Send a Friend a Love Letter

I have the bad habit of hiding and holing myself away for a while. It’s when I’m deep in writing, processing, or thinking. I get a bit estranged from the connectivity of it all.

When I emerge, I begin to remember things that I used to do, that I’ve forgotten. A quick sniff of my armpits and I realize that I should probably have showered a bit more frequently; my face is greasy with non-washing and my yoga pants have several days’ worth of food wiped across them.

And I remember that I’ve forgotten to stay in touch. I’ve forgotten to write back to friends. Email has piled up in that unforgiving way, hundreds of messages blinking at me angrily in the ether, waiting and insisting upon an urgent response.

Two weeks is a fast reply, right?

When I disappear into it all, I fail to stay in touch with my friends. Sometimes the guilt seeps in — I missed it! I should have paid more attention! — but deep down, I also know that the way into deep work is to stave off the notifications and the messages for a while.

And as a way back in, I like to write. Write to my friends, write to my family.

The worst habit I have, which I’m a bit remiss to confess here, is one in which I emerge, and then stiffly and frustratingly wonder why people aren’t reaching out to me.

Why don’t I have a new message today?

Hmph.

(As though my friends should be patiently waiting for my return and then instantly messaging me.)

Nope.

It’s on me.

And so I write.

I write my friends a letter. A note.

These are a few of the ways I like to reconnect:

> By text message

Hi! I’ve missed you. Sorry for the delays, I’ve been inside and under a writing rock lately. Let me know how you’ve been and if you want to catch up!

> By audio message

I’m still a bit wary of the actual telephone, so I love to record audio messages for my friends and drop them off.

> By postcard

Postcards cost 34 cents to mail, and about 50 cents to purchase. Isn’t that absolutely incredible? I keep a stash inside the front pocket of my kindle to write when I’m out and about, or when I’m in line, or when I’m traveling on a plane.

> By friend update

I write a monthly friend update — a personal letter of sorts. It’s a small list of people I want to keep in touch with, which goes out, not monthly, but in the months I remember to send it. (Critical distinction, eh?). I forgive myself in advance for the months I forget and pick up during the months I remember. Some quarters just aren’t that externally facing, and that’s part of the seasonality of life.

I tell them a bit about my work and my current thought process, the research projects I’m engaged in, and any struggles that are presenting themselves.

I ask them to write back. I get a dozen or so responses, and we re-engage.

> By email love letter

This is perhaps my favorite of all time. I like to ask people how to show up better for them in their lives, to learn what they like, to hear about what would be helpful for them.

When I find my people in this world, I try to keep them around. People that are on a similar wavelength of curiosity and experimentation, of kindness and depth. And one way to do this is by writing a letter of admiration and connection to them.

To tell them the joy of being acquainted with them, and how much you’re looking forward to getting to know them, however it transpires.

And the question I want to share with the blog today, a nascent question in my journey into better-connected friendships, is a question I find poignant, raw, and mind exploding.

How can I better show up as a friend for you?

I found myself craving a friendship with two people I’d fallen in (friend) love with, and we lived far apart, each equally busy in our world of work and life pursuits. We weren’t going to happen to run into each other very often.

I wrote them an email, titled, simply:

<3

And the email said:

I have a question for you, which might seem strange, but here goes:

How can I show up as a better friend for you?

I’ve got a really strong intuition and feeling that I want to be in your life, that we will stay in touch.

So, for you: what would it look like to have amazing friend support? What makes your life better? How can we show up for you?

Especially in the age of “too busy” and tons of work, what might this look like? Text messages? Random 5 minute chats?

A thought and a question to start a conversation.

xo

How are you reaching out to your friends?

One of my practices in friendship and connection is working to pro-actively initiate more of the types of friendships I want to have in my life. I believe in the rule of 50 people, and the need for vastly better structures of community in our lives. I want my little one to have dozens of “Aunts” and “Uncles” he can turn to when his mom isn’t the right person to go to, and I want the same for myself.

I dream of being surrounded by wonderful men and women, in community, going deeper in ideas, in sharing, in storytelling, and in supporting each other.

It is my belief that telling our stories helps us heal, helps us connect, and helps us feel less alone amidst the existential loneliness of it all (we’re all just floating in space, really, right?).

And so we must reach out, to each other.

