Page 71 of Rachel Weiss's Group Chat
It’s time for a new me. My old ways aren’t working anymore. I hereby pledge that starting today: I’m going to do yoga (with modifications for my ankle), I’m finally going to readThe Life-Changing Magic of Tidying UpandYou Are a Badass(both of which have been sitting on my nightstand for a year), and I’m going to try a vegan lifestyle. It’s time for me to stop talking the talk and start walking the walk. Oh, and I’m swearing off men. There’s no point indating and hooking up when the real work needs to happen within.
Amy McDonald 8:57 AM:
Good for you, Rach. I believe in you.
After a few minutes of reflection I made one update.
Rachel Weiss 9:02 AM:
Before I go plant-based I better finish off all the ice cream in my freezer. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.
After my ice cream breakfast, I got to work. I bought a Groupon for a month of beginner yoga and signed up for that afternoon’s class. Then I filled my biggest water bottle with ice water, grabbed a blanket, and hobbled to the park around the corner, where I spent a couple hours lying in the sun reading my inspirational books. After reading a few chapters, I felt pumped. I could do this! I could become the best version of Rachel Weiss.
It turned out that beginner yoga was a lot easier than hot yoga. Especially considering that I got to lie down during half of the poses because of my ankle. On my way home from the studio, I stopped at PCC and loaded a basket with peaches, plums, cherries, greens, almond milk, and nondairy fudge pops.
After yoga, I focused all my energy on tidying up. It was immediately apparent that none of my clothes brought me joy and I wasgoing to have to buy a whole new wardrobe with my nonexistent expendable income. My denim miniskirt? My green wrap dress? They all reminded me of the silly, unserious version of Rachel. I couldn’t even look at them. Marie Kondo wanted me to be a nudist.
I would just have to come back to my clothes later. I shoved them back into my closet; it looked like a disaster zone, but at least I could shut the door. The rest of my apartment was easier: I Swiffered and dusted and filled a whole box for charity. By Sunday night, the kitchen gleamed, the counters empty except for a mason jar holding a bouquet of flowers I’d purchased at the farmers market. I sank onto the couch to enjoy my vegan pizza. My little living room glimmered from the twinkle lights draped across the walls. My ankle throbbed faintly, but I felt good, like I’d accomplished something.
The long days of summer rolled on, and I settled into my new routine. I was a paragon of virtue, sticking to my resolutions like nobody’s business. (Except the vegan part, which lasted all of two days. Pizza without cheese? Toast without butter? And don’t even get me started on the coffee. How had no one ever told me that black coffee was disgusting? Adding almond milk just made it worse. Life was hard enough without forcing myself to enjoy milk squeezed from an almond’s breast.)
In a few short weeks, I’d made great progress in my quest for self-improvement, but something was still missing. I’d been focusing on my mental and physical health, but I hadn’t done much to help anyone else. I decided to look into volunteering. And okay, perhaps my motives weren’t entirely selfless: Jane had just gotten promoted to her dream job as a special correspondent, and it made me think about my own career. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, but maybe volunteering would give me some ideas.When I mentioned this to the girls, Eva told me that the public library was looking for volunteers to help with its seniors-and-technology program. I applied online, and they asked me to start two weeks later.
On the first Monday in September, I took the bus from work to the library. I’d forgotten how cute my neighborhood branch was. It was a quaint old building with wood ceiling beams nestled on a hill above the canal. That alone was like a breath of fresh air after my cold, colorless office building. I introduced myself to the librarian, a lovely woman named Karen, and she ushered me into a study room where three white-haired women awaited me. I was five minutes early; these women were apparently so eager to learn, they’d arrived well before me.
“Here are your pupils,” Karen said.
“I thought there would be more of them,” I whispered, adjusting my sweater. With the first hint of fall in the air, I’d worn a cardigan with corduroys and boots and felt very bookish, like it was the first day of school.
“Consider yourself lucky,” Karen whispered back. “Three is more than enough. Their questions are never-ending.” Then she addressed the waiting seniors. “This is Rachel Weiss, our new volunteer. She’s here to help you with all your technological needs.”
“Hello, everyone.” I smiled brightly.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Karen waved as she slipped away.
“Now.” I settled into a chair at the ladies’ table. “How about some introductions?”
“I’m Phyllis.” The tallest and, apparently, bossiest of them straightened up. “Former elementary school teacher and vice principal.”
“Helen.” The second sat with a pencil poised above a notebook.I could tell I wasn’t the only one feeling the first-day-of-school vibes.
“I’m Jin.” The third was cupping her iPhone in both hands with a deeply anxious look on her face.
“Wonderful. And as you heard, I’m Rachel. I’m a Seattle native and I work as a—”
“Rachel,” Jin interrupted, holding her phone toward me as if afraid it would bite her. “Can you help me see photos of my grandson?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do it so I can see.” Helen held her pencil at the ready.
“And I need to know how to follow my grandchildren on Instagram, and how to start a blog.” Phyllis sounded fierce.
“Okay.” I blinked in surprise. “Let me start with Jin, and then we’ll get to you, Phyllis.”
I showed Jin how to find the photos she was looking for—more difficult than one would expect given that I didn’t know whether these photos were online, in a private album, or in an email, and Jin had no idea either—and Helen copied out the instructions for her. Then I tackled Phyllis’s request, Helen watching and scribbling with occasional murmurs of amazement.
“Helen,” I said when Phyllis was satisfied. “What questions do you have?”
