For The Time Being

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	<title>For The Time Being</title>
	<link>https://for-the-time-being.com</link>
	<description>For The Time Being</description>
	<pubDate>Wed, 17 Jun 2020 16:58:50 +0000</pubDate>
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		<title>Home Image Scroll</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Home-Image-Scroll</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 15 Jun 2020 17:22:20 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

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	<item>
		<title>Adam Abada</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Adam-Abada</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 15 Jun 2020 17:22:22 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

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		<description>Adam Abada

	&#60;img width="1691" height="2204" width_o="1691" height_o="2204" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ad2f0650ef29e81c9ae1ddf32b67dcb201a4f4ea8bf357ba93bc580652cd9270/Drawings-during-work-1_-09.jpeg" data-mid="74661281" border="0" data-scale="100" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ad2f0650ef29e81c9ae1ddf32b67dcb201a4f4ea8bf357ba93bc580652cd9270/Drawings-during-work-1_-09.jpeg" /&#62;


I found this drawing I
did at one of my first jobs out of college in 2009. I was manually rebranding
every Nick Jr. interstitial by importing their Digi-beta (sometimes straight up
beta) tapes, covering any old logos with the new packages, sometimes re-editing
the spots to make them work, and laying them back off to tape. Whole thing was
like 4-6 months. I was in an office on broadway and 26th st and the whole thing
felt very classic New York workday job. Needless to say, there was a lot of
time for day dreaming.


This is the view out of my window in that office. 
I’ll also include a drawing of the “friends” I
made at work. 


&#60;img width="1691" height="2204" width_o="1691" height_o="2204" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/636156cc50dee1a79dfeb9834ceab3a86efc3aa409db9f24db43bce0cc6babac/Drawings-during-work-2_-09.jpeg" data-mid="74661385" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/636156cc50dee1a79dfeb9834ceab3a86efc3aa409db9f24db43bce0cc6babac/Drawings-during-work-2_-09.jpeg" /&#62;


	Adam Abada
	Los Angeles, CA
	@gnarcotics

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		<title>Adea Lennox</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Adea-Lennox</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 15 Jun 2020 17:22:22 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://for-the-time-being.com/Adea-Lennox</guid>

		<description>Adea Lennox


There once was a river where the buffalo roam
There once was a heart in the hearth of this home.

This is a tale that tells of where it all went wrong.

						
When my grandfather was a wandering manA sack made of leather and a fistful of sandHe carried in his chest a stone blue as dawnAnd the face of the virgin chiseled into his bone.When we were born he’d pull up his sleeve and bare his forearm
In the light of the fire her face would appear beneath his thin skin

Pulled tight by our hands so soft with innocence.

						
Struck by lightening in the heat of a daytime storm
This he said, was how he was touched by god
And married to the ground, all in one afternoon.

						
Under cover of darkness
Soaked through with rain

						a young woman found him laying in pain.

To she he was a foreignerBut his eyes said “home.”He sang to her sweetly like the kernels of corn
Rubbed with butter freshly churned.

						
When she asked from where he cameHe squeezed her hand till the end of his days and on his last breath
“I have seen many suns,I’ve faced the crook of the moonWho stole my pistol and shot the stars till they all fell down.The dust in your corner is their memory forlorn.”

						
One morning she awoke to the chill of his touchTo find that someone had carved out the stone in his chest
And left not one sliver of blueFor her to cling to.

					
	&#60;img width="3102" height="3100" width_o="3102" height_o="3100" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/66f32e529f9defbc666c6d41981f157148ed30356626e7ef11b5ad699ea0a9fe/SID.jpg" data-mid="74663034" border="0" data-scale="100" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/66f32e529f9defbc666c6d41981f157148ed30356626e7ef11b5ad699ea0a9fe/SID.jpg" /&#62;


Adea Lennox
	Los Angeles, CA
	@adealennox


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	<item>
		<title>Andrew Raine</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Andrew-Raine</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 15 Jun 2020 17:22:23 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://for-the-time-being.com/Andrew-Raine</guid>

		<description>Andrew Raine &#38;nbsp;

Who do I trust
?