What are your favorite practices for reaching out and staying connected with friends? How do you want to show up in the lives of other people, and how do you want people to show up in your lives? Leave a note in the comments!

Little Quips on This Not-So-Little Pregnancy

This is post #5 in my month-long writing challenge. Join me here.


I find pregnancy to be quite weird. My body has taken over. It’s running a long-embedded script I didn’t know I had inside of me.

I’ve taken to writing short bits on twitter under the hashtag #pregrealities.

Something about Twitter makes me feel like I actually exist, or something. Confirmation of identity. Proof of existence.

Or I’m just talking out loud to myself. Whatever. I need to talk.

A warning, though. Don’t ever look up the hashtag #pregnancy. It is too alarming and too strange. Just don’t do it.

I’m like, let’s get dinner. Hubby says, sure, I’ll be about 45 minutes? I say great, I’ll see you there in 45 minutes. I leave for the restaurant.

(I’ll have two dinners, no problem.)

The confusing feeling of being both physically full but still RAVENOUS. No more room in stomach. Must eat again in 1 hour.

Tall pregnant ladies don’t look pregnant when they most need to: months one through four, the vomit months.

Everything about this pregnancy is confronting my need for, and my sense of, control.

CEO comes over, says ‘Hey wanna smell this new startup cologne,’ ME: NO PLEASE NO—He sprays it. I’m dying.

Will I have a big bump or a small one? Will I be a waddler or a speed-walker? I CAN’T KNOW! I WON’T KNOW! I have control issues.

Thinking about this won’t make it go any faster, will it?

It’s a good thing I’m not being paid to organize this. If my mind ran the pregnancy, we’d obsess over the weirdest shit and other things wouldn’t get done.

I’ve gotta stop serving the portions at dinner. Hubby and I are gaining weight at the same pace. Only one of us is pregnant.

5 months in and already I feel like I can’t eat fast enough for this baby.

Sometimes I eat food and I feel the baby punching up towards my stomach like he’s trying to get the food faster.

Everything on my front side is ballooning outwards. My boobs have never been this big.

Actually, my boobs are starting to rest on top of my stomach. This I distinctly do not like.

Wait, wait! Make it slow down! I’m not ready yet!

Only four months left? Oh, shit.

I made a joke about falling down and dropping dead and my OBGYN looked very worried. Maybe my sense of humor is too dark. #Don’tJokeAboutBabies

I bet there are some people, when they get a pregnancy announcement from a friend, are like “Damn. Another friend lost.”

Never read the mommy blogs. Just don’t do it.

Well gosh, everyone has advice! Thank you so much!

Why do they all want to rub my tummy? I’ll rub YOUR tummy. Does it feel weird when I rub your pot belly? K.

No, I have no idea what the heck I’m doing.

Yes, I work at a startup and I’m pregnant. I might be insane. Did you ever think I wasn’t?

When you have to write out your maternity policy because you’re building a startup (and a human) from scratch. #StartupPregnant

OH: “Where is the baby exactly?” #InMyUterus #WhatIsAUterus #OhGod

The list of things pregnant women should not do is like a cracked-out version of everything everyone gives up for Lent. Except… who gives up going to the sauna for a 9-month lent?

I’m gonna have a nice Bourbon when this is all over.

I have a baby boy inside of me.

Pregnancy is so strange, and so weird.

If I forget for a second that I’m pregnant, my body definitely reminds me.

I can feel you kicking inside of me. You have a tendency to kick me in the stomach whenever I start eating. You hungry too? I know, I know.

Hey Little Mister. I took you to see Star Wars today in the theater. Your dad says it’s the first movie you’ve seen in the theater. We’re training you right.

I can’t believe I’m growing a person.

I can feel myself slowing down, and it actually feels all right. I like this. There’s a sense of peace growing.

When I look around at all the men in the world, I realize, I’m growing one of them.

We were sitting on the train today, you and I, on our first trip down to Philadelphia. Already you’ve already been down to Philadelphia and on a plane to Colorado and in a few weeks we’ll be taking you to Kentucky.

If you’re anything like your mama, you’ll be a bit of a traveler in your future. If you’re anything like your dad, you’ll love cuddling up with a good book and staying warm by a fireside (or in a sauna).

We found out you were a boy and I said something like, “the Little Mister in here wants a lot of food,” because you made me super hungry again, and your name stuck.

