On making haste to be kind

Thoughts on transitions and Saying The Thing

Hello, friends. Welcome to my September newsletter, For the Noticers. I’m so glad you’re here. Read on for some thoughts about what I’m noticing lately…

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If you saw me in person this summer, maybe you noticed: I got a new tattoo this year.

I didn’t say much about it at the time. This one felt like a private decision, and it was covered up by long sleeves for months, anyway. But I took the train over to Cambridge on a chilly winter Wednesday, and lay on my side as an artist carefully etched a word in script onto my left forearm: beloved.

It’s not exactly the same font as the brave on my right forearm, which is five years older and a little blurrier, these days. But it’s close, and that was intentional: I wanted them to match, to echo each other.

Brave was my first-ever word of the year, back in 2010 when that annual practice was still new to me. I’ve owned multiple necklaces with it stamped onto a pendant, and followed it to astonishing places over the last decade and a half. Brave helped lead me to Boston, urged me to try for multiple new jobs, pushed me to make friends and attempt salsa dancing and even leave my marriage when it eventually became untenable.

This past fall, in the wake of a turbulent few years, I decided I wanted that second tattoo: a permanent, inked reminder that no matter what else is true, I am loved.

We’ve had some transition at ZUMIX this year. Several of my colleagues, for separate and ultimately good reasons, decided to leave our firehouse in East Boston in pursuit of new opportunities. I’ve learned by now that transitions happen, and it doesn’t always mean The End: these folks will remain part of our ZUMIX community, even from farther away. But their departures mean the end of an era, a deep shift in certain day-to-day dynamics. And before each of them left, we tried to make sure they knew how much we appreciated them.

All summer, I kept thinking of that quote from Henri-Frederic Amiel, which I first heard (I think) on Elizabeth Gilbert’s Magic Lessons podcast, years ago: “Life is short and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who share this journey with us. So let us be quick to love, and make haste to be kind.”

It can feel vulnerable and scary in this world to Say the Thing, even (or especially) when the relationship isn’t a super close one. And sometimes it’s enough to sign the card along with everyone else, or raise a glass at a goodbye reception, or simply say We’ll miss you and leave it at that. But sometimes – and this is true in other situations, too – more words are bubbling under the surface. Sometimes it feels urgent, and important, to be more honest and (yes) take a moderate risk. To say more than good luck in your new job or it was a pleasure working with you. So, this summer, I found myself diving in a little deeper.

I made a photo collage and wrote a heartfelt letter for a colleague whose joyous spirit and creativity have enriched my days. I told our students how great they sounded when they performed (it was always true). I looked across the kitchen at my friend Frankie, after a weekend of deep and soulful conversations, and said: One of my favorite things about you has always been your curiosity. And I hugged so many people during a visit home to Texas and said: It was great to be with you. I’m so glad you’re doing well. I love you.

I so often fear saying the wrong thing, and goodness knows I do, at times. We’ve all been there: the words we meant to salve can sometimes wound, or the joke doesn’t land, or the question asked out of curiosity causes offense or even harm. There’s no getting around it: we humans hurt each other sometimes, intentionally or not. And we should make amends when that happens, absolutely, whenever we can.

But I am learning, in my 40s, to be steadier and surer of the words I want to say. To pause before saying them, certainly, or sometimes to write them down first. But I don’t want to miss my chance. I want the people I love to know what a gift they are: to me, and/or to the whole community we are a part of. I’m a wordsmith, and I want to use my words for good. And one way is to remind my people: I see you. Here is how I see you shining. You are loved. 

This summer, we tried to send those coworkers away with joy and enthusiasm, and visible appreciation for how they made our lives, our community, better. And every time we wrapped up a goodbye, I glanced down at my left arm and thought: I hope they know.

Not all expressions of love need to be inked into skin, of course, but I hope the message sank just as deeply into their souls: not only We think you’re awesome or We’re going to miss you, but You are loved, you are loved, you are loved.

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New on the blog: thoughts on a Lower East Side weekend, celebrating the MVPs of this summer, and what’s saving my life this September.

Reading: piles of historical fiction and rom-coms for Shelf Awareness. The latest mysteries in several series I adore. Jessica Goudeau’s powerful memoir on Texas, family myths and the stories we tell ourselves. And my friend Stephanie Duncan Smith’s luminous memoir, coming in October (you should pre-order it!).

Loving: peach-scented candles, from Texas and from Trader Joe’s. After-dinner walks through my favorite park. Local Latin music festivals; late-summer sunflowers; birthday texts and cards from far-flung friends. And making plans to see all the fall theater I can.