Tuesday, November 19, 2013
"Charlies' Last Letter"
Michael Brook - Charlie's Last Letter
During the last week of classes before my college graduation, I also attended my last counseling session. Graduation seemed to line up perfectly with a natural ending to my time in counseling. I was in a very positive place— with much thanks to Lindsey, my counselor— and was ready for the next chapter. My last session was meant to be one of closure, and I had the opportunity to reflect on many of the moments that had gotten me to that one.
“These moments will all become stories someday.”
Those moments—many of which were dark, lonely, and painful—were now just chapters in a bigger story. The hours I spent bawling on a bathroom counter or in a bookstore parking lot and realized I was struggling with something more real than I had previously allowed myself to admit. All the times I was asked if I was OK and chose to lie. The letters I handed to Lindsey, admitting things I couldn’t bear to say out loud. Together, these moments reflect a time in my life when I was empty, numb, exhausted. At the time, they felt endless, and I thought they were my whole story.
“This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive.”
Looking back now, I can tell you exactly how these moments led to brighter chapters. In the end, they gave me the courage to create an even happier story than if I had merely been content. For every painful moment, there were beautiful ones that reminded me I was not just the sad, empty person I once believed I was: the night I slept under the stars in the Australia Outback; the day I spent 12 hours doing random acts of kindness through a club at school (and realized I was proud to be part of a school I was once unhappy at); many evenings filled with laughter in the townhouse I shared with four amazing roommates; the day I watched a friend, who had left school to get treatment for an eating disorder, get married.
During those moments, I couldn’t help but briefly look back and compare it to the months I spent believing I was a sad story. These moments would have been great no matter what my past had been like, but because I had struggled, they were so much more meaningful. Because I had known emptiness, in those moments I felt something much better than just “happiness.”
“In this moment, I swear, we are infinite.”
Infinite. A word that is both vague and oddly specific. It has no real definition or limit, and yet, I know exactly what it means.
Infinite are the moments that are the complete opposite of numbness or emptiness. Moments when you are so full of emotions, they spill out of you through smiles and laughter. Moments that nearly bring you to tears, because you once didn’t believe they were possible. You can’t plan these experiences. They usually catch you off guard. But those who have known emptiness can also know what it is to feel whole, to feel full—to feel infinite.
I know my story isn’t over, and there will be more difficult chapters ahead. I will see pain again. I will know loneliness again. That’s just life. But I also know these chapters come with the promise of more infinite moments—and those are worth holding on for.
—Jess Cooney, TWLOHA Fall 2013 Intern
"Charlies' Last Letter"
Michael Brook - Charlie's Last Letter
During the last week of classes before my college graduation, I also attended my last counseling session. Graduation seemed to line up perfectly with a natural ending to my time in counseling. I was in a very positive place— with much thanks to Lindsey, my counselor— and was ready for the next chapter. My last session was meant to be one of closure, and I had the opportunity to reflect on many of the moments that had gotten me to that one.
“These moments will all become stories someday.”
Those moments—many of which were dark, lonely, and painful—were now just chapters in a bigger story. The hours I spent bawling on a bathroom counter or in a bookstore parking lot and realized I was struggling with something more real than I had previously allowed myself to admit. All the times I was asked if I was OK and chose to lie. The letters I handed to Lindsey, admitting things I couldn’t bear to say out loud. Together, these moments reflect a time in my life when I was empty, numb, exhausted. At the time, they felt endless, and I thought they were my whole story.
“This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive.”
Looking back now, I can tell you exactly how these moments led to brighter chapters. In the end, they gave me the courage to create an even happier story than if I had merely been content. For every painful moment, there were beautiful ones that reminded me I was not just the sad, empty person I once believed I was: the night I slept under the stars in the Australia Outback; the day I spent 12 hours doing random acts of kindness through a club at school (and realized I was proud to be part of a school I was once unhappy at); many evenings filled with laughter in the townhouse I shared with four amazing roommates; the day I watched a friend, who had left school to get treatment for an eating disorder, get married.
