A wave of emotion has come over me. I sit soaked, suffering, and blind with feelings at the memory of that time; a surge of excitement and promise burn through me like a match to a paper towel. I can barely move, crippled by my emotions. I remain entrenched in my affection and attachment to his world. Fierce and intense feelings grip my core. My infectious enthusiasm is nearly out of control. The anticipation of a next communication overpowers my every thought. All of my pent up feelings of elation and enchantment are at a tipping point. I feel raw. Before I do something irrational and irreversible, I must repress my emotions. My reaction to his words is visceral, a fist pumping “Yassss!” I remain overwhelmed.

Oh please. Scratch all of that.

As theatrical as I know I can be sometimes, I have to say, there is way too much drama in those sentences to actually describe the compelling uniqueness of my emotional roller coaster after the first message from him.

Words like wave, blind, crippled, raw, visceral, along with expressions like pent-up, overpowering, burning and entrenched, have aggressive, disease sounding undertones. I know feelings can behave this way, relentless and consuming like a forest fire. But none of these descriptions align with the fleeting and fairy tale essence of my emotions after experiencing two days of personal communication with Francis Mallmann. Two days! Ugh. I know, I know. I’m talking about him again, “My Patagonian Preacher”, https://www.myselfthink.com/blog/2018/2/5/my-patagonian-preacher. When this iconic chef and global personality responded personally to me regarding a previous post I wrote about his affect on me, I was hammered by emotions that shot through me like electrical impulses, jolting me between bliss and shock in alternating split seconds. It was like standing in a hail storm. Every kind word he wrote to me hit hard, then faded, then hit again with the next message. It was not like a growing fungus or a forceful wave of feelings, it was a storm that stopped and started every time I heard my phone ping.

I am currently doing my best to start a new routine, a new life. I have my little writing space, a potted plant, my tea cup and an open window to the street. I sit and work; little projects here and there. The piece I wrote about Francis Mallmann is from several months ago but something possessed me that day to try and get it to him. I never thought he would read it. I never thought he would like it – it’s not all flattering. I most certainly never thought he would message me, several times…over a period of a couple of days. Best Tuesday and Wednesday of my life! However, if I could have imagined what correspondence with Francis Mallmann would be like, I would have gotten it right.

He was kind, encouraging, full of light, positivity and he typed up never ending inspirational quotes from Teddy Roosevelt to Rudyard Kipling, all meant to keep me motivated and unwavering. I wanted to pop champagne, light a cigarillo in a slim silver filter and throw on a wide-brimmed hat. Maybe put on high heels in a classic blush hue, don some large dramatic sunglasses and sit in a coffee shop chatting with strangers about the day Francis Mallmann and I exchanged messages. Suddenly I felt interesting and I wanted everyone to know why. I would have done this sober so as not to appear too pathetic.

It was a rush. His messages kept coming.

The notes were like giant ice pellets of exhilaration and happiness pounding my mind and body with stinging, energizing emotion. Bam, bam, bam, bam. I didn’t want to shield myself from this downpour. I wanted to pull out the bottom of my t-shirt, catch the hail and marvel at the sparkle of the stones – his words. Then it stopped. I looked around. I don’t know who remarked at the calm before the storm but I feel much more anxiety at the quiet delirium after a downpour. I realize it’s over. Francis has moved on. His messages have wrapped and life has to go on. As the skies clear, I see another storm coming. Another message from a man, a legend, from somewhere across the world and the excitement of his hail storm of encouragement starts again. Endorphins from the beating keep me high and blissed out for quite some time. And then the skies settle again. I sit back down in my plastic ghost chair, at my tiny little desk from Bouclair, a big box store, and I look back out at the suburban landscape. I assume the moment I’m living is more or less a story I must have heard somewhere and wasn’t it fun to have been carried away. He wouldn’t bother with me?

When my phone was silent for too long, I still picked it up to reread his messages. To make sure they were real. I’ve even printed them lest I drop my phone in some unsightly public toilet somewhere. That would definitely be something I would do. I refuse to have people roll their eyes at me and say “Sure Francis Mallmann messaged you. And I just got off the phone with Mathew McConaughey. He wants you for his next sequel, Dallas Liars Club.” Pissers.

I reread the messages to remember how it felt to see them for the first time. I feel these emotions like a jewel thief. I have them, they are so beautiful and I like to hold them but I can’t help but look over my shoulder to see if anyone else can see what I’m feeling, holding, or if they are trying to sneak up on me and take it all away from me. But I can’t keep them and hide them like jewels. They are vapor and they leave me. My memory of two days of messages and emails with Francis Mallman will have to work to survive, like an engine chugging up hill on one cylinder. They must serve to help me remember what it felt like to have the attention of someone who inspired and still inspires me.

“Before you embark on any path ask the question: Does this path have a heart? If the answer is no, you will know it, and then you must choose another path. The trouble is nobody asks the question; and when a man finally realizes that he has taken a path without a heart, the path is ready to kill him.” Carlos Castenada, The Teachings Of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way Of Knowledge

This was part of a much larger excerpt he sent me and now it is part of a much larger thought and inner dialogue I have with myself, almost daily. I must keep the path, and always ask the question.

There are ways to change a person’s life and nobody executes a grand gesture like a celebrity, “You get a car and you get a car and you get a car!” Every time Ellen pays someone’s tuition, I cry like a fool. Warren Buffett’s $30 billion to philanthropic trusts restores my faith in humanity like nothing else. But there are other ways too. A hand on a child’s shoulder who has rarely been touched, a ‘how are you?’ to the invisible man who walks his dog alone every day, telling your parents you love them for no reason, and making someone laugh – always my favorite. Small things.

The day Francis Mallmann decided to craft messages of gratitude and encouragement for my benefit, not his, is the day I decided, again, how important words are to me and how much I enjoy using them to carve out a place in the world. He told me,

“The world must read you.”

A few minutes of his time now amounts to a lifetime of me hearing voices in the wind saying ‘keep going.’ So I’m throwing out my umbrella, listening to the wind, and letting every emotion, every experience, and every word that gets thrown at me in this hail storm of life, hit me hard and dare me to hit back. I don’t want it to rain. I hope it pours.

What a fun week.

Carol Sloan

If you enjoyed this and would like to read more, please feel free to put your email address below and you will receive a notification when there is a new post. Thank you for reading! You're my favorite :)

Hail Storm