Introduction


Social theorist, Nathan Jurgensen, in his retort&#38;nbsp;to the “sudden” post-truth genre of think-pieces that emerged as a liberal
temper tantrum after the 2016 presidential election wrote, “Truths
contestability means that the meaning of your life, or anyone else’s, is a
question that is possible to ask, and possible to get wrong.” I bring up truth,
because like trust, you can’t really talk about either without talking about
time. For some reason, we desire truth and trust to be fixed positions, but to
quote a popular meme that’s been circulating lately, “normalize
changing your mind when presented with new information.”&#38;nbsp;The temporality of both trust and truth should be considered as we think about
“Who do I trust ?” as we try to sustain and maintain our humanity through this
pandemic. CV-19 isn’t just a public
health crisis, or a scientific crisis, but also an information crisis. 


Truth and trust have
always been in question...


Despite that many will try to tell you that the 2016 presidential
election is what gave rise to the post-truth genre, both truth and trust have
historically been in question and in decline. The Image (1962), by historian Daniel Boorstin, Anti-Intellectualism in American Life (1963),
by Richard Hofstadter, Society of the
Spectacle (1967), by Guy Debord, Amusing
Ourselves to Death (1985), by Neil Postman, Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self-Delusion (2019) by Jia Tolentino
– these texts argue that both truth and trust are eroding beneath us due to a
cascade of misinformation made possible through new modes of dissemination: the
circulation of images in newspapers and magazines, print journalism, radio and
television, and now, the Internet. From The Enlightenment to Occupy Wall Street
to Black Lives Matter, the temporal plane of these movements illustrates that
both truth and trust have historically always been in question. CV-19 is the
latest plotted position. 


Seeking clarity but met
with more confusion...


We’ve seen global political leaders tell us this isn’t a big
deal only for them to fall
victim to this virus. We were told masks were unnecessary
for public use, now we require the
public to wear masks at all times outside the house.&#38;nbsp;We’ve seen doctors panic about ventilator
shortages as they were initially seen as an
essential tool to combat CV-19, to ventilators being linked to exacerbating the
respiratory complications of CV-19. In the US,
almost 90% of intubated patients have died. Ventilators have now
been replaced by
pregnancy pillows. What I’m saying is that like truth,
trust is a moving target, that exists on a temporal plane, because information
is always limited. And because information is always limited, it’s possible
that the experts you trust might get some things wrong. “Epidemiology
is a science of possibilities and persuasion. Not of certainties or hard
proof.” But this lack of epidemiological certainties, coupled
with the severely damaged credibility of mainstream media,
creates a cytokine
storm of its own. The absence of clarity and consistency of
information is exactly what made the public susceptible to these fake
social media posts. Found on both Instagram and Twitter, the
posts claim to have a source within the Department of Homeland Security that
told the recorded individual that President Trump was going to lock-down the
entire country and to pack and be prepared for more orders. Many unwittingly
shared this information, watering
the seeds of panic already sown by an unprecedented
amount of media coverage – creating more dissent and distrust
among the population, similar to the epistemic bubbles made infamous by
Cambridge Analytica. And although we’ve seen this tactic before, it still
proves to be highly effective. CV-19 is not just a public health crisis, but an
information crisis. 


Big Reappraisals


The return of the
reliable


In this information crisis, people are looking for guidance,
clarity, and reliability. These things seem difficult to get from our trusted
government officials and media outlets, so we’ve turned to brands and experts
to help safeguard ourselves. Prior to CV-19 it was fairly easy to buy Lysol and
Clorox. “Harsh chemicals” had pushed many customers towards new products that
seemed more “ethically responsible.” But how quickly the tide turned when the
enemy became a virus – how quickly we relinquished those moral platitudes in favor
of proven effectiveness. This is the reason why Lysol and
Clorox are sold out, yet Mrs. Meyers and Seventh Generation remain
on the shelves. What’s not on the shelves is mac and
cheese. As people hole up, we’re also seeing a resurgence in comfort
foods. Kale and
quinoa are being dropped in favor of chips and Oreos as
people seek solace in the familiar comforts of snacks and other foods from our
childhoods. Consumers are also rethinking what it means to be “prepared.” As
access to healthcare becomes a luxury, even to those still employed, consumers
have begun to see wellness, health, and hygiene as weapons of preparedness to
combat CV-19. Many consumers who used to be quite pessimistic about vitamins
are now advocates as they begin to seek alternative ways of healing, and new
old-world remedies. In the wake of this global pandemic, vitamins, supplements, and homeopathic remedies
have experienced an unprecedented surge in demand. With
this resurgence of comfort foods and vitamins, people are looking for ways to
both, soothe the soul and boost the body. Could this lead towards a more
comprehensive versioning of the “wellness” category ? Wellness was largely
inaccessible – created by the well-off, the rules to the wellness category were
written by the elite and disciplinarian-minded. But as the Kraft Mac and Cheese
buyer is now also trying to decide whether to add ashwagandha or rhodiola to
their breakfast smoothies – could a more accessible wellness philosophy be
emerging ?&#38;nbsp; As trust in
government and media&#38;nbsp;continues to slide, people will seek to find the answers with experts,
through their shopping habits, and within
themselves. People
are returning to reliable and proven methods of health, hygiene, and comfort.
We should expect brands that help consumers maintain a ready-state of preparedness
and calmness to thrive as long as the threat of CV-19 continues to linger. 


