5.29.23 Stained Glass

I believe in light

in the relentless pursuit of it

knowing that I can’t get too lost

if I continue to follow the trail of gilded hope

even when it fades

But sometimes …

sometimes the fog rolls in,

a hazy day monotony of “Where am I now?” grays

They sweep in, nonchalantly dusting my glinted path in a “Nothing personal” muted power play

And suddenly,

all the wishing on second stars

on eyelashes and dandelion breezes

don’t feel strong enough, when they always were before

I don’t understand

sometimes

why the things that matter most

the ethereal whims

and wishes

and prayers

aren’t more immediately powerful

when they are what I believe in most

when they are what I feel

I don’t want to be practical

or realistic

I don’t want to belong to

just

one

cause

or become a cliche who takes care of herself first–

because I’m the only one I can depend on

Whether it is true or not

I don’t want to live the way that particular truth would demand

so instead,

I might stay a bit lost for a while

spinning like a brass compass needle uncertainly finding her way

north

even if the wind keeps me in a temporary state of rearranging

maybe my pieces will come back together

brighter

maybe I’m a stained glass window

bits of fragile colored pieces

just waiting to catch the light

just waiting to illuminate the bigger picture

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.

3.12.23 7 Letters I Can’t Send: Dear Elliot

“. . . sometimes one feels freer speaking to a stranger than to people one knows. Why is that?
Probably because a stranger sees us the way we are, not as he wishes to think we are.” 
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

Dear Elliot,

I know that you will never receive this letter, but that didn’t make me want to send you one any less. I wanted to thank you for taking the time to talk to me the other day as we were both waiting in line for our orders. You were so polite, asking, “Excuse me?” Before then following up with the essential question, “Do you have dogs?” I think that is an excellent question, and I wish more people would kindly-interrupt one another to ask important questions like that. I was so happy to hear that you were not only excited to know their names, but also interested to know mine. There is power in a name, Elliot, and I am so grateful you shared your name with me, because I will not soon forget it. Or your smile. Or your red jacket. Or your cool glasses frames. Or the fact that you are seven (which is my favorite number, by the way).

To be honest, Elliot, I was sad to get my order so fast, because I really enjoyed talking to you. I know your parents thought I was, “being kind,” but they were wrong. I was not being kind, I was genuinely interested in your questions and enjoying your precious company. You broke my heart in the most precious way when you shook my hand goodbye, and then reached your arms out for a hug right after. THANK YOU! Thank you for taking the time to give me that essential gift.

As I left, I was wishing that I had a reason to turn around. I was SO grateful that I remembered I had picked up a smooth stone earlier in the day and put it in my pocket. I don’t normally pick up stones, but something about that one was special–like you, and it gave me just the excuse I needed to turn around and see you one more time. Thank you for receiving it as the treasure I meant for it to be. Thank you for understanding me.

I hope that no matter how many sevens you get to live in this life, you remember this seven. You remember how fundamentally important it is to keep meeting people. Keep capturing their attention with those bright, hopeful, curious eyes. Keep asking them if they have dogs, and what their names are. Keep following up handshakes with hugs (which are undeniably more important). And Elliot, dear boy, keep being you. No one could ever do it better.

All my love,

Elle

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

1.22.23 2:00 am Friend

“… and she embraced the chaos as it painted her life with purpose.” – J.H. Hard

It was 2:13 am

and we’d talked for four hours

(four hours and nine minutes)

and the funny thing is …

it wasn’t enough

We could have kept on talking

until the moon and the sun switched places

again

Everything and nothing at all

tears

and tantrums

confessions

and conundrums

secrets

and surreptitious truths

Each of them weighted equally

as the minutes ticked

as the clock struck

done

All I could think, was how grateful I am

to have this gift in my life

a kindred

who knows both what is possible

and unlikely

but trades dreams … and wishes … and prayers with me anyway

Therein lies the true magic

the believing that four hours of life shared in conversation

changes things

because it does

It allows us to carry on

to keep moving forward in both the mundane and miraculous

May each one of us be so lucky

as to have a four-hour-conversation

and a 2:00 am friend

11.4.20 Lost and Found

The worst possible reality was hers – she had just received the news that her daughter died. Had just gone through the funeral. Had just tried to return to something as “normal” as a soccer game … with the deep seated reality that nothing would ever be normal again. That was where I found her.

After the awkward, fragile niceties, I broached the impossible question, “How are you?”

“All I want to do is talk about her,” she said. “People don’t know if they should bring her up or not, but I want to remember everything. She was my best friend.”

I had nothing to offer her aside from my tears – my tears and a memory.

“I’ll never forget the first time I met her,” I handed over my words gently, wrapping the moment in my softest tone. I remember her eyes – hungry with hope, with desire for any fragment of a memory I could give her. “She climbed in my lap and touched my freckles. Then she told me I had a lot of polka-dots.”

And she laughed.

And I laughed.

And I knew it was the bereavement gift she needed.

I believe the most precious commodity we have to give, to trade, and most importantly to keep, are memories. The immeasurable value in giving a hidden chapter to a story you thought was over … what could possibly matter more than that? What could ever replace the value of another page? Another line? Another word spoken from a “voice” you never thought you’d hear from again?

I’m writing to ask a favor. Please share a memory … no matter how small or insignificant you think the interaction might be. Send the picture, share the card with their signature, and always tell the story. Keep trading the hope of memories lost, and found.

4.21.20 Tenacity

“Carry each other’s burdens.” Galatians 6:2

My favorite illustrator and great friend, P. Marin, once posted her word of the year … I fell in love with it and, after seeing it, asked if she could illustrate my favorite word on commission. Thus, this delightful little creature was born! P. Marin said, “It’s you,” and I’ve never been so flattered!

So … from her and I … hang on friends … this won’t last forever and we believe you’ve got all the grace, moxie, and tenacity to carry on. If you’re feeling weak or overwhelmed, send me a note and I’ll send some words to shield you. I’m hanging on, and until you can strengthen your grip, let others help carry you. All my love.

Elle