During those moments, I couldn’t help but briefly look back and compare it to the months I spent believing I was a sad story. These moments would have been great no matter what my past had been like, but because I had struggled, they were so much more meaningful. Because I had known emptiness, in those moments I felt something much better than just “happiness.”
“In this moment, I swear, we are infinite.”
Infinite. A word that is both vague and oddly specific. It has no real definition or limit, and yet, I know exactly what it means.
Infinite are the moments that are the complete opposite of numbness or emptiness. Moments when you are so full of emotions, they spill out of you through smiles and laughter. Moments that nearly bring you to tears, because you once didn’t believe they were possible. You can’t plan these experiences. They usually catch you off guard. But those who have known emptiness can also know what it is to feel whole, to feel full—to feel infinite.
I know my story isn’t over, and there will be more difficult chapters ahead. I will see pain again. I will know loneliness again. That’s just life. But I also know these chapters come with the promise of more infinite moments—and those are worth holding on for.
—Jess Cooney, TWLOHA Fall 2013 Intern
"We are stories still going"
We are stories still going.
There's a lot of talk of stories these days. My friend and favorite writer Donald Miller has led the way, wondering if the elements that make for a great film or a great book - could those things also apply to the stories that we're living? Here at TWLOHA, we're inviting people to consider the possibility that their story is something sacred, something priceless, unique, worth fighting for. And we've come to believe that a good story will not just be the story of one person. It will require other characters. It will require people needing other people, leaning on them, loving them and being loved by them, knowing and being known.
There are parts of our story that we wish were different, things we wish we could change erase forget. We get stuck in moments. Memories turn to ghosts. We try to live in the past, but it never works. And then, somehow, inside the same story, there is good. There are memories that make us laugh and make us smile, relationships and conversations, dreams of jobs and families and places that we hope to go. Even things as simple as favorite books and songs and films - the way they remind us we're alive - these things are part of our story as well. And we've come to believe that all of it matters, that all of it is significant and the opposite of small. We've come to believe that you deserve to be around people who know these parts of you, people who laugh and mourn and celebrate with you, people who remind you you're not alone in this whole big thing called life.
Suicide is a story that ends too soon. Our hope and dream is that if you should ever get to a place where your life feels not worth living, where the pain is just too great - our hope is that you know it's okay to be honest and it's okay to ask for help. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and it doesn't mean you're something strange or some kind of burden. It simply means you're human. We pray you'lll be met by friends who remind you that your story is one they too will fight for - with words and tears and silence and whatever it takes. We pray you get to taste the privilege of having these sorts of friends and also the privilege of being this sort of friend. May you wake to the day when life feels worth living, when joy comes back, hope shows up, love comes back. May you live to be surprised.
Here is what we believe to be some very good news: If you're reading this, if there's air in your lungs on this November day, then there is still hope for you. Your story is still going. And maybe some things are true for all of us. Perhaps we all relate to pain. Perhaps we all relate to fear and loss and questions. And perhaps we all deserve to be honest, all deserve whatever help we need. Our stories are all so many things: Heavy and light. Beautiful and difficult. Hopeful and uncertain. But our stories aren't finished yet. There is still time, for things to heal and change and grow. There is still time to be surprised. We are stories still going, you and I. We are stories still going.
Peace to you today.
jamie
PS: I wrote this while listening to The 1975's "Me" on repeat.
PPS: We have a new shirt called 'Stories' available in the TWLOHA Online Store. Click here to get yours.
There are parts of our story that we wish were different, things we wish we could change erase forget. We get stuck in moments. Memories turn to ghosts. We try to live in the past, but it never works. And then, somehow, inside the same story, there is good. There are memories that make us laugh and make us smile, relationships and conversations, dreams of jobs and families and places that we hope to go. Even things as simple as favorite books and songs and films - the way they remind us we're alive - these things are part of our story as well. And we've come to believe that all of it matters, that all of it is significant and the opposite of small. We've come to believe that you deserve to be around people who know these parts of you, people who laugh and mourn and celebrate with you, people who remind you you're not alone in this whole big thing called life.
