Little Beacons
Yesterday, I stumbled across this, and it resonated with me:
So I wrote this: I cross my 7s, because someone I loved wrote them that way. I take my coffee like my mom used to. All the cartoons and classic movies from my childhood remind me of my first and forever friend. Every time I have hot oil, I think of my grandpa. With apple cider, it’s the other grandpa.
Hozier will always remind me of a broken heart, but that won’t keep me from listening. French Macarons immediately conjure the face of a dear friend. Certain scents instantly pull memories out of the ether.
We carry so much beauty with us. Every day. Amid the chaos and the hard things, remember that. XO
But today, I want to add to what I wrote. I want to remind you of how we are all connected to each other in steadying ways. How, even when things are unsteady, the simple act of being there in some capacity has softness to it. The world can be harsh, but small gestures are the remedy for that.
I sing a jazzy song about Robin Hood that I learned from my mother’s mom. I have my other grandmother’s pizza pans, and I think of her when I use them. Someone gave me a cross once. I kept it for sentimental reasons. (I am not religious.) The Farming of Bones by Edwidge Danticat will always remind me of one of my college besties, because we finished reading it in a lounge and both sat up, teary eyed. I loved talking about books with her. We lost touch over the years.
I hate driving long distances, but will get in the car when someone needs me. This override applies to other circumstances. It’s not the Mom Friend override as some have said. It’s being needed and valued in a single breath.
I tend to favor English Breakfast tea, because someone dear to me brought it back for me from England when I was a kid. In my head, that was real tea.
I never get tired of the beauty of sunrises or sunsets. Hugs are my favorite. I’m a tactile person, if allowed to be. The reason I first walked was to get a hug from my aforementioned first/forever friend. She was across the room. I wanted a hug. So, I got up and got one. (Don’t underestimate me. Haha)
Cold nights where the sky is filled with innumerable stars always makes me think of October, Halloweens past, dress-up parties and playing tag in the dark. Laughter echoes through time, if you’re listening.
And today, I am thinking of the comfort found in a soft word. How, at one of the worst moments in my life, I called someone and broke down on their voicemail. How the return call eased some of the agony in my heart. Even though we don’t talk anymore, I will always be grateful for that kindness and the strength they gave me. It’s a reminder of the importance of being vulnerable and open, even when it’s hard. Of letting people in, of letting those who care help. (I am much better at helping people than I am at accepting help. Work in progress.)
Help isn’t about fixing something. It’s about being there, loving someone while they’re hurting or dealing with something. It’s about softness and comfort—and the protection that is found in that. When my mom died, I learned that people cannot fix, but nearness and kindness is enough. It’s enough to make a dent in grief and hardship.
When I say I’m here if you need me, I mean it. It’s not an act. It’s not for brownie points. It’s not uttered for show or convenience. What I really mean is, pick up the phone and call me if you need me, you dolt. (Lovingly.) Text me if you need me is not an idle gesture. Please, no matter what, lean on me. Invite me in. Let me be the steady song in the quiet dark. I used to struggle—and sometimes still do—with caring too deeply/overtly/loudly. I sometimes send three texts in a row! Or a small paragraph! I am not brief in my affection. I’m only brief in my poetry.
But my heart is my strength. It’s an asset. When I make brownies for a friend, put a letter in the mail, or make plans, it’s with my whole heart. As far as I know, the truest magick is that of love. And I love my people. All my people, even if there’s a geographic distance between us. Even if things are wonky or rough. Especially then.
I didn’t learn that from anyone. That is just me. But I am a web of the kindnesses of others. All the late-night chats, all the confessions over coffee, all the texts sent like little beacons in the day and in the night. A pastiche, an amalgam of everyone who has touched my life.
Tell me things about you. What gathered things have become part of who you are. I wanna know. I want to see the beauty in the tapestry of you.