I have no idea what we’ll name you when you arrive, of course, but for now, you’re in there.

Thanks for choosing me to be your mama.

We feel so lucky that you’re going to come into our lives.

We’re scared about being parents, but I think we’ll do a fairly decent job at it.

I hope we can teach you a lot and give you so much love and support and space.

Space to enjoy being a child, space to play, space to grow up and grow wise and become whoever you’re going to become.

I can’t wait to meet you, Little Mister.

The man at the grocery store.

IMG_7717

The man in the grocery store is in love with me.

I can tell by the way that his eyes watch me, and the way he smiles at me from behind the counter. I pull my basket up around the edge of the aisle, glancing briefly at the pop tart magazines.

Mmm… chocolate. I grab one. Impulse buys.

The elderly couple in front of me tinkers with the credit card machine, pushing buttons. Their necks crane and squint a bit, staring at the box. Yes. Pay. No. No, we don’t want any money back. Yes again. Beep!

I catch his eye while I’m in line, and I see him staring at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. When he sees that I see him, his eyes squeeze and his face bursts into a grin. He ducks his head, shyly, and busies himself with packing bags and stacking the groceries as they come down the end of the conveyor belt.

I smile, too, and turn my head back to the cashier. She swipes each item past the barcode reader, tracking and recording my food purchases, automatically smiling at me and asking me about my day. I check in here almost every day, buying my lunch, sometime around noon, a creature of habit. The store is only 2 blocks from my office, and on the busy weeks I rush down here and buy a sandwich for a quick meal. There aren’t too many checkout lines and he’s always here, smiling.

His green store apron is slightly askew, his hands shaking as he picks each item up carefully off the belt to put it in a bag. I reach my hand over the counter to stop him, shaking my head slightly, reminding him again that I brought my bag.

See? I ask — and point to my big purse — I have my bag, I remind him. I don’t need another one. He quickly straightens up and arranges my items again, placing them each on the counter carefully and grinning back up at me once he’s done arranging the items.

He stutters a bit and starts talking to me, a pattern of words I’m used to from seeing him almost every day. His brown eyes open wide and take in every gesture of my being. I face him kindly and listen to his story, thanking him silently with my body for taking the time to tell me his thoughts. Today, he’s urgently and excitedly telling me about my sandwich, which, as he attests to, I will certainly enjoy.

“It’s – it’s – it’s a good, it’s a good- — good – sandwich.” He grins.

He has Down Syndrome, I guess, or some other difference, something that makes him seem unusual at first glance. I’m not sure which, nor do I feel the need to name it or identify it. His laughter is playful, childlike, eager. We are just people in a world, together. I am in joy knowing that he is here, able to participate, able to be, able to share his excitement about the world around. Maybe more people should wear smiles as frequently as he does.

Yesterday he saw me in line and his eyebrows burst up in semi-circles of recognition, and he turned around and walked away for a bit. I watched, bemused, wondering what he was up to, until I got distracted by the grocer’s cues to complete my payments. Suddenly he was there, by my side, both hands wrapped around a small flower pot with a long stemmed orchid in it. He extended both arms.

“H-H-Here,” he said. “A pretty, a pretty — a pretty —”

“A pretty flower for you.”

He blushed and turned shy when he realized what he said.

Thank you, I said.

Thank you so much. I love the flower. Today, maybe I don’t need the flower, but I love the flower. My eyes look at him, longing to understand, to try to feel what he feels and see what he sees and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to know the world as he knows it, if I’ll see it with his beauty, with his eyes, with his yearning. My mind flings to things far away from the present, lost in times far gone. And I think, too, if anyone will ever see the world as I see it, or if we’re both just lonely—lost in our own minds, not truly able to share our worlds completely with each other.

But they intersect, these moments, and his brief thoughts, his words, his gifts to me, his interest — they are the meat of it all. They are the reason we do these things. His smile makes me smile, and his words and ideas bridge a small gap between our minds.

Thank you.

Today, I pack my things in my bag and walk away and he waves, shyly. He waves, goodbye! and follows me with his eyes out of the store. I nod and smile, wave goodbye, and then watch him briefly.

His eyes turn around and they pop open, already smiling at the next customer. Each customer is a love, a treat, a friend in waiting. His love is effusive, gentle, patient and ready. If only love were always that easy.

Maybe love is that easy.