Now What ?


Brands should be
operating and donating from the goodness of their heart. This collective
traumatic experience has made the population much more sensitive to corporate
bullshit. 
&#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp; – The
difference between Ruth Chris Steakhouse 
and Shake Shack, although both are publicly traded companies, both met
the legal parameters to receive stimulus funding, and both returned their PPP
loans – is that one had to
be told to do the right thing, and the other
didn’t. Sincerity hit
different when it's not requested. 


As everything that people
have formerly relied on comes under greater scrutiny, brands need to be working
overtime to garner loyalty and prove their utility in people’s lives.  
&#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp; – Big
brands used to be synonymous with bad brands, giving rise to this new crop of
“ethically responsible” brands. But when shit hits the fan and people rely on
your products, big brands
have the scale and proven functional attributes to meet demand&#38;nbsp;that a lot of the newer ethical darlings lack. If big brands can dial up their sincerity quotients while delivering
products that are truly helpful, they’ll emerge from this trust deficit with
new ardent loyalists. 


Although we’re seeing
increased trust in non-traditional/ alternative medicines, “Big Pharma” has the
potential to become the most trusted industry should they find a cure for CV-19
– a much needed image reappraisal.
&#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp;&#38;nbsp; – 4 in 10
Americans say they now have a more favorable image of pharmaceutical companies.&#38;nbsp;Finding a cure for the current CV-19 public health crisis will not only lead to
the reopening of the global economy, but also restore faith in both expertise
and big business. 

Andrew Raine &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp;  &#38;nbsp;
	Brooklyn, NY
	

@sociopathological


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	<item>
		<title>Christine Yuan</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Christine-Yuan</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 15 Jun 2020 20:40:19 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://for-the-time-being.com/Christine-Yuan</guid>

		<description>Christine Yuan


&#60;img width="926" height="518" width_o="926" height_o="518" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5c1ed061df6626547586748a7ecb49b2329a114dc2833a9e49f72557a485a55e/Screen-Shot-2020-04-27-at-3.39.44-PM.png" data-mid="74667464" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/926/i/5c1ed061df6626547586748a7ecb49b2329a114dc2833a9e49f72557a485a55e/Screen-Shot-2020-04-27-at-3.39.44-PM.png" /&#62;&#60;img width="934" height="534" width_o="934" height_o="534" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bf45113de792559ad938314dc788d79e343ae18e183999c9d580a1ff5abd835d/Screen-Shot-2020-04-27-at-3.39.50-PM.png" data-mid="74667468" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/934/i/bf45113de792559ad938314dc788d79e343ae18e183999c9d580a1ff5abd835d/Screen-Shot-2020-04-27-at-3.39.50-PM.png" /&#62;


Christine Yuan&#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; 
	Los Angeles, CA
	@christineyuan
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		<title>Mary Ann Anane</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Mary-Ann-Anane</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 15 Jun 2020 17:22:24 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://for-the-time-being.com/Mary-Ann-Anane</guid>

