Crying In My Coffee?

Or something like that.

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You can listen to a voiceover of the entire letter by clicking the audio version below:

Hi, friends,

I guess it’s been a while. Long enough to know that deep seasons have passed, and we’ve all changed. As the daffodils poke their heads from the damp soil along my neighbors parking strip, I too am releasing myself from my hiding place.

I’ll just come right out and say it, I’ve been avoiding you. It’s probably not worth going into the whole “life has been too heavy, the world has been too crazy, etc. etc.” explanation (or excuse) for why I haven’t put hypothetical pen to hypothetical paper, so I’ll skip over that part.

The truth is, lately I don’t know how to possibly know what the truth is. I feel suspended in air, as I’m sure most of us do. If you don’t know what I mean by that, you must be in a cushy bubble (and I do know people in these cushy bubbles, good for you). If you are, however, familiar with this feeling I’m describing (falling, floating, untethered, overwhelmed, under-inspired, scared, confused, lost) I’m right here with you. As I sit here trying to come up with something that resembles insightfulness, all I can do is stare out my window and let the tears fall dangerously close to the fresh cup of coffee I just brewed at 2:15 pm. When I stop to wonder why I’m crying, it’s actually less about the insanity happening in the world. It’s more about the fact that I don’t know my neighbors. That it feels like we’re all trying to survive on our own, instead of together. That my parents are aging, and that I’m still arguing with my mom. That my friends are in different life stages than me, and that scares me. That I spend time and money making my house aesthetically pleasing, even though I don’t know if I’m ready to settle down here. Or maybe it’s because I’m scared of not living my life in a way that feels the most fulfilling, or taking it for granted when I have so much abundance.

It’s fascinating to talk to friends and loved ones during a time like this. It brings me back to early 2020, when we were all navigating the most uncertainty any of us had ever experienced. Naturally, I revisited my journal from those times. Here’s an excerpt from September 2020, just for you:

“Some things I’ve written lately: dark rants on capitalism, cries for help from the universe (?) and mushy love letters to friends — pretty stark contrasts in my ~feelings~… for a quick attempt at optimism, I’ll say this — just when you think you can’t take on anything more, you can. You are strong. You are smart. You are not alone. You have the means to help and hold others. Things will change and you will be okay. All that said, we can title this ‘Never Been Worse, HBU?’”

I’ll take a page out of my own book (errr, journal) and approach this letter as an attempt at optimism. Last night when I was off to bed and saying goodnight to my roommate, I found myself saying “sweet dreams, maybe tomorrow things will be better.” I consider myself a hopeful person, and I truly do believe in the power of good people. When I stop and think about how many truly incredible people I know, I am refilled with an intense sense of faith and joy. If I am just one person, one tiny spec in the universe, and I personally know hundreds of wonderful, kind, and compassionate people, by my girl math calculations—there must be millions of people just like us, all over the world. I bet if you took a pause, and personally counted all of the wonderful people in your life, your hope may also be slightly restored.

Whats more? Our ability to change. As it turns out, I’m a grown up, and can pretty much do whatever I want to feel okay with the way I live my days, the way I interact with the world, and with other people. I may not be able to change the world, but I can change my world. By that I mean: I can find work that fulfills me. I can call my representatives and volunteer. I can stop spending money where my values aren’t represented. I can write letters about the tender woes of being alive, and you can choose to read them (or not). I can cry into my coffee if that’s what I need to do, and I can go lay in grass and count clouds if I want to.

I guess what I’m saying is, I’m with you. and I feel you with me, too. Sending love to you out there, wherever you are. I’ll be back soon, I promise.

— C