Written in a church parking lot, Bainbridge Island. Rainstorms.
Dear Friends,
This week, I have a story for you. Something that has been turning around in my head the past few days. It is part of a larger story that’s slowly evolving and I’m excited to share the early developments with you here. Events described all happened over the past five years - some while I was still living in Taos in 2021, and some while on the road with the van.
I’ve also included a list below of some things I’ve been enjoying that you might like, too.
Please enjoy.
The Subtle Art of Looking Into a Man’s Eyes
“Unless you see a thing in the light of love, you don’t see it at all.” - Kathleen Raine
Here’s the first lesson I learned about looking into a man’s eyes.
To get his attention, wear red. Not for any symbolic reason. Just so he can see you.
Find one you like the look of and make eye contact from across the room. Look warmly into his depths. Don’t be the first to look away.
Watch him walk right over. Bear to a honey pot. Men are hungry to be seen.
Getting his attention is one thing. If you want him too badly, then holding it will be another.
Second lesson.
I first learned about eye-gazing in theory from the mystic Osho, who wrote that if you understand the art of looking into someone’s eyes, then you can access their soul.
I first learned about eye-gazing in practice from Christian, who took me out for dinner in Arroyo Seco on our second date, and barged straight into my inner dressing room with his merciless blue eyes over our double-order of pecan-encrusted tilapia. The eye contact was so intense and powerful, like none I had ever experienced, that I toppled off my story mid-sentence and stammered. I wanted to run as far away as I could from that stare. The farthest I got was my plate, where I took refuge in dissecting my delicate fish.
“Then what happened?” He said after a beat, when I didn’t finish telling the story.
“Oh, that was it,” I said. I had completely lost my bearings.
I hadn’t realized until then how much I longed for a man like him. How badly I wanted things to turn out happily ever after for once. Christian was smart, traveled, well-read, accomplished. Wore cowboy boots with dress pants. Drove a truck. Had a job. Paid for our first dinner without breaking eye contact with me. Balanced his thick midnight blue card in between his index and middle finger. Held it aloft for the waitress to take, while simultaneously listening to my ideas about the world. It was fucking sexy.
Christian was a man who drank a fine wine like a fine wine. Not like a can of Monster Energy Drink.
A few days later, I ran into my hair stylist, who had seen us out that night.
“Girl. Was that you I saw up in Lambert’s with a REAL MAN? Where did you find that guy? I was tryna eavesdrop but I was too drunk.”
A real testament to the dating scene in Taos. You held on to a man like Christian in a town like Taos like a goddamn rodeo queen.
Christian was that rare kind of man anywhere who I felt could potentially see me. See me and appreciate me in all of my nuances. Christian was a man who drank a fine wine like a fine wine. Not like a can of Monster Energy Drink. On our first date he looked warmly into my eyes. On the second date, I met that ugly, sudden and intrusive stare. It felt like he was looking for the weak points.
When the waiter came by, I ordered my first glass of wine in three years. After it was gone, I said to Christian. “You, um, make pretty direct eye contact.”
“When someone’s talking, I think you should listen.”
That wasn’t listening. That was something else entirely. What Osho called eye-trespassing. Looking in without loving.
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