		<description>Mary Ann Anane

	
&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ec369ade23e248618b34751b9d8964fad5dec38111b78416e72b8363661a26e0/forward-title-pg.jpg" data-mid="74882786" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/ec369ade23e248618b34751b9d8964fad5dec38111b78416e72b8363661a26e0/forward-title-pg.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/4aa8a7c2ee02f58227b5c0a6cc4dfdcd337419f3f2824204b53ffe7469c48128/forward-pg-1.jpg" data-mid="74882903" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/4aa8a7c2ee02f58227b5c0a6cc4dfdcd337419f3f2824204b53ffe7469c48128/forward-pg-1.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a76fd8ccc27feef48e8bb3579daac188508a6a816e8ef5e99ae9227ba4e2ff1a/forward-pg-2.jpg" data-mid="74883023" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/a76fd8ccc27feef48e8bb3579daac188508a6a816e8ef5e99ae9227ba4e2ff1a/forward-pg-2.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3fc0b5023615c23ff69f8b233746ab35568a4f22fe9ad1ea9eda14fa47bb5b28/forward-pg-3.jpg" data-mid="74883415" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3fc0b5023615c23ff69f8b233746ab35568a4f22fe9ad1ea9eda14fa47bb5b28/forward-pg-3.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9b0d40166369c810601784c0782dd808c4c3c3ea4e130daeec86e757217a3d49/forward-pg-4.jpg" data-mid="74883431" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/9b0d40166369c810601784c0782dd808c4c3c3ea4e130daeec86e757217a3d49/forward-pg-4.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/92c4bb0bc529758133aeb98941656014e51e98f4ea6e4646e58aff7aa7e34c94/forward-pg-5.jpg" data-mid="74883470" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/92c4bb0bc529758133aeb98941656014e51e98f4ea6e4646e58aff7aa7e34c94/forward-pg-5.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/333a789f3a85bfa4825dc27574716676f2879e185f665276c9a63ebe17d7fc84/forward-pg-6.jpg" data-mid="74883472" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/333a789f3a85bfa4825dc27574716676f2879e185f665276c9a63ebe17d7fc84/forward-pg-6.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8d245bb10f4db2b7ae84ffeff7a12a5e9de0f0c87f2fae3ad86230885008870d/forward-pg-7.jpg" data-mid="74883473" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8d245bb10f4db2b7ae84ffeff7a12a5e9de0f0c87f2fae3ad86230885008870d/forward-pg-7.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f084c63723bdfbdde3895cd386b51678b9c6aeec732a51ec00f3611cbad70bfd/forward-pg-8.jpg" data-mid="74883474" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f084c63723bdfbdde3895cd386b51678b9c6aeec732a51ec00f3611cbad70bfd/forward-pg-8.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7b85d96240600e4ac3e3d703b62f1c49b7b2bfbecce8dd0d489d4c7f4be1d3c3/forward-pg-9.jpg" data-mid="74883478" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/7b85d96240600e4ac3e3d703b62f1c49b7b2bfbecce8dd0d489d4c7f4be1d3c3/forward-pg-9.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/2e717dd6b69fb5211692f544c2294c7a639cb348492304c7c48ddfcc7136c211/forward-pg-10.jpg" data-mid="74883479" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/2e717dd6b69fb5211692f544c2294c7a639cb348492304c7c48ddfcc7136c211/forward-pg-10.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b6e007886185cf6d0dd76c682b3d3451ec0f389bea88c0e37a4a085abd4bade0/forward-pg-11.jpg" data-mid="74883481" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b6e007886185cf6d0dd76c682b3d3451ec0f389bea88c0e37a4a085abd4bade0/forward-pg-11.jpg" /&#62;&#60;img width="1275" height="1650" width_o="1275" height_o="1650" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/579a94ad721952c9fdde4c42d8d4bb765e0980df5c5729fdf8f50132fe518438/forward-pg-12.jpg" data-mid="74883491" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/579a94ad721952c9fdde4c42d8d4bb765e0980df5c5729fdf8f50132fe518438/forward-pg-12.jpg" /&#62;Mary Ann Anane
	Los Angeles, CA
	
</description>
		
	</item>
		
		
	<item>
		<title>Nicole Boucher</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Nicole-Boucher</link>

		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Jun 2020 16:46:25 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://for-the-time-being.com/Nicole-Boucher</guid>

		<description>Nicole Boucher

	
—


Role Model


I
knew I was pregnant by Thanksgiving. I didn’t officially know — on purpose, who
takes a pregnancy test BEFORE a long holiday weekend with family and a three
year old and extended car travel — but I knew. That weekend, I drank and I
drank. Mimosas. An IPA at lunch. A second IPA at lunch. Early happy hour of a
G&#38;amp;T or two, then a beer. Wine with dinner maybe. Repeat. 


