Beautiful words to share…

“2016 has been exactly 32 days long and it has been filled with a lot of loss. The world lost artists. My friends lost parents. My friends lost children. My friends lost friends. Sometimes I doubt the earth’s ability to withstand the weight of all this grief.

Being a human is really hard. And it doesn’t get easier. Better, maybe. Deeper. Fuller. But not easier.

This morning I sat in a crowded, silent room and cried with other people. And it was difficult. And it was beautiful. And I wish the world had more of that. Not grief itself – which is inevitable and plentiful – but the slowness, the softness, the fullness of sitting in a quiet room and feeling what you’re feeling. Sometimes we are so busy rushing around trying to find happiness that we forget to feel the rest of it. And the rest of it is important. It means something. It matters.

I was very sad today. And I cried for a lot of reasons and for a lot of people, myself included. I cried in the way that you do when there is nothing but crying. And that made me feel guilty and selfish, as grief often does. And I called my mom who told me what I already knew – that it isn’t selfish to cry when it’s not your personal loss. That we’re all in this. That loss belongs to all of us.

We are all losers in this world. Losers of people and things and ideas and certain versions of ourselves and specific hopes. And while there is possibly nothing lonelier than grief, it is also one of the few things that truly connects us to one another. It is a dark gift, but not a useless one. It is an essential human experience. And that means something. That matters.

And I guess what I’m trying to say is simply, “me too.” That I will sit by your side in any room, in every room, and slowly, silently, fully feel the weight of everything we have lost. And that will be its own kind of miracle. Because we won’t be alone in it. Because the earth will continue to hold us.” ~ Frankie Zelnick


I Am Not Old

I am not old, she said
I am rare

I am the standing ovation
at the end of the play

I am the retrospective
of my life
as art

I am the hours
connected like dots
into good sense

I am the fullness
of existing

you think I am waiting to die
but I am waiting to be found

I am a treasure
I am a map
these wrinkles are imprints
of my journey

ask me

~~ Samantha Reynolds ~~