Feels Like / Big Feels

On July 2, 2026, Central Park recorded a temperature of one hundred degrees.

The last time this happened was July 18, 2012.

On July 24, 2012, Ilya registered Redbeard Bikes as a business in the state of New York.

Two weeks ago – fourteen year later! – Ilya publicly announced that he's winding down Redbeard Bikes, with no promises about a new location/form/timeline, but a general air of, "It's not goodbye, it's see you later," maybe, probably.

By publicly, I mean on Instagram, and since then our life feels like the endpapers of a yearbook, filled with however many different ways you can say "we'll miss you, best wishes for your next chapter." (But really: the notes are many, varied, some short, others gushing, and we wish we could reply to each. I'm liberally doling out hearts and other emojis, grateful to live in an era where we have this shorthand.)

Often when a story feels too big to tell, I start with dates and addresses. For example, I have a draft called "Noise" that, so far, is just a list of addresses where we've lived, which helped me with my application for a Polish passport, which required a list of addresses (but not details of the noise at each one).

Ilya opened the doors of Redbeard Bikes on November 7, 2012, a week later than originally intended, because Hurricane Sandy hit New York on October 29th-ish, and Halloween was cancelled, and the power was.

The shop lived at 165 Front Street for one year. In 2013 we moved to 69 Jay Street. In 2017 we added a studio space across the street in 68 Jay. In late 2019 we closed that studio space, and worked through the pandemic at 69 Jay. In 2022 we moved to 18 Bridge Street where we had a doorbell and three doors between us and the street.

The feelings in this letter are between those doors, between the lines, I think you can tell that the lines are holding back the feelings, which would otherwise obliterate everything.

We are already walking on coals this week, and that is sunscreen in our eyes, we're not crying.

Probably no letter next Sunday. Dip into the archives, dip into a lake, tell me something from YOU, just reply to this email XO

NEWSY STUFF

My story is (still) in issue No. 33 of A Public Space magazine along with some fine writing by my friends Raina Wellman and Nina Ferraz, and by Imogen Osborne and Parker Menzimer who read at the launch party, not to mention the brilliant Helen Oyeyemi, how am I in the same magazine as she?!?!

Divinity School • a letter every Sunday at sunset • if you’re always looking, after some time you’ll have seen

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