Notes from Nowhere

I Love Letter to Baltimore

So here’s the deal, friends: I really did go nowhere. Technically, yes, I went to Baltimore. Did the things I was supposed to do. And then? I holed up in a hotel room that looked suspiciously like a fancy freshman dorm, ordered $80 worth of groceries (my idea of luxury), and never left.

Now, I already know the chorus of reactions: “Oh no, are you okay? Was something wrong? Why didn’t you go explore, see the city, eat something covered in Old Bay?”

Let me reassure you: I’m fine. In fact, I might be the best I’ve been in a long time. This was the first time—maybe ever—that I’ve had three whole days with absolutely nothing I had to do. No one to care for. No looming tasks (okay, except finishing my thesis—but we’ll get there). My only real concern was whether the housekeeper would come by so I could snag more coffee. (Obviously, critical.)

So what did I do? I pondered. I danced around my room like an unhinged teenager on a sugar high. I grazed on snacks like a content little squirrel. I read all those Substack articles I’d been saving for months. I wrote. I tried to watch a movie, but abandoned it after 30 minutes (bad choice).

I also quadruple-checked citations for my thesis, because apparently that’s what my brain likes to do when it has space. (Party animal, I know.) I scribbled a couple poems, outlined ideas for my next workshop, and had several rambling internal debates about how exactly I’m going to pay for this PhD (yes, that’s still happening).

Meanwhile, the room became its own chaotic symphony: sirens humming through the night, thunderstorms rolling in with dramatic flair, a fridge buzzing ominously (I’m convinced it was trying to send me Morse code), pipes knocking like mischievous ghosts, and an air conditioner that clearly believed it was the star of the show. Sleep was...an adventure. And yes, the weird dreams came too—so naturally, we did some impromptu dreamwork, because why not overanalyze everything when the fridge is already talking to you?

From the little I saw, Baltimore seemed genuinely warm and kind. Every single person I met was lovely. There was laughter everywhere. And if I’d been there with my mom—these were the kinds of trips we used to take together—I probably would have braved the tangle of streets and ventured out. But honestly? Navigating a new city alone is confusing and exhausting, and every cell in my body said: stay in. So I did.

And you know what I realized in those three quiet days? How madly in love I am with my own life. Things are hard. Maybe they always will be. But I have so, so much to be grateful for.

It was my perfect little cognitive ecological monotropic retreat—just me, my brain, my snacks, and nowhere else I needed to be. If you’re autistic, you might relate. If you’re not, maybe you still get it: sometimes the greatest adventure isn’t out there in the world, but deep in your own weird, wonderful mind.

So Baltimore, maybe next time. You seemed lovely from my window. For now, thanks for being exactly the backdrop I needed.