I
knew it was all ending again. Or starting again. Depending on how you looked at
it. My first pregnancy was “easy.” I was tired, yes, but no morning sickness,
no crazy bloating. But I didn’t — and don’t, nor will I ever —&#38;nbsp; like having no say, no control over my own
actions or body, however noble or miraculous the reason. Which is to say, even
though I knew I was probably pregnant, even though my intent was to get
pregnant, I did not want to be pregnant.


But I
was. And so the last hurrah. Saturday night I saw my best friends from home.
The ones with me since I was fourteen. Leah asked if I would be a bridesmaid.
The wedding was the end of July. I did some quick math in my head while my
sister — who was fucking pregnant herself and gleeful that she wouldn’t have to
be alone anymore — just started laughing. My due date would be the end of July.


The
next day — the day before we were leaving to go back to New York, back to
reality, back to the pregnancy test in my bathroom drawer— my parents, my
sisters and I went to lunch at a local Irish pub. Everyone ordered a beer
except my expectant sister. I ordered three, in quick succession. IPAs. And when
I gulped that last swig, minutes before getting back into the car to hit the
road, I felt it burn down my throat.


—


Siblings


“It’s
a boy.” The ultrasound technician said it in a matter of fact, almost bored
way. She hadn’t cracked a smile at any of the nervous, gender-guessing jokes
we’d made as she lathered up my belly with cold gel in the darkness, the glow
of the screen and the little supposed being on it the only light in the room. 


I
gasped. When I found out my first child was a girl, tears of joy had pricked my
eyes immediately. I am not a tears of joy kind of person. “I get a girl???” I’d
asked. This time, incredibly, the same thing happened. The catch of breath, the
disbelief, the sudden peek into a long life ahead with a boy in it, replacing the
images I’d been nurturing up until that point of two girls. Sisters. A life of
pink and purple. I was going to become a boy mom. 


I had
never been in interested in becoming a boy mom. Football, cars, superheroes.
Trump, dirt, white male privilege. Tiny little boners. No thanks. But, in that
split second, I saw things differently: I could raise my boy to be different.
To be like his father. Not afraid to show emotion. Or to do the dishes.


Everyone
asks if Brian was overjoyed to hear it was a boy. He was not. One of the
reasons our marriage works so well is that we’re usually on the same page. Not
about the little things — how to load a dishwasher, or when to start planning a
vacation. We fight endlessly about that shit. But the big things, yeah. The
things that matter. So, in that moment, when I started replacing unicorns with
firetrucks, rethinking life as we envisioned it, he was, too. 


___


When You Know


I
first laid eyes on Brian my freshman year at BU. I have no idea when it was.
Maybe after winter break? We were in the dining hall of Warren Towers, a truly
hideous dorm that towered over Commonwealth Ave. People talk about love at
first sight. This wasn’t that. I don’t think. I did kind of settle my gaze on
him and feel sort of a “huh.” on some cellular level. He was laughing,
grinning, wearing an untucked button down and a baseball cap tilted off his
head just so. He was with a bunch of dudes. Him, though. Huh.


I
first spoke to, and then made out with, and then… more (but not all) with him
in May. Mid-May. Right around that sweet spot of college life when you have
maybe one more final left. Everyone is hanging out all the time. The sun is
out.


When
I went home that summer, I told my high school boyfriend, the one I couldn’t
shake, that I had met the dude I was probably going to marry. That if we — that
boyfriend and I — were going to do something, something real, the time is now.
It wasn’t a threat, it just was.


That
September was the 9/11 attacks. We’d been back at school for maybe three days.
The night of the attacks, I laid in Brian’s bed, in my underwear, while he
talked about Al-Qaeda and motives and the way things were. 


__


Day 43


The
worst — or best — part about my daughter is that she is just fucking like me.
When she gets pissed off, she theatrically throws actual furniture across the
room. She says, “THAT’S IT. I’M OUT.” 
and storms off in a huff and slams every door. She returns almost immediately
for a hug and to peer into my face and say “MOMMY? Smile???” She’s four. 


The
worst — or best — part about parenting is that it is forever. And that’s if you
are lucky. They’re always there. Especially now. Our house in Montauk is only
slightly bigger than our two-bedroom in the city, but there is a yard. And a
little beach down the road. And absolutely no one but Brian and I to be with
our two kids.


