Does social media ever make you feel lonely or little? Still hungry after a diet of humble brags, other people’s vacations, and dinners you didn’t share? Instead of feeling more connected after a dive into Twitter or Instagram, I often feel more isolated. But this week the glorious Webb Telescope sent me a message from far, far away: We’re not alone. The photos convey a universe that is so vast and various that it’s incomprehensible to me, and yet instead of making me feel insignificant, it somehow placed me squarely within the continuity of evolving life and our long-to-us human journey. You and I will pass, our wars and little worries will vanish along with us, and our only legacy may be the stardust we return to the earth in the form of our ashes or bodies. But all that energy! And we’re part of it along with everyone who has gone before us, because it's never lost but simply transformed. It felt like I understood that for the first time. Looking back in time like the Webb Telescope, I saw my stoic grandfathers, my loving grandmothers, my beloved cousins, my beautiful aunt, my strong mother--all still here in the air I breathe, the ground I walk on, the dust motes floating in a ray of sunlight on a lazy summer day. Despite my unscientific epiphany, I know that I’ll continue to be self-absorbed, myopic, and all-about-me, but I hope I’ll also remember to go outside and look up at our stars more often. To imagine mysterious worlds way out there. To wave to other beings who might be looking at us at the same time. To dream of swimming in the Milky Way--“Second star to the right and straight on till morning.”  

I just started the wickedly funny Lessons in Chemistry, but I already know I’m going to love it.  Set in the 1960s, the novel's main character, Elizabeth Zott, is a scientist whose career is thwarted at every turn by misogynistic male academics who don’t think women can or should do science. In a perfect plot twist, Elizabeth becomes the unlikely star of a popular cooking show, and in the process, manages to empower her female audience on a whole other level than the kitchen. It's the bedtime story I needed when certain men are trying to send us back to the bad old days.

I’ve been a fan of Kae Tempest’s spoken word creations ever since her Brand New Ancients (recorded when she was still Kate) blew my mind. Her lyrics are completely original and contemporary yet mythic--part poetry and part music that becomes a kind of shamanic incantation. Now she has a new album called The Line is a Curve and this video of “Salt Coast” is haunting me. (I once tried to persuade Charleston’s Spoleto Festival to bring her to town, with no luck. Maybe someday.)

I had a trip to the emergency room recently after an unforgettable night of food poisoning (avocados and salsa won’t be making an appearance on my plate any time soon). Yuk! Finding this recipe for Perfect Blueberry Muffins was the only thing that gave me hope that I’d ever feel like eating again someday. It had comfort, Mom and tenderness written all over it, and if I couldn’t be a kid again in a cozy sick bed, this was the nearest thing. 

I’m always trying to kick my addiction to Instagram, staying off it for days and rarely posting, but then I'll discover an account like @whywelook and remember the reasons I still lurk. After Marvin Heiferman’s husband died in the beginning of the pandemic, he started sharing his grief by posting photos of their life together. He called it a kind of “photographic shiva” for a life partner lost to Covid, and it’s incredibly, indelibly moving.