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A Letter to Our Studio
A metaphor inspired by a strong margarita becomes a thank-you letter to a new endeavor … and a new life. An update, a year later, to A Letter to Our Apartment.
Dear Bright, New Studio,
I’m nestled within you as I type this after drinking a margarita. This margarita — seemingly innocuous and damn tasty — is both giving me a buzz and a metaphor. Bear with me.
We bowed out of an art event earlier than expected, and so did the unthinkable: stopped for a drink. When we worked full-time for other people, we never thought twice about grabbing a drink on the way home. In the budgeted past year of our self-employed, starting-from-square-one-again life, that’s now a little unthinkable.
The margarita was priced comparably to what we would’ve paid in our old neighborhood, which was cheap compared to Manhattan but still lofty in most peoples’ eyes.
So, I expected a piddly little cup of some artisanal brew, finely crafted but disappointing in volume.
What landed before me looked like a tiny space station, a salt-rimmed Bermuda Triangle of tequila and trimmings, a Holy Grail of ABV.
We looked at each other from across the gaping rims of our massive glasses, delightedly aghast, and remembered:
