3.16.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Future Her

“My mother is the reason that I love you … She is the reason I know what love is.” 
― L. Franqui

Dear Future Her,

You know who you are, but I don’t yet … and that is both a wonderful and curious thing to me. Sometimes I wonder if he has already met you, or seen you, or dreamed you up in his mind. I like to think about things like that. I like to imagine the intersection of where his heart finds its way to you, because it comforts me to imagine that someday, he will be completely captivated by someone who just might deserve him.

I’m sure that when I know you, I will love you–because you will love him. How could I not trust your judgement? But here’s the thing I can’t deny; I’m a little bit afraid of you.

My son is–well–he is one of the most remarkable humans I have ever known. And I guess, before I know you, before he falls for you, there are a few things I’d like you to know. The most important is this: he cares about everything and everyone. Genuinely. He carries conversation. He opens doors. He holds eye contact. He shows emotion, and affection, and strength of character by admitting his weaknesses. He challenges himself. He prays. He stays. And his sister is his best friend.

I know that whoever you are, you will be strong. It will not intimidate him; he will champion this about you. I know you will be brave; he will support your choices. I know you will be intelligent, and he will be proud of your every accomplishment–whether attempted or achieved. Here’s the thing: I just ask you to do the same.

Love him back.

Honestly.

Imperfectly.

Intentionally.

And remember that before you ever had the honor of holding his heart, he had long ago stolen mine.

3.14.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Twelve-Year-Old Me

Dear Twelve-Year-Old Me,

Hello there dolly. (I’ll call you that, because your gram does, and I know how much you love it.) Oh, precious. Where to begin with you. I could talk to you for pages and pages. If I knew you’d get this, I’d take the time to do it … alas, you will not. Still, let’s have a go at just a couple of topics, shall we?

First off, it might not always seem like it right now (I know it doesn’t), but your life is pretty charmed. You might have big glasses before they’re cool, bangs that don’t suit you at all, and headgear to go with your braces–but you’re still one lucky girl. You have a mom and a dad who support your whimsy and wit, who encourage your curiosity, creativity, and endless questions. Let me tell you, that is more of a gift than you can possibly imagine. Remember as much as you can about home, because it will become your anchor.

You know how you like to write journals and poems and prompts? Well, it’s more than just a phase. Keep writing. And save the drama for the page. When things are meant to be, they will be. I know how much you like to fantasize and daydream about forever, but don’t miss “for now.” For now is a lot of fun, and it’s the path to knowing yourself enough to make the right decisions later.

Speaking of right decisions–no, you didn’t meet him yet, but you will in a few years. I promise. And girl … he’s worth waiting for. Think sea-green eyes and a wolfish smile with a kind heart and brilliant brain. How you might ask? I’ll let you wait on fate for that one. It’s more fun if you don’t know.

There are a couple of things you already got right though. Your best friends don’t change. She stays. He stays. And you are better for knowing both of them. Your sister (who you idolize), you will someday find feels the same way about you! Your cousin remains “your person” forever. And your love of adventure and nature will take you across the world.

So chin up little one. Embrace the awkward–it will teach you to be humble. Laugh at the mistakes–you’ll make worse ones. Love yourself now–it’ll help you love me later. And above all, be grateful. You’ve got a beautiful journey ahead.

3.13.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Perfectionism

“But I am learning that perfection isn’t what matters. In fact, it’s the very thing that can destroy you if you let it.” 
― Emily Giffin, Something Borrowed

Dear Perfectionism,

I am going to keep this letter short, because I do not believe you warrant any of my attention, though you certainly command it often enough. That being said, you have been making yourself known more and more as of late. And so, I would like to make one thing irrevocably clear–you can’t have her.

Throughout my life, you have haunted me like a vampiric shadow–leeching the light and the joy out of even the most accomplished moments. You have dwindled in the echoes of thoughts stuck-on-repeat and it has taken me decades to push you into background noise. Then, after all that work, you have the audacity to come back again, full-force, at her.

How dare you.

To haunt me was painful, but to make her precious mind your sordid sanctuary is unforgivable. She is everything good and beautiful in this world. She is every best-intention, every kind word, every hope for a better tomorrow, and I will not stand by and watch you beguile her with poisonous promises that bind her to an ideal that doesn’t exist.

Hear me clearly, Perfectionism, because I will only say this once. She will not fall to you … because she is strong. She has the legions of Heaven behind her, and what’s more–she sure as hell won’t be fighting you alone.

2.7.23 Seven Small Truths: Day Seven

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.” Mary Jean Iron

So here we are … day seven of seven days of mini truths. As important as all of the admissions I’ve shared have been to me, I think this one might be one of the most true and most necessary for us all to acknowledge, if for no other reason than to prove that we need one another.

DAY SEVEN Truth: Heaven is entirely too far away. Recently, I had a sweet follower ask me if I had any pieces I’d suggest she read to help her healing heart … she shared with me that she was still desperately missing her husband who passed away. My spirit entirely shattered, because what do you say? I have written about loss so many times over the years, and yet there is no consolation for grief that does more than offer a fleeting moment of warmth in the seemingly endless cold.

My faith has been the only consolation that ever offered me any peace–knowing that this is not the end of the story … the relationship … the love. Knowing that on the other side of the star-dusted sky lies another chapter, another conversation, another chance to hold and be held across the galaxy. To me, so many times, that promise has kept my broken heart beating.

Whenever someone I care about loses someone they love, I pray that their memories remain fresh and present. I pray that their dreams be vivid and their sensorial recollections be distinct. It is never enough … but maybe, just maybe, it will suffice one more day. And if I, myself, am missing one of the loves of my life to the point I can hardly bear it–I pretend. I tell myself that I’ll see them soon–that we’re only a memory apart.

I believe our imaginations can be holy … that if we open ourselves up to the divine we were designed to hold, heaven inches closer to us. Let hope be your light. It will be enough.

2.4.23 Seven Small Truths: Day Four

On this, day four … I share with you something that I am not entirely sure I want to. It’s personal. It hurts. And yet, I often feel that the struggles we go through, we are allowed to endure for two reasons: to prove we are strong enough to see the other side of them, or to use our developed strength to help someone else.

This is the truth I’d rather hide from than face, and sometimes–I do. It’s the truth I don’t want my mom or sister or daughter to read or know, even though I’m sadly aware they already do. It is the truth that makes me feel cliche … vain and weak. It is the truth I sincerely dislike about myself, but can’t deny.

So, just in case it is helping someone else be strong–here goes.

DAY FOUR Truth: I love myself … I don’t want to look like anyone else, but I’m still never ever satisfied with my reflection. I cannot remember a single time when there wasn’t something I thought I could improve. I am not proud of it. I want to be fully comfortable in my own skin. I often ask myself, “What if I just unequivocally loved this body of mine?” For about two seconds, I feel lighter, peaceful even … I almost give myself permission, then my posture resumes to full-shoulders-back, my tummy tucks in, my breathing shallows, and I instantly miss the feeling I just allowed leave of. Again.

Our imperfect pasts, our less-than-they-should-have-been decisions, have a way of becoming our own personal ghosts. They echo in the distance, mist-like on the good days–impermeable and haunting on the bad. The truth is, like millions before me (and sadly, millions after), the scars of my adolescent battle with Anorexia are as much internal as external. Though my body and mind are now healed–trained to recognize and pursue what is good and healthy … there are parts of my psyche that crave the shadows, the hollows between collarbone and spine.

The ghost of who I was (or wasn’t enough to keep at bay) keeps calling. And I turn away. Intentionally. Relentlessly. Because she was wrong. I was wrong. (And sometimes still am.)

Forgive me this truth?

I’d appreciate it, really.

Because most days, I’m still trying to forgive myself.

2.2.23 Seven Small Truths: Day Two

Here we are, day two of my seven days of tiny truths. Again, as I look at these mini-declarations, I realize that they really are fairy insignificant wonderings of mine, and yet–somehow–I feel like they say a lot about who I am or have become. As I look over them, I’m not sure that they are good or bad or even anything in-between, but they’ve offered me self-reflection, so … I suppose that is something. At the very least, they’ve made me curious if I am alone, or if you too have mini-truths to share.

So here we go again!

DAY TWO Truth: Bouquets of flowers, though beautiful, tend to make me sad. They remind me of endings as they are usually given at the culmination of something, be it nostalgic, a milestone, or an event much more painful. They are the pretty punctuation to an event, anniversary, or life. Sometimes the too-sweet smell of the freshly cut blossoms immediately turns to a lump in my throat. When given flowers, I tend to flip and dry them so they become something eternally lovely, instead of something I must watch die. 

Is that weird?

Does it change anything if it is?

When I was a little girl, I attended many funerals. I think that is where it all began. Then it was performances. Then it was corsages. Then a series of wonder-filled events that I didn’t want to end, that did.

Maybe it’s less about flowers and more about the impermanence of beautiful things. Still … I recognize that beautiful things are sometimes so because they are impermanent. As Robert Frost said, “Nothing gold can stay.” Isn’t that what makes for the truly perfect moments, the magnificent colors and blooms … the fact that we know we are witnessing something precious and fleeting?

What about you? How do you feel about the bittersweetness of temporary treasures?

Gratefully yours,

Elle

4.2.20 A Stranger’s Smile

I fell asleep with my son, putting him to bed last night. I woke up this morning by falling out of his bed. I realized, in that cold, hard moment on the floor, that my predicament was quite the metaphor for how I’ve been feeling lately. Every day I wake up with a bit of a shock, a little rocked and shaken, a little dazed – needing a moment to reorient myself before standing up again.

Anyone else?

I asked a student of mine recently how he was doing and he said, “You know, I think this is going to be one of those things that changes you for the rest of your life. My great grandparents went through the Great Depression, and for the rest of their lives they were really careful with money and lived a simple life. I feel like this is going to be our big life event that changes us, and someday I’ll scream at my kids to ‘wash their hands better,’ because they just can’t understand what I’ve been through.”

Wisdom. I think he’s right. I think that this event is unlike anything the world has known in my time of living on it. In some ways I appreciate the pause, the time with my family, the dinners and walks. But in other ways Spring Break felt more like a Spring Breakdown … becoming acclimated to working remote from jobs that were not designed that way, and realizing that even outdoor escapes like parks and preserves are closed.

One of my closest friends said, “I hate that it’s called ‘social distancing.’ It should be called physical distancing. We shouldn’t be trying to make ourselves less social.”  It’s weird for everyone. It’s hard for everyone. So be gentle. Be kind. And don’t forget to be humane in your humanness. I feel like when I have ventured out for my weekly groceries, people cast their eyes down and look away from one another … like everyone is a potential threat. Stay six feet apart, but SMILE!

There was an elderly gentleman at the grocery waiting in line like me, and we got to chatting. I told him my frustration with people’s social ineptitude, and he said, “You know, someone took a picture of me the other day and said they couldn’t recognize me because I was scowling. I didn’t even know I was.”

“Well you’re smiling now,” I said. “And I’m honored you spent your smile on me.”

So, like me, you might be feeling a little rough-around-the-edges and sore. Life has taken us for a tumble … but don’t forget to be yourself, don’t forget to care about the smiles of a stranger that might be your job to bring about.

All my love and prayers,

Elle

3.23.20 Small Fib

Dear Grandma:

Hello to you one of my all-time-favorite people in the history of ever and always. Grandma, there is SO much happening here on earth, and I wish for all the world you were here because I could really use some of your jubilant nature … some of your can-do-moxie, and one of your famous don’t-let-go hugs. But in the same breath, I am relieved that you are nestled in the grace of heaven, far from any more trials.

If we were together though, I know what you would say … and that is the blessing of knowing someone as special as you for so long … you’ve imprinted on my very spirit, and I can still hear you. If you were here, I’d start to cry. You would sweep my hair aside, put my head on your shoulder, rub my back and call me dolly. You would not only let me cry, but you would cry with me, wiping my tears just as fast as they fell, and planting kisses on my cheeks.

I would tell you how hard it is to be away from people I love, and you would remind me of the many people you had to say goodbye to. You would tell me that it is because love hurts, and sometimes pain is good. I would tell you that hiding and feeling trapped isn’t fair, and you would remind me that there was a time in history you lived through where people had to hide for much worse reasons than sickness. I would ask you how to deal with the dark thoughts and feelings that come, and you would tell me that joy is a choice, and it is about high time I start doing something fun.