Tonight
I took a drive. It was 7pm. I had a solid thirty-five minutes before Bailey had
to go to bed. Thirty-five minutes I could not bear to actually spend with her.
I got in the car. I drove past our beach. I kept going. I turned on the radio.
Tom Petty: Free Falling. Too on the nose. I kept skipping stations, I kept
driving. I kept driving until I got to Gin Beach, a stretch of sand close to
the house we rented with friends Before Kids. I kept skipping stations until I
got to “Are You That Somebody” — Aaliyah, a song from high school, one I never
hear but one that makes me time travel when I do. The baby laugh, the
underlying sensuality. Two extremes, existing together. And now: A cloudy sky,
a setting sun. Pink, purple, grey, amber. 


“…cause
I’m not just anybody.”


________________Nicole Boucher
	New York, NY
	@nicolemboucher
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	<item>
		<title>Olivia Williams</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Olivia-Williams</link>

		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Jun 2020 16:53:29 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://for-the-time-being.com/Olivia-Williams</guid>

		<description>Olivia Williams

&#60;img width="2915" height="2915" width_o="2915" height_o="2915" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6afbeeed8c5dd5bb98f0af67499e863f451c1ae63cde4bae3ffd9bca816dcd8c/5AB9C958-F871-4F73-B0BC-D5A70C135C03.JPEG" data-mid="74884440" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/6afbeeed8c5dd5bb98f0af67499e863f451c1ae63cde4bae3ffd9bca816dcd8c/5AB9C958-F871-4F73-B0BC-D5A70C135C03.JPEG" /&#62;&#60;img width="3999" height="2999" width_o="3999" height_o="2999" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5456b14edd801e3214830824033bb02ddc2c7bcdb16dbbf07baf2886ea76a153/B27E4510-9889-4002-8E34-AA17827185D4.JPEG" data-mid="74884441" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5456b14edd801e3214830824033bb02ddc2c7bcdb16dbbf07baf2886ea76a153/B27E4510-9889-4002-8E34-AA17827185D4.JPEG" /&#62;


Olivia Williams&#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; 
	Los Angeles, CA
	@aivilolympia


</description>
		
	</item>
		
		
	<item>
		<title>Owen Silverwood</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Owen-Silverwood</link>

		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Jun 2020 16:56:47 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://for-the-time-being.com/Owen-Silverwood</guid>

		<description>Owen Silverwood


&#60;img width="3609" height="5031" width_o="3609" height_o="5031" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/b20a1a0d2d4b90cac8cc270ab25bb057b0e67edc7a983f41622809ee89d8ca65/DeathofPurpose_head_studio1a0013_flattened_FINAL.jpg" data-mid="79216279" border="0" data-scale="87.5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/b20a1a0d2d4b90cac8cc270ab25bb057b0e67edc7a983f41622809ee89d8ca65/DeathofPurpose_head_studio1a0013_flattened_FINAL.jpg" /&#62;

&#60;img width="3599" height="5008" width_o="3599" height_o="5008" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/7f7a4b0097bc1e7b28bcb842d2cafb9b6f7bd3403805198e8fe7ecc44707b442/DeathofPurpose_heart_studio_v1a0013_v2_flattened_FINAL.jpg" data-mid="79216280" border="0" data-scale="87.5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/7f7a4b0097bc1e7b28bcb842d2cafb9b6f7bd3403805198e8fe7ecc44707b442/DeathofPurpose_heart_studio_v1a0013_v2_flattened_FINAL.jpg" /&#62;


Owen Silverwood
	London, UK
	

@owensilverwoodstudio


</description>
		
	</item>
		
		
	<item>
		<title>Sabina Vajraca</title>
				
		<link>https://for-the-time-being.com/Sabina-Vajraca</link>

		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Jun 2020 16:58:50 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>For The Time Being</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://for-the-time-being.com/Sabina-Vajraca</guid>

		<description>Sabina 


Vajrača


WAKING UP


A recycling truck
rolls clankily through my sleep
stirring my just enough
for a flash of annoyance
before I slip back into a dream,
hungry for its comfort
and adventures.
It is not until the sunshine
and a bird
chirping
chirping
chirping
that I open my eyes
and try
unsuccessfully
to hold onto the dream
as it slithers through my fingers,
unraveling at the slightest touch,
like the surface of a lake,
its stillness and solidity
shuttered
by the slightest breeze.
I lay there
missing my dream
even though I no longer remember it.
Wondering just how little it takes
to Wake us up
if we just let it.
And why
for me
it was a birdsong
and not a truck
that did so.


Sabina 


Vajrača


	Los Angeles, CA
	@sabinalovestrees


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