Because We Can
Would you rather be dead your whole life or on fire?
Cave Language turns three today. To think of this endeavor as a toddler feels right. She’s all curiosity and mischievous innocence. I have learned a lot in this process of committing to a steady stream of exposure. It has been uncomfortable and at times deeply comforting. I am grateful for you, dear reader. I write because reading has helped me feel less alone. To enter into that exchange feels meaningful to me. And occasionally, I get feedback that helps me know I am helping at least some of you feel less alone, and that helps me push through the fear and the doubt. I keep writing. And I keep sharing. And, I feel less alone because of it.
I am excited for the year ahead. I was journaling about it this morning, and I wrote that it felt full of promise. I see myself traveling and expanding my world. I see myself continuing my sensemaking of this often seemingly senseless world and sharing what I find with you here. Thank you for being here.
Amidst the overwhelm of the holidays, I found a few moments of quiet to sit and write. I mostly let myself just be in the swirl of chaos and love. But I wanted to share the words that did come.
Here I sit, at an airport bar. There is a well-dressed man to my left putting on chapstick. The bartender has kind eyes and looks at me like he understands my weariness. My connecting flight to Austin has been delayed several hours. I am now scheduled to arrive home at 3am. Worse things have happened to me. For now, I am drinking a beer that costs the same as a twelve-pack and debating whether or not I will be investing in a $45 Caesar salad.
Upon arrival at SeaTac, I wandered around in search of a suitable perch for this purgatory. I settled on the place that wasn’t lit like an FBI interrogation room. I saddled up next to the well-dressed man because I liked the pattern on his sweater. He was eating the $45 Caesar with his left hand. I have a soft spot for lefties. Always have. They are in their right mind, as my mother, a leftie, loves to say.
Earlier today, I said a tearful goodbye to the loves of my life—my 10-year-old niece, Ariya, and my 5-year-old nephew, Chess. No one prepared me for the wallop that is being an auntie. No one told me a new category for love would be created. A new cavern carved into my heart. Chess and Ariya don’t understand why I leave. It makes no sense, me crying as I say goodbye by my choosing. Why would I choose the thing that hurts?
It hurts more to settle for a life that I know isn’t the right size for me.
This is the third Christmas I flew home alone to fold myself into others’ more steady togetherness. The third Christmas of singledom, and the first Christmas I didn’t feel tragic about it.
On Christmas Eve, there were tears for an estranged member of our family. On Christmas Day, there were tears for the gathering in of a friend who has come to feel like family. My father had written him a note, rolled up and secured with a zip tie. The message was short and perfect and monumental in its act. That did it for me. The tears fell. People grow. Hearts continue to break and heal and open wider than before the breaking.
For me, it’s the little things. My brother-in-law wordlessly sliding his can of cider to my sister, her lifting the tab with her fingernail and sliding it back to him—the opening now made easier. They didn’t look at each other. No words were exchanged. It was a silent collaboration that might seem insignificant, but as someone who does most things alone, this subtle act of connection of care moved me.
It’s the little things that arrest me. Draw me into feeling. After a long day of travel and a late arrival, my brother and beautiful sister pick me up despite their exhaustion. I arrive at their home, where I am always welcome, to find a welcome sign made by Ariya. On the sign are stick figures doing all the special things she and Chess and I do together whenever I visit. She showed me that I live inside the traditions that make a family, even if I am gone most of the year. When I am here, I give her something to draw from.
Here I sit alone, trying to write all this down while my belly is nauseous with tears. I’m not against crying in public, but I feel unsteady in this feeling, like I need something to hold onto if I’m going to let myself feel it ALL. The night before I left Idaho, I cried and cried and cried. An oceanic acknowledgment. I love. I am loved.
It’s the big things too.
Driving to the store for the countless time to pick up one more thing needed. Passing the cutest little house, all decorated for the holidays, and all of it straining under the weight of a giant tree that had surrendered to the windstorm. Oh, the precious precariousness of everything, knowing it could all be crushed on a Tuesday. And still we put lights on the tree.
A game I love to play with Chess and Ariya is Would You Rather? Chess is really starting to get into it and comes up with the best ones. Would you rather be dead your whole life or be on fire? Would you rather be snow melting, or a shirt?
Being with children always reminds me who I am. Reminds me what really matters. Reminds me what courage feels like. Reminds me what is truth and what is absolute bullshit. Seeing through the eyes of a child helps me strip away the clutter we collect in our collecting of years. All the stories and ideas we wear like itchy sweaters. I am becoming increasingly more aware of the layers that I no longer want to present as myself, while a truer Self waits in the wings. I want to know myself and be known in that knowing. I want to risk being loved as I am.
I am excited to see what I do with my life force in 2026. I am drawing inspiration from Chess. I was asking him why he liked doing something, I can’t remember now what exactly it was he was doing. But I do remember his answer, “Because I can.” I would like to enjoy my life because I can.
While we are alive, may we live. May we be true. May we love courageously. Because we can.
Listen to the audio of this post:
Love this, feel this, and I choose fire. The other day, my daughter (a leftie!) replied without hesitation to my question, “why are you so cool?” with “because I am.” May we all have a bit more of this and Chess in us.
A mesmerizing talent, look around I said…she found a guitar in a case in a bedroom. She quietly tuned it, fondled the strings, a song she had written followed…a personal moment, a gift, beautiful.