Dialogue

Examining the Depths of Human Connection

I started today's entry yesterday. I didn't pen a word, nor did I feel any strong urge to do so. But around 12 pm, as I watched it drizzle outside my window, a quiet voice inside me knew that I would need to write today. It wasn't a solemn command, nor was it filled with excitement, just a calm, reassuring nudge reminding me that it’d been almost two weeks since my last post.

Steven Levin, Ticket Window (2005)

Lately, I've been experiencing days like these more often—moments where the things I hold dear seem somewhat ordinary, lacking their usual allure.

People have been complimenting my writing a little more often than usual, so I know that I could use today’s entry to simply describe the slightly humid air from yesterday, the subtle chill that grazed my legs during fleeting distractions. I could even capture the sensation of the humidity's scent, which subtly clogged my nose & someone would have appreciated it.

I would’ve mentioned that I stayed in bed from 8-10, knowing that the solution would be as simple as closing a window, yet the comfort of my bed and quiet taps of the falling rain, compelled me to endure it.

I find myself in these moments more frequently now… days spent enduring things simply because I can.

While it doesn't particularly trouble me, it's a trend I've observed. I suppose it stands out because it brings me an unexpected sense of calm. It creates a space where I understand the importance of being intentional about my peace. However, I see the contrast in those around me, where this concept feels miserable, confining, and panic-inducing.

If I were to document every interaction I've had over the past two weeks, it would reveal that every single one of us is carrying a weight on our shoulders. There's a prevalent sense of uncertainty, angst, paranoia, and discomfort that seems to hang in the air.

Among my friend group, 75% are struggling to bear this weight as gracefully as they'd wish. Ironically, I find myself among the 25% who anticipated this burden's arrival and prepared a space for it.

Personally, my days have begun with a reluctant awakening, stirred by the persistent chime of my phone's second alarm. I rise, my body protesting the movement, feeling slightly sore from a night of restless sleep that lingers between six to eight hours.

A whispered prayer escapes my lips as I groggily acknowledge the morning, my eyes squinting against the unwelcome sunlight seeping through my closed blinds. The faint growl of my stomach serves as a reminder of the day's demands.

I tend to linger in bed, torn between the idea of enjoying dried mango with honey ginger tea and the dedication to my new morning routine—preparing a shake, a practice I've incorporated in the past week. Both choices require me leaving the my bed, which sparks a brief period of sulking; however, once this initial reluctance lowers, my weariness does as well.

I've managed to navigate the transitional period of autumn, allowing me to face my days with a sense of readiness, prepared for any challenges, setbacks, or fleeting moments of distress that might arise; and as the hours pass and my phone buzzes with a mix of professional emails and casual texts, I’ll notice a distinct contrast between those who have found calm in this season and those who have encountered chaos within it.

It’s interesting because a younger version of myself would have naturally distanced from those experiencing chaos to preserve my own sense of calm. However, as I've grown and matured, I've discovered that some of these relationships have not only endured but deepened when I choose to stay. And I stay not because I understand their approach to life, but rather because I don't.

I guess it's all about perspective.

See… some people see the opposite of fire as water, while others see it as the absence of fire. There's no definitive right or wrong in this matter.

Personally, I've come to embrace the idea that the opposite of joy in my life isn't always despair; sometimes, it's simply the absence of joy—an acceptance of life's natural ebbs and flows.

I acknowledge that this perspective might be unique to me and a select few, but it’s important to me that regardless of the person’s outlook, I want to be fully present, to lend an attentive ear, and to share my viewpoint when they're open to hearing it.

It's a nuanced dance that demands empathy and patience, acknowledging that even when our perspectives diverge, the beauty of human connection thrives on our diverse experiences and our varying approaches to life's challenges. Interestingly, it seems like this is a recurring concept in my entries.

In any case, today's entry is more of a free-flowing thought, as I've been making a shake in the interim (frozen bananas, peanut butter, whole oats, cinnamon, vanilla extract, and vanilla oat milk). I just wanted to share some notes for the week, especially because I missed last week & the first day of October would’ve been such a beautiful time to create a shared theme for us all, but I mean, couldn’t we do that now?

If there's one takeaway from today's reflections, it's this: the diverse ways people approach challenges don't diminish the depth of their experiences. Some find solace in sharing their struggles, while others process quietly, seeking introspection. Some may appear composed, masking their difficulties, and inadvertently open themselves to conversations they might not be mentally prepared for.

It's vital to support one another, but equally crucial to prioritize self-care. Regular check-ins with both others and yourself are invaluable. In embracing our individual paths, we must recognize the shared human experience of facing life's uncertainties.

Best,

S