'Even when you're out of focus I can see you workin'

The sixteenth one

Sep 08, 2024

I always say September is like the real start of the year and January is just when we celebrate. I mentioned before how I allowed summer to get away from me, so I’m spending this month reflecting and navigating what the heck happened these last 3 months. Where was I?

There’s something about September that moves you to get things in order. To slow down and consider your today. Reset. Refocus. I guess it’s because we’re on a wild ride for three months trying to catch summer, only to find it slipping through our fingers.

cry.

Yesterday, I cried on the train. It’s not unusual for me to cry in public, but it caught me off guard—I hadn’t done it in a while. My favorite place to cry is on a plane, 30,000 feet in the air. There’s something about being up there, letting the tears fall, releasing a deep breath, and feeling the weight lift. I couldn’t tell you why I cried on the train. Maybe my body just knew it was time to let it all out. I wish I could say I felt better afterward or that I’ve come to accept crying as part of my routine, something I can just move on from. But I can’t, because a part of me knows that when I cry, something’s wrong.

life.

What I love about life, especially about getting older, is that there’s always room for a pivot. A restart. A do over. You might’ve noticed my last few posts have been more personal. I’ve completely pivoted from the initial idea for this space—in a way. I’m not formally writing about generosity and philanthropy, but as I mentioned in the second one, generosity is life. They go together. Long-term, hand in hand. A romance for the ages. You can expect more of this kind of writing. More of me—as I continue to discover more of me.

I've always been sensitive—emotional—and I hated it. I tried so hard not to be. I wanted to be tough, hard, solid. So, in my twenties, I ran from it as fast as I could. It felt like a thorn in my side. But during the pandemic, I finally had time to rest, sit, and reflect. Those reflections led me to embrace and take pride in my sensitivity. People often ask about superpowers—mine is empathy. I can literally feel your emotions in my bones, your feelings become mine. I never had the words to describe this until I read How to Know a Person by David Brooks. When he described his friend, it was like he was talking about me. I kept thinking, That’s me! That’s me!

I have a friend who is a high empath in just this way. She feels everything. Often she has to take a few days off from people just so she can rest and restore. But she is also one of the most effectively caring people I know. She can sense the subtle emotional tremors reverberating through a room, can locate the person who is feeling upset and left out. She identifies with that person in a way that is compelling and beautiful. She makes people feel seen.

So now I’m focusing on putting this into practice more. Making it part of my everyday.

cry.

I cry all the time, but each time feels new and different. When was the last time you cried? The deeper cries are the ones where you know exactly what’s wrong. But the lighter ones—those are the most significant to me. They’re my body’s way of signaling that while nothing is obviously wrong, something isn’t quite right either.

happy.

My daughter can draw two faces: happy and sad, which she calls "cry." She’ll grab my hand to help her trace a circle, saying "happy," and we draw a smiling face. Then she says "cry," pouts her lip, and we draw a sad face. We do this over and over, every day—that’s all she draws.

september.

Do you ever look up at the clouds in all their majesty and think, everything’s going to be alright?

There must have been an angel by my side
Something heavenly led me to you
Look at the sky
It's the color of love

My husband, what would I do without him?

Me: I cried on the train

Him: Did you get what you needed from it?

Me: I don’t know

Him: You will tomorrow.

0352.

I have a long day ahead, yet here I am, up and writing. I figured I’m going to be tired anyway, so I might as well do something productive since I can’t sleep. I know everything I have to do today—I know my calendar by heart. But it’s September, and part of me is expecting something different to happen. Maybe that’s why I cried on the train. Maybe those tears were watering something that’s about to come to life soon.

I don’t know.

I will tomorrow.

tomorrow.

So what do I do?

1Then comes blessed relief. I suddenly realize that I don’t know what I can do. I almost laugh with joy. All this horror was premature. No definite task is before me. All that’s being asked of me is a general and preliminary resolution to keep going in whatever way circumstances may show to be desirable—in fact, and I fly back to the comforting words as a child flies back to its mother's arms—"to do my best"—or rather, to keep doing my best, because I’ve really been doing it all along. "What bugbears I make of things unnecessarily!" I murmur, settling myself into a slightly more comfortable position. A mild flood of what seems to be cheerful and rational piety rises and engulfs me. Hello! What’s this?

How do you do? I do good.

What seems to you lastingly delightful?

2Friendship is the greatest of worldly goods. Certainly to me it is the chief happiness of life

and.

And one day I met a boy
And he gave me what I longed for
—but I couldn’t say it to myself
And so I ignored it
And everyday he opened my eyes
And everyday he held my hand
And everyday he reminded me of my beating heart
And then
—I’m doing things I thought that I wouldn’t