If you know me well, you know that when I am sad, I eat frosting out of the jar, drink white wine (my dad taught me not to drink things you like when you're feeling sad), and readThe Great Gatsby. I don't know when this started, or even really how, but I know that when I read that book, I feel better. I save it for the most-glum of days, so as to not overdo it, but I promise that it works every time. Something about James Gatz's "extraordinary gift for hope" fills me with warmth.
It's the only book I ever read on a kindle, and only because I have a habit of giving away every copy I've ever owned. It's a gift that, for me, says, "I know what you're going through. Let me be there with you." My current copy comes from friends who know me well, and it has a note in the beginning that says something similar.
I find that being there with someone is much more impactful than being there for them. I was reminded of this today by some incredible humans I know - humans who continue to put their souls' warmth into others' - humans that warm my soul from the seat next to me and from 3000 miles away. Being with someone means that you not only accept their emotions, but embrace them. You give them some of your warmth. You feel their hurt, their joy, their love, and you sit in it for as long as they need. When you are there for someone, you acknowledge their feelings, you may even check in from time-to-time, but you aren't cherishing them. You aren't filling them with warmth, you are simply covering them in a blanket.
Today, watching the news on this rainy December Monday, I noted that today will be the day that our nation will hit yet another "milestone" - 300,000 human beings lost to this pandemic.
Three.
Hundred.
Thousand.
Human lives.
I need to pause and acknowledge that - at the very least.
Amidst such loss, such devastation, alongside the stress of a nation so divided, and the sadness of some (admittedly much smaller) personal pieces occuring in the background, I need far more than just a blanket. I need a pillow, a teddy bear, and a cup of hot cocoa, too. I need to reach for warmth. I yearn for a visit to my humans out of state, for clinked glasses at one of my favorite dive bars, but today I have to settle for East Egg.
The thing about Gatsby is that despite consistent heart ache, he is able to find hope. Despite all of his pain, he hangs onto love more than he does his own last breath. More than ever, I try to channel that. Mostly because I find that in the past six months, I have felt love more than ever. And, in the same six months, I feel cut-off. I am desperate for human connection, and yet must retreat from it as soon as it gets close. In my favorite time of year, when we should all be surrounded by those we love, I feel this emptiness the most.
It's taken a few years to be able to acknowledge when I get these feelings, but doing so has allowed me to feel my emotions, rather than just work past them. As humans of today, we are told to address, push through, and move on from our feelings. Knowing myself, I now add a fourth step: sit with.
So I do "five senses checks" (iykyk). I practice mindfulness. I count the things for which I am grateful. I journal. And I read Gatsby. I do everything I can to help me feel, and feel for others.
In short, I'm doing my best.
We are all just doing our damn best.
We are all reaching for the warmth of a hug, and instead getting stuck with that of an airplane blanket. We are all there for each other, while not really with each other at all.
The last twenty-four hours have been tiring for me. And among that fatigue, I have also felt inspired. I wouldn't say rejuvenated, as I in no way feel renewed, but I do feel hopeful. My people have been there with me, as I have with them. I feel warmth.
And I continue to note to myself that I am healthy. I am alive. And I think sometimes that must be enough - to have fallen asleep last night, and woken up today. To know that someday, I will be able to get brunch with a friend and have one too many mimosas. Someday I will get a "one hand?!" hug from my dad. Someday we will celebrate a birthday with a Gatsby-esque party.
That day cannot be today. But it will be someday.
Just as I am for rain today instead of snow - I am grateful for "someday."
So until then, I will make hot cocoa, I will tell my humans that I love them, and I will read The Great Gatsby for what is likely the one-hundredth time.
Until that "someday"...we beat on, boats against the current, borne ceaselessly back into the past.
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