Suicide is a story that ends too soon. Our hope and dream is that if you should ever get to a place where your life feels not worth living, where the pain is just too great - our hope is that you know it's okay to be honest and it's okay to ask for help. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and it doesn't mean you're something strange or some kind of burden. It simply means you're human. We pray you'lll be met by friends who remind you that your story is one they too will fight for - with words and tears and silence and whatever it takes. We pray you get to taste the privilege of having these sorts of friends and also the privilege of being this sort of friend. May you wake to the day when life feels worth living, when joy comes back, hope shows up, love comes back. May you live to be surprised.
Here is what we believe to be some very good news: If you're reading this, if there's air in your lungs on this November day, then there is still hope for you. Your story is still going. And maybe some things are true for all of us. Perhaps we all relate to pain. Perhaps we all relate to fear and loss and questions. And perhaps we all deserve to be honest, all deserve whatever help we need. Our stories are all so many things: Heavy and light. Beautiful and difficult. Hopeful and uncertain. But our stories aren't finished yet. There is still time, for things to heal and change and grow. There is still time to be surprised. We are stories still going, you and I. We are stories still going.
Peace to you today.
jamie
PS: I wrote this while listening to The 1975's "Me" on repeat.
PPS: We have a new shirt called 'Stories' available in the TWLOHA Online Store. Click here to get yours.
Friday, November 15, 2013
"Soul Mates"
On “Soul Mates” and Sharing Moments.
I
have believed in “soul mates” my entire life. When I was growing up, I
thought this meant I would find a man, fall in love, and live happily
ever after. We would meet, and I would know that he would be the love of
my life above all others. I just had to find my knight in shining armor
in a perfect little fairy tale. It was easy to believe. Life was
simple. The universe had a plan to lead me to one person. And that’s
all I would ever need, right?
As I have gotten older, I have learned just how complicated this world can be. There is no fairy tale ending, just one long journey that gets more complex as time goes on. I find myself constantly reflecting, changing, and growing. Yet, despite becoming more confused about life, I have also begun to fall madly in love with it. And while I once lived my life in pursuit of one person to save me and sweep me off my feet away from all my problems, I now look for people to share in my moments. Some of these moments might be romantic, but most happen in the spaces of daily life and the embrace of community and friendship. These are moments shared briefly, but with people who have changed my everything.
Maybe those defining moments are what truly make a “soul mate.” For whatever reason, you and another human being share a space, one which you might never be in again, and it feels alive. It feels familiar, yet enticingly foreign. Somehow, by coexisting with another, you learn something about yourself you never knew. It goes beyond an exchange between people; a soul mate leads you to reflect on who you truly are.
For me, these moments are captured boldly in my mind as defining points of change in my life:
It was when he sat next to me on the beach and asked me about God.
It was when we all built a fort on her back porch and slept under the stars.
It was that weekend we started as strangers but ended in a warm embrace.
It was when we left the library and opted for cupcakes and Cool Runnings.
It was when we sat in the empty dorm until 3 a.m. and listened to her play guitar.
It was when we fell asleep on my kitchen floor after she read us poetry, and we tried to convince each other we would all be OK.
It was when I ran through the snow with her, digging out cars and singing out loud.
It was when he made me cups of tea, and we fell asleep to the sounds of the ocean.
It was when he hugged me and didn’t have to explain why.
It was when we watched her walk down the aisle.
Some of these people are still in my life; some are not. Some who stay by my side for now may not be there for much longer; some may be there forever. Some I have lost because of my own mistakes; some I have watched leave simply because of their journey of life. But, it doesn’t matter how long we shared our time, it just matters that we lived together. We learned together, we grew together.
It is really unbelievable when you think about it: There have been billions of people, millions of years, infinite moments. And yet, we have crossed paths with people in that one special and finite space, making timeless connections. Somehow, we ended up together. The sheer unlikelihood of our meetings makes them even more significant.
