Dear Hollie.

I know I’ve been a bit MIA. I took a few days off, ish. I mean, I attempted to take a few days off. It didn’t go exactly according to plan, but I had fun, and that’s all that matters, right? I’m trying to keep perspective. Focus on the good shit.

Anyway, I’ve been pondering this whole idea of comparison to others and having a solid sense of self. Not an easy nugget to chew on or swallow, eh? In fact, I’m positive I dumped something pretty heavy on you and then just bounced. Well, I didn’t. I did, but I didn’t.

Anyway, the topic is something that does require some space.

What do I mean by that? Well, it’s the perfect topic to motivate you to take a time out and figure out what all of it means to you. What DOES it mean to you? Don’t answer that straight away, but maybe answer it for yourself in time. Do you know where you stand in the world when it comes to your sense of self and your perception of others? Maybe you think you do, but you really don’t, or maybe you think you have no clue, but you are further along than you think.

I’m going to go off-roading for a little bit because I feel inspired to write about something that happened to me. Or maybe it’s more appropriate to share that it’s something I’ve been thinking about rather intensely over the last day.

I think I’ve told you about my high school friend who ‘saved’ me when I was in Switzerland, right? Wow, that sounds so fucking dramatic. I love it. Very Hollywood-ish. Either way, I think I’ve hinted at this story or maybe even told it outright, but it means so damn much to me that I’m going to tell it again. Or maybe tell it anew.

Three months after my five-year relationship crumbled at my feet, and my significant other took up with the woman he had cheated on me with (in a very public fashion), I decided to go on the epic hiking trip that he and I had planned together. I was a wicked combination of terrified and fueled by rage. I was strangely a little self-righteous but also, inexplicably courageous. I was a weepy, oozing mess, and I was desperate to prove to the world [and myself] that the ME I had always known was still inside of me, somewhere. Deep and buried underneath compromise and shrinking and pain and self-loathing, but there.

I would fly to Switzerland and hike 90 miles across the Alps solo. I would take an incredible trip and no one would wonder how I was coping. They would see I was just fine. Except that I wasn’t. Fine. At all. I was the furthest thing from fine. I was destroyed. Ruined. A walking open wound. I trusted no one, least of all myself. How could I set out on a magical journey across a mountain range with only myself when I didn’t have faith in any of my abilities? I couldn’t.

That’s what I was thinking about, laying awake in my hotel room, staring up at the ceiling. Then Hollie messaged me. I think. Or maybe she commented on a photo I had posted in some desperate effort to make things feel normal. It didn’t feel like a comment. It felt like a lifeline. I could go back and look at my social media and trace the whole thing, but the detail of how it started doesn’t really matter. I don’t need that minutia because I remember the important bits. I remember how she made me feel connected to the earth at a time when I felt decidedly untethered. She commended my bravery and sense of adventure at a time when I felt cowardly and broken.

Her straightforward nature and candor took me completely off guard. I had spent the better part of the last several months dealing with a liar and a cheater and a manipulator. And then, I dealt with one friend who seemed content to defend my ex, one friend who was swirling in the mire of her own shit, and everyone else in my orb who looked at me like I might just shatter into a million pieces right before their eyes. I couldn’t talk to anyone, not really. I cried to many but I felt like I couldn’t say all the gross, gritty, real shit. Not really.

But then I did.

To her.

I told her that I hated him but I missed the life we had made together. Also, I didn’t trust any memories of the life we made together because it seemed fake. All of it. I didn’t trust my instincts or decisions or ability to love. I didn’t trust my ability to read the truth from lies. I regretted so much and I hated feeling regretful. I told her that I felt lost, like I would never get my footing back again. I told her that I wasn’t sure I would ever find my person or my way in the world or whatever I was meant to have, but that felt like the perfect ending to years of fucked up relationships and terrible decisions. I told her all the things that terrified me and kept me up at night.

And she listened..

And listened…

And listened.

And then she shared. She didn’t tell me that everything was going to be great. She told me that I would be okay. That I would figure it out. She reminded me that I was brave and no matter what, I would dig out. One step at a time. Baby steps. Itty bitty. She wasn’t flowery or silly. She wasn’t placating. She was real and lovely and loving. It was exactly what I needed.

And I did, hike 90 miles solo across the Alps. And I came home and found out my ex had gotten married and I survived it. I even laughed. Unimaginable, but true. A life-changing trip that jump started me back to me.

Anyway, Hollie told me recently that she was moving. We haven’t seen each other in over twenty years and yet the news felt jarring. Shocking. We had made tentative plans to see each other but then the pandemic hit and well, God laughed. And then, she decided to move. It’s a brilliant choice. It will be better for her and her family. I’m filled with hope for what the move will mean for her. And yet, I found myself grieving when she told me. I didn’t know why. I couldn’t figure it out. And then, I knew.

I never told her. I never held her hands and looked at her and TOLD her. I never articulated to her in the simplest way that while I’m a lucky human with an amazing network of friends and family, it was she who saved me that night. It was she who gave me exactly what I needed to keep going. To move on. To move forward. To be brave. To fake it until I figured it the fuck out.

Here’s the thing (this is the brilliant bit where I tie back to my original thoughts)- Hollie and I have never compared lives. We’ve never thrown our experiences at each other like competitive ammunition. We’ve never diminished each other’s pain or dulled each other’s happiness with our own tales of woe or moments of bliss. We exist in perfect equanimity. Two very different and very much the same humans with an ability to listen and a deep reverence for one another and deeper compassion and all the love.

What does that mean? Well, it’s out there. Don’t settle. I don’t have a husband. Or a boyfriend. Or anything of the sort. But I have people. Special, incredible people. I have a person who reached her arms out across an ocean and nearly 4,000 miles to say, ‘you got this’. And that’s THE thing. That’s real love.

So, when you strive for magic, aim for something bigger and higher and broader and brag worthy than shit you see on social media or television. Search in the dark for that kind of perfectly imperfect light. Search for people who remind you that all you need to be is the best version of you.

That’s my holiday weekend message to you all.

Don’t settle for anything else.

Ever.

And to Hollie, I wish you a safe and blissful journey to your new home. I wish you the ability to make good memories in that new home. I look forward to late night conversations about photographs, politics, love, health, wrinkles, and rocks. I will never find the right words to demonstrate my appreciation so, I will only say thank you. Simply, but truly from the bottom of my heart. We will talk soon. We will see each other later. You’ve got this.

Oh, and WE will talk soon (all of YOU).  

L.