Lauren Rothery is an American writer and filmmaker. Her debut novel, Television, was published by Ecco last year. You can read her short fiction in The Baffler and elsewhere.
#104: Lauren Rothery
Brooklyn, New York
What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?
I think lately that a healthy person is like a healthy old tree, invisibly altering the local air. You breathe easier next to them.
How would you describe your current lifestyle?
Chaotic just now. I ended a long relationship recently, and moved back to New York. I’m subletting while I look for some place I’d like to stay longer. I spent the better part of six years in Europe, being in love, writing, riding on the back of a motorcycle, climbing up mountains, moving around a lot. I wrote and published my first novel. It was wonderful. But I’m tired and I’d like to sit down.
How do you start and end your days?
I wake up early, sometimes before sunrise, and start the drip coffee. I try not to look at my computer or turn on the lights. I just bump into things a while if the sun’s not up. When I’ve got the coffee made with whole milk and honey, I go sit in the front window at my bedside and think. It probably looks meditative but it’s the opposite. I’m not trying to be present in my body, but to let my thoughts roll. There’s a tug of resistance sometimes, the impulse to do something. I ask myself, What’re you, in the FBI? What’ve you got to do at dawn? and go back to aimlessly thinking. After a while, I’m comfortable. Then, very comfortable.
I do hot yoga every morning. I like to go alone. I like to listen to Beck on the walk. I like to sweat and chat with the same people at the same time every day. I’m a highly fidelitous person. I rarely get bored of what I like.1 In terms of cumulative physical results, hot yoga yields a nice mix of softness and strength, and it feels like giving my insides a shower. After class, I shower my outsides and have some fruit or a PB&J. Water. Orange juice. Desiccated bovine organ vitamins. Arnica tablets, if anything feels sore. Then I write for as long as I can. Sometimes at the park with my notebook, sometimes at home with my computer. If there is a friend to see, I like to see them in the afternoon.
I take a walk around the neighborhood in the evening, then watch an old movie. I love The Apartment. Last week I watched it twice. I’ll watch anything that Billy Wilder was even remotely involved in. If Billy Wilder lit somebody’s cigarette on set, I’ll watch the movie. I think if you’re having a tough time in your life, it’s good to be made to laugh and cry by someone dead. Gives you a sense of proportion.
I’ve been drinking whole milk at night, which kind of unsettles me aesthetically but I sleep well afterward and it’s delicious. Sweet and cold. I use one of those Shakti mats too, which looks like an implement of torture. I crave its stoic, overbearing embrace. You’ve got to mind where you leave it though. I tripped over mine, one dark morning, and thought I’d lose a toe.
Can you recall a moment when you became more aware of your health, or your relationship to it changed?
The older I get, the more I encounter surprising illness, surprising injury, surprising death. Comes out of nowhere. I’ve known a few people of late who, all at once, their life was either meaningfully worse or over. I love to feel easy in my body. I do what I can to facilitate ease — to get over a cold quickly, move without trouble, and relax in my own company. But while health and safety are possible to influence, they’re not possible to control. Sometimes you get a bad hand. Sometimes you get a straight flush, but you’ll still have to fold sooner or later. I think it’s wise to enjoy who’s at the table with you and think a little less about the cards. I love those lines from King Lear, “Men must endure their going hence even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all.”
Do you have a spiritual practice?
Yes, I have a private way of praying, negotiating, giving thanks, and seeking guidance, which I’ve done since I was a kid. I don’t question it, but I don’t talk about it either. One compelling reason to foster a personal relationship to something larger than yourself is that it’s loving company who doesn’t quit or consume you. It’s probably part of why I write. I like to hold that hand.
When I swim in a natural water source, or look at the stars, or spend a day in the woods, those things feel prayerful and humbling to me. Or in any case, my socialized self recedes. I suppose that’s worship.
What’s your relationship to self-healing?
I’ll see a doctor in an emergency. I’d go if I got a tick or was bitten by a wild animal or something. I went when I accidentally cut my hand open in Paris and had to have surgery to check that my tendons were alright. I basically trust doctors, I’m just not trigger-happy (so to speak) and my health has been, thus far, mercifully uncomplicated. If I feel an imbalance, I’ve basically known why it’s come and how to tip the scale back. I trust what I crave.
Do you work with any practitioners, texts, or modalities on a regular basis?
I listen to Tara Brach semi-regularly. Her voice reminds me of Holly Hunter’s. Which wouldn’t have occurred to me as being felicitous for meditation, but it really works.
When do you feel the most nourished?
When I feel loved. Or when I feel love.
How do you reset?
Getting naked in water.
Do you have a favorite meal?
Txuleta with a green salad in San Sebastián.
What advice would you give your younger self?
Don’t confuse writing with publishing.
To the person reading this?
Don’t bring your phone.
What would you like to see or create more of in the world?
Mystery and mirth.
Related reading:
“I like to hike and do pilates, but possibly my favorite form of exercise is playing a game called Real Tennis (jeu de paume in France). It’s the sport from which tennis was derived. You play with a wooden racket in medieval and Victorian courts, mainly in castles and noble houses around Europe, although there are a few courts in North America. It’s great because once you find someone to play with, half the fun is walking around the invariably beautiful grounds.”