Lessons I Never Learn
Maybe This Will Help
Friday, November 21st, 2025. The journey home was miserable. Champagne problems, but misery all the same. I was out the door before four in the morning and landed in San Francisco just after nine. Having thrown my back out during MetCon the morning before (embarrassing), the flight was agony and my gait was that of someone in their eighties instead of their twenties. To make matters worse, I had packed my Hokas in the checked bag and boarded my flight in a new pair of loafers. The leather was so stiff that I’d considered sizing up after trying them on, but had missed the return window and committed to soldiering on. I did not, at three thirty that morning, account for the expansion of my digits at thirty thousand feet.
The flight landed and I waddled painfully through the airport, blistered and hunched over. Clothes that were comfortable mid-air began to take the title “sweatsuit” quite literally. For a carry-on I’d grabbed the shiny, silver tote that came free with the bridesmaid dress for my cousin’s wedding. Walking now, it slipped off my shoulder at a rate that would have been funny if it wasn’t so infuriating. I did not take these indignities lightly, but fumed through SFO like the ornery geezer my body was cosplaying. I averted eye contact with the girls on my flight who I’d gone to high school with. Do not remember me this way, I telepathically pleaded.
Gritting through it, I lamented these lessons I never learn.
Lessons I Never Learn
Lip balm and Kleenex. There is no outing on which you will not wish you had both.
Use a purse. Not a free tote bag, but the thing adult women carry that always holds their shit so they aren’t shocked at their constant inability to find anything they need.
Bring a sleep mask on the red eye. (Have never once done this despite owning several.)
Buy new bedding when you move. Do not pay to ship your weighted blanked.
You do not have time for that one extra thing. You have only accounted for exactly as much time as you need. You will think that you are a genius who has given yourself extra time by accident. You are not. If you attempt that extra task, you will arrive to your destination late, which is to say sweaty and anxious. Do not do this. Again.
Breaking in shoes is a process that ought to be done over a serious of short errands, not all at once.
The solution to under-exercising is not over-exercising. After a workout hiatus, return to normal. When you overdo it, you will hurt yourself, which is not only uncomfortable, but also unsightly. You have never and will never win any awards for your athleticism. Operate accordingly.
Do not arrive empty handed.
Give a thank you gift or note. (Or spend years fixating on the fact that you, more than once, have been the only person in the group not to give the parents a thank you gift. It is unlikely that this went unnoticed.)
If you hated the author’s first book, then you’re not likely to enjoy their second. Though I do enjoy a pool of data to justify my snarky opinions.
You get what you pay for. If you go to the budget hair salon, half the dye will end up on your face and they will forget to rinse anything out until you muster the courage to ask how much longer. By this point, you’re already fairly certain the follicles are fried and you will leave looking like this:
Dune (2021) Life is better when you drink a constant stream of P.G. Tips.
You will not write an entire novel over Thanksgiving break. You will hardly write anything at all.
Despite big talk about maybe never living there again, you love Northern California in November. The air is crisp, light is golden over green rolling hills and the beach is more beautiful than anywhere else you’ve been. You will always cry when you are here and you will always brim with love.
For the love of God, try the clothes on while they are still eligible for return.
A bag falling off my shoulder could make me h*micidal
Thanksgiving episode of Master of None = perfection.