Last night, we went out for dinner to a restaurant in Long Beach that doesn’t have a website. You make reservations over the phone or via Instagram DM. The menu is on a shared google sheet that you can accidentally edit with one click. There is no sign on the door, which is fitting, since it’s called Lost At Sea. And of course, they only accept cash or Venmo. Get your ApplePay out of here. I freaking loved it. Aside from the insanely creative cocktails and expertly executed food, which you can read more about below, I just loved the uncertainty. For me, there is nothing more precious than feeling like I discovered a hidden gem. In the world of constant connectivity, endless yelp reviews to pour through and way too much information, it can be so exhausting to do something seemingly simple and certainly privileged: find a place for a nice dinner. See more about the meal, which I originally shared on my Instagram this morning:
Another thing that was so special for me was sitting at the bar, which is something Brandon and I haven’t done in ages. It used to be our favorite thing, pre-baby, and I’d forgotten about the charm of watching a bartender do his thing while you wait for your food. Steve, the bartender, lit fat lemon twists on fire and filled the air with the smell of smoke. We watched as he shook up one concoction after another, rubbing rims with salt and citrus, filling etched glasses with giant ice cubes, pouring gorgeous shade after gorgeous shade of liquid in. He turned the shaker upside down and rinsed it out, then started all over again. There was something so melodic about the whole process, I sort of did feel as if I was lost at sea, lulled into a hazy relaxation by the repetitive process of his craft, again and again, not unlike a wave.
I was also reminded, as I often am, of how important alone time with your partner is, especially once you have kids. In the early days of my dating Brandon, we were very spoiled in the amount of time we could allocate to one another. It was a well that never seemed to dry up. Weekends, weeknights, mornings showing up late at work. Exotic vacations, and constant weekends away, we had all the time in the world for entertaining ourselves and kindling our romance. We spent every waking moment together and we couldn’t get enough.
Six years later, a married friend texts me: “Is it normal to be jealous of my very single friend who has spent an hour primping and priming before her Raya date?” Of course it is, I quickly type back. Dating is a game. Your emotions are electrocuted, and everything is uncertain. You have no clue what to expect, the night could go anywhere. You might meet the love of your life, and everything could change overnight. It only takes one, you tell yourself. You could have a terrible date but end up laughing endlessly about it with your girlfriends. Poking fun at his outfit or the way he talked about his great aunt as if he had a crush on her. You curl your hair, you moisturize your skin, you listen to a pump-up music radio station on Spotify.
Maybe you sip wine to calm your nerves, anxiously setting it down on any flat surface in your bathroom that isn’t covered in blush or eyeshadow or perfume. You look at yourself in the mirror 1,000 times before walking out of the house. Has something changed with the third application of mascara? What will he think, you wonder? Will he be kind, will he be funny? Will he understand me? The anticipation is more explosive than the fireworks at the Fourth of July. You text your friends screenshots of every single message you receive and together the two (or ten) of you craft responses for hours, if not days. Your relationship is just a tiny bud, and you are clueless about what it will develop into. You buy fancy underwear. You bob on the surface of the ocean. You float and you sink.
Of course, it’s normal to feel a little sting that this doesn’t exist (in the same way) once you’re in a committed relationship, for how can it? The anticipation has dissipated and turned into a warm mug of cocoa by the fire, if you’re lucky. You trade in unknowing for extreme knowing. You know almost every single thing about the one you’re with. It’s harder to surprise one another, eventually life becomes more routine. Maybe you get married, maybe you stop buying the sexy lingerie. You trade in the lace for a ratty t-shirt and an old pair of boxer shorts. Maybe there are diapers and potties and toys littered across every surface of the apartment where you once laid naked after a wild night out. It’s the evolution from being in lust to being in love and from being in love to being at home. Once you find a home in the person you’re with, the jolt goes away. Why would you want to get electrocuted in your own house?
So if you too are feeling in need of a relationship recharge, might I suggest spending a little time lost at sea? Sit at the bar, go listen to the jazz quartet you once knew and loved, go and dance until the early morning hours, until your clothing is soaked in the sweat of strangers. Do it, do it now.
Later this month, I’ll release another episode of my new podcast about motherhood, and then some October favorites: think spicy-scented candles to cozy up with, book recommendations, fall fashion finds, adorable baby dresses, and more. Subscribe so you don’t miss a thing.
Sending the biggest hugs to you,
Jane