If I were the me I imagine … the one who always came to you when I was feeling sad or scared, I know exactly what you’d do next. You’d scoop me onto your lap (even though I was nearly always taller than you) and you’d swing me back until our legs reached the sky and we dissolved into a fit of giggles. Then, you’d suggest we try on some of your jewelry … the best pieces you kept tucked in the boxes beneath your bed. I’d ask you to tell me all of your love stories, and you’d tell me small bits and pieces … just enough to keep me wondering at the girl you were, who stole hearts without meaning to, just by being you.

Grandma do you know how much I love you? How much I miss you? Still. Always. I love that you found a way to balance mischief and melancholy. You did not have an easy life … but somehow, you always found your way into another “dandy” time. I promise to do the same, and I promise to take as many with me as I can on each frolicking adventure into my imagination.

If I were with you, I’d ask you to never leave Grandma … and you’d squeeze my hand white-knuckle tight (like you always did) and you’d lie to me and say, “I’m not going anywhere.” Maybe just for today Gram I’m going to pretend that you’re not SO very far away … I might tell myself that I got to see you yesterday, and I can’t be so selfish with your time today. Do you think it’d be okay just this once to lie?

“It’s just a small fib,” you’d say. “No harm in that dolly.”

Oh Gram, meet me in a dream soon okay? Maybe tomorrow? So we can go bumming? So we can have a laugh and “get along real good,” like you always said we did. I know I just got to see you yesterday … but I might need tomorrow too.

I love you. I miss you. I need you still.

Tootaloo!

 

6.1.18 The Last Time

 

“Some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go – and then do it.” Ann Landers

So tomorrow is the last day of my son’s fifth grade year. This is monumental for many reasons, but the greatest of which is because he has been in my class all year. Let me begin by saying with emphatic resonance that I WOULD NEVER, EVER CHOOSE THIS. It was supremely difficult for numerous reasons I’m sure you can imagine, but mostly because I was paranoid for a YEAR that I was going to screw him up (even more than the poor kid is already likely to be with having me for a mother).

Imagine having your mom see you in your most formative time of social development on a daily basis. Imagine her seeing the way you interacted with friends, with less-than-friends, with girls! Half of the year I just wanted to close my eyes to give the poor kid some privacy and the other half I wanted to give him a, “What do you think you’re doing” death stare. Either way – it is supremely unfair. I was way harder on him than I’ve ever been with anyone else in my fourteen years of teaching. And I was way harder on me too.

But somehow, after all the prayers, and the tears, and the what if’s … I’m sad that tomorrow is it. I’ll be honest … my son is amazing. His nickname from day one was Mr. Handsome Face. He gave me hugs whenever I asked for them and even sometimes when I didn’t. He forgave me a million times for embarrassing him. He told me he’s learned more this year than ever before … me too.

I learned that this boy is courage personified.

I learned that this boy has integrity, just like his daddy.

I learned that this boy does know when to fight for what’s right, he does defend the weak, and he does put the needs of others before himself … even when mom “isn’t” watching.

I learned that this boy isn’t afraid of asking why history had to be that way, and if there’s really a chance we won’t need to repeat it.

I learned that this boy internalizes way more than I thought he did, that he most definitely cares what mommy and daddy think, and has more stress to live up to an invisible standard than I gave his little heart credit for.

I learned that this boy deserves my respect, my defense, and always, my love.

I learned a lot in fifth grade.

Sometimes I look back at pictures when he was nothing but a bundle of gurgling smiles. Other times I can’t bear it because it hurts too much to think about the times I might’ve missed a “last time” without even noticing. When was the last time I lifted him into the sky for an “airplane ride” at my feet? When was the last time I played pirates in a bubble bath? When was the last time I tucked tooth fairy money under his pillow when he still believed? When was the last time I rocked him to sleep?

Did I know it was the last time?

Did I even realize it was close?

Or was I too busy DOING motherhood instead of BEING his mommy?

