November Love Letter

Existential Smoked Mackerel

A magical encounter that taught me something

I grew up in one of those “ingredients” households, meaning we rarely had prepackaged food around. If there was a bag of chips, it was a special occasion. So I was never much of what some people would call a “foodie.” I do enjoy a nice restaurant from time to time, and I can cook pretty well. Still, honestly, most days I wish I could skip the whole go-to-the-store, get-the-food, prepare-the-food, eat-the-food, wash-the-dishes, and repeat three times a day routine (can’t believe some people still follow this made-up rule) and just take a pill. Easy. The truth is, I never really cared about food.

One day, on my way home from work, I was trying to get myself excited about the idea of nourishing myself. I decided not to buy groceries until I came up with something that actually felt exciting to eat. I had some crackers and went about my day.

I was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, when it came to me: smoked mackerel, boiled potatoes with tons of butter, and a purple onion. Obviously. A true Eastern European craving. The thought of going all the way to the Russian store didn’t exactly fill me with motivation, but the inner calling persisted. Naturally, the first Instagram story I saw was of someone raving about that exact store, swearing he needed to stay away because that’s where you go overboard.

When I walked in, something playful took over me. I was chatting up the sales lady in Russian, and helping a guy pick the right mayonnaise (the Slav eggs kind, of course) from an entire wall of them. On my way home, I realized I’d forgotten the red onions. I almost let it go, but somehow missed the turn to my street and ended up taking a longer route. It led me straight to a small fruit and veggie shop glowing under its yellow lights. I laughed to myself walking up the street, thinking how you really can’t miss what’s meant for you when I saw her.

She was winking at me from across the road.

It took me a moment, but then I recognized her, a friend of the guy I was seeing a while back. Back then, we had this strange push-and-pull between us. I never quite put a finger on what it was.

Back then in Berlin, while I was still trying to twist myself into someone else’s story, knee-deep in an abusive relationship, orbiting a man who couldn’t even hold me, she was already living completely outside that gravity. She didn’t shrink herself to fit a man’s world. As if she’d never learned the rule that a woman’s life must organize itself around someone else’s demands.

I remember watching her from a distance back then and feeling that tension between us, that little spark of irritation I couldn’t name. Only now do I see what it really was. She embodied something I couldn’t yet touch, the exact thing my soul was begging me to reclaim. No wonder it stung.

So when she told me she’d been impressed with how I moved to Berlin with nothing, built a community, a life, a sense of belonging out of thin air, I just stood there holding my bag of smoked fish, feeling both exposed and seen. Because while she was admiring the part of me I kept forgetting existed, I was admiring the part of her I had buried under the weight of that relationship. We were both mirroring each other’s lost pieces without even knowing it.

And the funny thing is, it all started with a craving. A quiet nudge toward smoked mackerel. As simple as walking into the Russian store. As ordinary as missing a turn and ending up exactly where I needed to be. Sometimes intuition isn’t a grand revelation. Sometimes it’s just a fish. A tug in your chest that makes no sense until it suddenly makes all the sense.

Because if I hadn’t followed that tiny instinct…

That “of course you need mackerel right now” instinct, I wouldn’t have run into her. I wouldn’t have gotten this strange little mirror held up to my face. I wouldn’t have seen what that old friction between us was really made of.

Isn’t it funny how that works?
How the person we feel friction with often the one carrying the exact thing our soul is starving for?

Nothing like turning a typical Wednesday into a small adventure.

Bottom line:

When you’re not sure what to do, do nothing.
When you get that quiet nudge, follow it. Without hesitation.
That’s how you start hearing yourself again.

And the real question remains:
The person who pisses you off the most - what are they mirroring to you?
What part of yourself are they pointing you back toward?

What is your soul begging you to bring alive, using them as nothing more than a symbol?

Embracing existential dread AKA this month’s mission

In my search for aliveness and while wrestling with the big existential questions, I ended up creating a list of 300 things I want to experience in this lifetime. I realized that when you name the things that genuinely make you feel alive, you create a kind of inner compass. It’s harder to drift into someone else’s expectations, and easier to stay oriented toward a life that actually feels like yours.

Last weekend I got to scratch off two things (!) of my list.

Publish a piece of my writing in a magazine and read it out loud at a poetry reading.

Here’s the template to create your own list.

(Make sure you press “duplicate” to edit and add the things YOU care about.)

Quote I’m pondering

“When you’re looking for a spiritual teacher, don’t look for a holy person in robes. Instead, find the person who annoys you the most. Because that’s the costume they will arrive in. “

- Laura Matsue

I’d like to invite you to explore the ideas I shared in this email, not all at once, take your time with it.

Please leave a comment with your thoughts. Any thoughts. :)

Until next time,

Be Magnificent,

Alex