ll try to do better tomorrow. Things feel out of control right now but that won’t be true forever, and one day, it’ll all amount to something.
I don’t want you to think I’m using grass and kings as metaphors for snap your fingers and the Barbie truck will be yours, you see. That’s not what we do around here. But I do believe in two fundamental things: identifying what you want ––what will truly make you joyous, peaceful, and most alive–– is the first step, and that includes everything that you do not want. And two, well, what you want might just keep eluding you forever. But that’s when you allow magic to truly do its job.
I wanted so much, back then, but it was all for the wrong reasons.
Give me my Barbie truck. Give me outwardly success and a shiny front and a steel armor because I can’t survive this world without one. Give me peace of mind for just a moment so that I can catch my breath from all the running I’ve been doing. Grant me more ways to hide and mangle my real self, because if I stop hiding even just for a moment, it will all come crashing down.
And would you look at that, crash down it all did. You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you'll find you get what you need.
*
I learned my lesson, but I still do, I want so much.
These days, I want joy and play and music and ease. I want community, movement, alignment, creativity, and adventure. I want long walks and good food and great sex. I want time to do nothing but stare at the ceiling and I want space to be my weird, sweet self. I want to be busy doing fulfilling work, and to never have to compromise my values again. I want love and belonging and travel and boredom. I want the algorithm to keep pushing #vanlife videos my way and I want to hear more live music. I want to finish the really hard puzzle we started in December and I want a really hot shower. I want long days in the sun and entire weekends spent without checking my email. I want so much, and yet, it is not much.
In Eileen, Ottessa Moshfegh writes: “Here is how I spend my days now. I live in a beautiful place. I sleep in a beautiful bed. I eat beautiful food. I go for walks through beautiful places. I care for people deeply. At night my bed is full of love, because I alone am in it. I cry easily, from pain and pleasure, and I don’t apologize for that. In the mornings I step outside and I’m thankful for another day. It took me many years to arrive at such a life.”
In My Life in France, Julia Child writes: “In a little bistro, we warmed ourselves with coffee and stared at the city through dirty windows. Behind Paul’s head, a fat white cat slept on a pile of ledgers. Beside me, a large dog made up of many breeds gave a big “Woof!,” then settled into a deep snooze. Three boys played dice at a nearby table. An old man wrote a letter. At the bar, a frowsy blonde gossiped with a horn-rimmed man in a beret. A fat white dog dressed in a green turtleneck waddled by, and the blonde cooed: ‘Ah, qu’il est joli, le p’tit chou.’”
Last year, I wrote about swapping ambition for contentment, and when the piece was published, I thought —ah, that’s it. Of course I couldn’t get what I wanted, and would you look at that? I got what I needed. What a cosmic joke. What a perfect world.
These days, I’m slightly less bratty but just as bossy as my eight-year-old self. I don’t whine, I sing, I still want it.
I still believe I can tend to the seed of any type of grass I want, and with enough patience, it’ll bloom into everything I need. And every single day, I am grateful to have learned the difference.
Recs for your weekend:
My Perfect Pictures and the Pain Behind Them
Is Live Music Broken? It’s Not Just Ticketmaster, It’s Everything.
Thinx period underwear was supposed to be ‘non-toxic’. Now customers feel betrayed
This Is What It’s Like to Be Obsessed With Perfection
The Age of Envy: How to be Happy When Everyone Else’s Life Looks Perfect
Life snapshots
on repeat: new THE NATIONAL!!!!!
book: The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown
learning from: this Popcast episode (music lovers, RUN to this NYT pod’s archives, it’s the stuff of dreams and has been a favorite of mine for a few years) on the Ticketmaster disaster
cooking: a huge batch of herbed lemon quinoa
looking forward to: an article I’m very proud of writing that’s about to come out!!!!
I know I’ve said this before, but you are such a beautiful writer.