Well … tomorrow is a “last time.” I can’t miss it even if I tried. Tomorrow is the last time my son will raise his hand to talk to me in class. It is the last time he’ll give me a mischievous grin across the rows of desks at some private joke only we understand. It is the last time I’ll have a son in elementary school. It is the last time I’ll be afraid that “Mrs. Harris” didn’t measure up to mommy and vice versa.

I always struggle with the end of the year – with students moving on, and beyond the memories we’ve formed toward those awaiting. I hate goodbyes. And it is surreal that somehow, though I’ll take him home with me in the afternoon … I think it is my son … this beautiful fifth grade boy … that I will miss the most – for the last time.

My heart hurts a little – okay a lot.

Elle

4.18.18 Busy People

“Beware the barrenness of a busy life.” – Socrates 

I’m a handful; I know it. And usually I have a mouthful of words I’m holding in, ready to share with the next victim who gives me an opportunity to speak. Busting at the seams with ideas and dreams, I’m usually a bouncing-on-my-tiptoes, ready-to-go, kind of girl. But lately, this weather, this eternal winter, has got my curl-up-and-stay-warm-to-survive mentality fighting my productive self.

It is not unusual for my husband or I to work after work – to hang out with the kids, do dinner, dishes, bedtime, and then exercise, or write, or read, or plan for something essential that’s coming up in the next few days. We are “get ahead” people, “positive” people, “go-getter’s.” But sometimes, like the last few days, I’m a “tired” people. And in times like these, I realize that sometimes times like these are necessary to remind me why people should slow down sometimes.

The other night my son had soccer, and I volunteered to take him. I usually use his practice time to write because I literally need to steal time to write. I have a writer’s conference to go to Saturday. I have homework for a class that’s making me an educational ambassador to a major museum due next week, I have a field trip to plan for that is also next week, I have all these ideas for a new book, and the list goes on! I started to type, but the whirring of soccer balls was a smidge distracting. Usually I can “get in my zone” and ignore almost anything, but for some reason … nothing doing.

I picked up a book I brought along. I’d intermittently wave at my son, watching him weave between cones, look up at me, wave, and dribble on. I might’ve read three pages total when I gave in to the nagging feeling that I was supposed to “do nothing.” What surprised me was that I was watching him for a full five minutes or so before he looked up at me again. And in those delayed moments, I had the very valid fear that I’d missed an opportunity. Not to write another article to be published, or read another bucket list book, or get more homework done – but that I’d missed the opportunity for my son to look for me in the hopes that I’d be looking back. Ouch.

The good news is that instead of missing an opportunity, I got the sweetest little touch of grace. He did look up, eventually, and saw me elbows-on-knees, no book, no phone, no computer in my hands … staring at him. He literally did a double-take and gave me the most unexpected smile of genuine astonishment. With a confused grin he signed typing fingers and said, “Why aren’t you writing?”

I smiled back at him and signed, “Because I’m watching you.”

And that’s when he did it. That’s when he broke my mommy heart. With the greatest sincerity he held my blue eyes levelly with his and said, “Thank you.”

I love that he was concerned for my writing time. I love that he wanted me to watch him. But most of all, I love that without even knowing it his, “Thank you,” was really an, “I forgive you, for all the times you choose work, for all the times you choose writing, or reading, or cleaning, or planning, because this time – you chose me, and I forgive you.”

How could I deserve a love like that? Like his? It makes me think about my faith and how I can never earn the grace I receive on either side of my family, divine or earthly. I’m a little ashamed of myself, and how dense I can be in the midst of my busyness … and for the way I know I will do it again. But for the moment, I am grateful, that my slow-down-self won just this once … and I saw my son, when he needed to be seen.

I have no idea what kinds of lives you lead. I don’t know if you’re constantly busy or a slow down person. The funny thing is, we’re probably all a combination of both, but I am one-hundred percent convinced others do it better than me … they find a semblance of balance that I am perpetually chasing. Regardless, I’d love, love, love to hear of a moment that caught you in your tracks. I’d delight over you sharing a story of when destiny helped you make the right decision to be present in the presence you were drawn to. You hear so much of me … I’d love to hear a bit of your tale too.

All my love,

Elle