Making Connections

I didn't know when I first started my feature writing class how much I would come to enjoy learning from my professor, Bill Schmidt. He's a former New York Times bureau chief that retired to Tucson to teach and kick back a bit. He told good stories, managed to make a loosened tie look really classy, and used his expertise to make me a better thinker and writer.

One of the lasting gifts he gave me, however, was turning me on to The Atlantic, a really interesting news magazine that I otherwise hadn't heard about. Since I took Bill's class back in 2014, The Atlantic has been a place where I have learned a lot about the world, the way people think, race and class issues, critique (mostly of TV and movies, but also of social norms and trends), and a host of other things. This year when they chose to go to a paywall model (subscribe to good journalism to keep it alive, folks!) I immediately purchased a subscription and have been thrilled to have unlimited access online, as well as a monthly magazine to look at. A periodical—how sophisticated! How adult!

As 2019 comes to a close, many lists are being made across the internet about best movies, top nine Instagram photos, etc. Well, The Atlantic published a three-part series of standout photos of the year. They're all beautiful in their own ways. Many are sad, some inspiring. But this one gave me chills:

From The Atlantic, found here.

I couldn't help but think about what it is to stand in solidarity with friends and strangers alike for a common goal. Though this photo is of protestors in Hong Kong, this isn't meant to be a political statement. Rather, it's one about the beauty of commonality. Have you ever had a moment where you felt connected to the people around you, even though they were strangers? That something about you both being human and conscious and occupying the same space meant there was a link that you wouldn't have otherwise? Those moments don't happen often, but I loved being reminded of it in this photo.

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Last week I attended a Hanukkah party at my friend Ane's house. We ate latkes and talked about the beautiful miracle of the oil that lasted eight days instead of just one. I'm not Jewish, but I was thrilled to honor the meaningful events of others.

Once the religious elements were complete, I sat on the couch with some friends and talked about recent updates in our lives. I mentioned how I was thinking about breaking up with my therapist, and I fielded a few follow up questions, which I answered with way more than what they were probably bargaining for. There were descriptions of how therapy has been beneficial, why I think I'm going to stop going, what my therapist had to say when I told him I might not be coming back, etc.

At the end of the night, I left the party at the same time as one of the friends that had been listening to me overshare (oops), and I was surprised by what he said to me as we were about to part ways on the curb outside Ane's home. "Thank you for talking about that stuff in there," he said (guess it wasn't oversharing after all?). I probably made a self-deprecating joke about preaching the good word of therapy, but we ended up in a lengthy discussion of where life has taken each of us in these most recent months. This friend expressed so many feelings I've had before. He seemed relieved to know he's not the only person that has felt frustration, confusion, and loneliness among the ordinary and wonderful moments also inherent in life.

I didn't have many answers for my friend as he described his situation, but that wasn't what he was asking for. As we finally wrapped up, I told him that I love him. He hugged me tightly before we went to our separate cars and drove away.

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A number of months ago, two friends that had been in a relationship broke up. I was sort of put in the middle as they both confided in me. I feel like I did a pretty good job making sure to respect the confidences they had both placed in me, and I was happy to help both of them in the small ways that I could.

When it was particularly rough for one of the parties in this split, we would text each other the "highlight" of our day. For the other person, it seemed like a way to find light in a time that wasn't great. For me, it brought into clearer focus the good I was regularly taking advantage of.

We exchange these messages less often than we used to, but today this friend texted me to wish me a merry Christmas and ask about my highlight. This is how I replied:

My family isn't perfect, and I know that I contribute regularly to the flaws and frustrations we experience as a whole. But as I think about where we are and the hand that life has dealt us, I couldn't be more grateful to have these people in my life. I feel loved by each of them unconditionally. What I choose to do with that love is another matter altogether, but I know that it is real. Getting to spend the last two days with them while we laughed, cooked, ate, and watched Carpool Karaoke videos on Youtube together was so good.

I absolutely meant what I texted to my friend. I love to feel like I belong among my family. I'm so grateful they know me and value who I am.

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I'm an extroverted and emotion-driven person by nature. It means I'm nostalgic. It means I search for meaningful relationships among all those with whom I cross paths. It means that any book I read that has anything to do with the love between people is probably going to make me cry and think at length about my own life. (A prime example that everyone should read is here.)

But those individual characteristics that naturally propel me aside, I feel like the universe has been demonstrating to me how important it is to be paying attention to these connection points with other people in our lives. There is so much beauty to be had in valuing and seeing the people around us. Sometimes it's strangers in a moment of shared hardship, like the protestors. Sometimes it's as normal as being around the family you were born into. Regardless, we have to show up for other people. We have to care. We have to try. And I feel so strongly about it because I wouldn't be who I am if someone hadn't done it for me first.