Bids for Connection
It’s easy to feel isolated and alone, sometimes. Life is messy. There’s a lot of noise. And yet, given the technology we have, it’s almost baffling how the opposite is true. So many people I care about live in my pocket. In the moments I am unable to hug them, I can send them a silly animal photo any time I want. And they can, in return, send me something silly or beautiful.
So much in life is simply a bid for connection. It’s, essentially, an offering to someone else. A bit of gentleness and solidity in an upside down world.
Real connection, to me, is easy. You just have to listen. You just have to meet someone where they are. It’s a matter of care, and you can’t really fake it. (I’ve seen people try to fake it and then promptly forget major things I’ve said that they must’ve been only half listening to. Ouch.)
The other week, I reached out to a dear friend, because I’d just lost something that was very important to me. In the moment right before I lost it, I had a little flash of be careful—that intuition that is never wrong—and I brushed it aside, because I was in a hurry.
Later, when I realized it was gone and there was no finding it, I thought fuck it and sent a very First World Problem text. And that person made me feel better in a way I hadn’t expected, and I got to learn a little more about them. And it made my heart happy. Because I was seen, and then got to see in return. But the comfort, too. That really meant a lot.
And honestly? More than anything fancy or flashy, that is the thing I always crave the most. Time and connection. Little gestures. Small joys. Shared sweetness.
Whenever I’m talking with someone, it’s with that aim, because I don’t really do surface things. I can do small talk, but why would I do that with those who I care about? Seems silly.
The other day, I was struck by a deep feeling of tenderness. If you know me, this does not surprise you. Because I’m a hurricane of feelings, with flesh and bone. I’m heart-led and ridiculous, and I care a lot. I’ve been told that I care too much, but by what measure? Not to be all Popeye about it, but I am who I am.
When I care, I care. Deeply and without a whit of concern for what might seem cool or whatever. I absolutely adore those around me who not only let me care, but appreciate it. It does my heart more good than I can articulate. There is nothing I cherish more than being let in. Add being thought of to that list, and yes, please.
Often, we think care needs to be complicated, but it doesn’t. It just needs to be a candle in the darkness. Something that says I’m here, I’m here, I’m here when it’s needed. Simple, but intimate in its own way.
Intimacy is an interesting creature. It’s really not just who you let see you naked. It’s who you let see you—and vice versa. And yes, letting someone see you can be terrifying, but all good things are at least a little bit scary. No matter what, it’s worth it.
Lean in, darlings. Move toward what’s sweet and steady and kind and intriguing—damn the rest.
I suppose the leads me into my newest published poem, “Let It Be Your Call.” It was a pleasure to work with the fine folks at Small Wonders again. I love this poem, and I love what it stands for. I know what I intended when I wrote it, and how I wanted it to feel. Maybe it’ll make you feel something.
Until next time, nerds. XOXO