Some people think that soul mates are meant to complete you, to fill some emptiness. But I think soul mates are meant to show us where we are whole, to show us a fullness and a worth that we didn’t know was there. They force us to reflect on who we are and what we live for.
I don’t know if I am ever going to get married. All I know is that I am never going to restrict myself to leaning on only one person defined as my soul mate. I need all kinds of relationships in my life. No one person will ever save me. I can only learn how to better take care of myself, with the things I learn from encountering others.
I challenge you to reflect. Who have you walked next to in those moments that have changed you? How much of yourself have you shared and seen reflected in the lives of others? When have you let yourself be vulnerable and been supported? Feel the embrace of relationship. Grow with people. Let them reveal your worth and notice the worth of others. Do not get lost in worries about the future or insecurities of the past. Just embrace the energy and power in the fleeting moment shared with another.
—Andrea West, TWLOHA Fall 2013 Intern
As I have gotten older, I have learned just how complicated this world can be. There is no fairy tale ending, just one long journey that gets more complex as time goes on. I find myself constantly reflecting, changing, and growing. Yet, despite becoming more confused about life, I have also begun to fall madly in love with it. And while I once lived my life in pursuit of one person to save me and sweep me off my feet away from all my problems, I now look for people to share in my moments. Some of these moments might be romantic, but most happen in the spaces of daily life and the embrace of community and friendship. These are moments shared briefly, but with people who have changed my everything.
Maybe those defining moments are what truly make a “soul mate.” For whatever reason, you and another human being share a space, one which you might never be in again, and it feels alive. It feels familiar, yet enticingly foreign. Somehow, by coexisting with another, you learn something about yourself you never knew. It goes beyond an exchange between people; a soul mate leads you to reflect on who you truly are.
For me, these moments are captured boldly in my mind as defining points of change in my life:
It was when he sat next to me on the beach and asked me about God.
It was when we all built a fort on her back porch and slept under the stars.
It was that weekend we started as strangers but ended in a warm embrace.
It was when we left the library and opted for cupcakes and Cool Runnings.
It was when we sat in the empty dorm until 3 a.m. and listened to her play guitar.
It was when we fell asleep on my kitchen floor after she read us poetry, and we tried to convince each other we would all be OK.
It was when I ran through the snow with her, digging out cars and singing out loud.
It was when he made me cups of tea, and we fell asleep to the sounds of the ocean.
It was when he hugged me and didn’t have to explain why.
It was when we watched her walk down the aisle.
Some of these people are still in my life; some are not. Some who stay by my side for now may not be there for much longer; some may be there forever. Some I have lost because of my own mistakes; some I have watched leave simply because of their journey of life. But, it doesn’t matter how long we shared our time, it just matters that we lived together. We learned together, we grew together.
It is really unbelievable when you think about it: There have been billions of people, millions of years, infinite moments. And yet, we have crossed paths with people in that one special and finite space, making timeless connections. Somehow, we ended up together. The sheer unlikelihood of our meetings makes them even more significant.
Some people think that soul mates are meant to complete you, to fill some emptiness. But I think soul mates are meant to show us where we are whole, to show us a fullness and a worth that we didn’t know was there. They force us to reflect on who we are and what we live for.
I don’t know if I am ever going to get married. All I know is that I am never going to restrict myself to leaning on only one person defined as my soul mate. I need all kinds of relationships in my life. No one person will ever save me. I can only learn how to better take care of myself, with the things I learn from encountering others.
I challenge you to reflect. Who have you walked next to in those moments that have changed you? How much of yourself have you shared and seen reflected in the lives of others? When have you let yourself be vulnerable and been supported? Feel the embrace of relationship. Grow with people. Let them reveal your worth and notice the worth of others. Do not get lost in worries about the future or insecurities of the past. Just embrace the energy and power in the fleeting moment shared with another.
—Andrea West, TWLOHA Fall 2013 Intern
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