On Caring
I keep starting to write a newsletter, only to stall out partway through. It is annoying, honestly. I have thoughts! But they aren’t necessarily cohesive in terms of a narrative. I keep trying to say one thing, but something else keep finding its way on to the page.
This is not unlike when I was writing poetry this week. I had a particular poem I wanted to write. And yet, when I sat down, something else came out. I’ve learned, as I told a friend, to get out of my own way in those moments. Write when wants to be written. Then, there’s always another chance. Another fresh slate. Another blank page.
For me, this week has been frustrating. Nothing dire. Just a bunch of things I can’t control and trying to figure out how to navigate around it. I managed okay, but ooooof. It made me cranky.
Somewhat contrarily, I thought a lot about kindness this week too. Because I believe in being kind, not for show, but sincerely. I believe in making sure those around me know that they’re loved and cared for, especially in the moments where life’s imperfect or they are hurting. That is when we need love and care the most.
And it’s easy to show up when things are sunshine and kittens. But life is rarely consistently that. And I’m not someone who flinches or runs when things are hard. It’s not in my nature. I’m steady and deep. I don’t do shallow.
I try to always be clear about my own feelings, because I think that there are more important things than playing it cool or safe. I refuse to hold back for any reason. (Spoiler alert: sometimes, that reason is me and my own ridiculous insecurities.) I refuse to be less of who I am. If someone doesn’t appreciate that, they can go find someone else. I am who I am, and I generally like myself. When anxiety isn’t making me question the dumbest things, of course. (Brains! Horribly jerk gremlins! Internal saboteurs! RUDE.)
There have been a lot of things, lately, that I cannot fix. I love to fix things. Or, at least, to ease them. It’s part and parcel to who I am. Friend is hurting? Hug them. Friend is having a great day? Hug them. Friend is X, Y, or Z? Hug. (Obviously, if they want to be hugged. But man, a good hug is fucking everything, and no one can convince me otherwise.)
Sometimes, all we can do is show up for those we care about. Sometimes, this means making someone food or shipping them soup. Sometimes, this means texting them a cool photo. Sometimes, it’s a check-in email or DM. Random chatter and shared joy. Never underestimate “this made me think of you” or “I wanted to share this with you.” The effort matters. Because when the world is full of swirling chaos, it helps to have something steady. I try to be that steady this as much as I am able to.
It’s not just for show. It’s not for kudos or cookies. It is because I don’t care small. I don’t care conditionally. And I don’t care when it is convenient for me. I’m a hurricane of heartbeats and affection. There have, of course, been times where this has been…derided. I’ve been informed by people in the past that I am too much in myriad ways. I have too many feelings. I am too effusive. Too this, too that.
And you know what? Choke on it. I do not have time for that. Those in my life don’t ask or expect me to be less me. Sure, they may roll their eyes if I send them three text messages in a row, possibly using one person’s allotment of exclamation marks for an entire week. Who cares? All part of my charm.
Point is, I am going be a ridiculous CareBear always. I know this about myself, even when I’m hemming or hawing about a decision or wanting to do or say X. I will never do the cool thing. Because I get to decide the cool thing. And the cool thing is caring. Thoroughly and without hesitation.
Unrelated: If my new poem is out at The Deadlands right now, if you want to snag issue 35. It’s the price of a latte! And you get to read cool stuff! Including “The High Priestess Falls in Love With Death!” I wrote it a few years ago, and I am so happy it found a home with the fine folks there.
Until next time, darlings!
XOXO