Dearest friend,
I was standing in line the supermarket the other day and looking at people around me and was thinking how we as people are strange in a way we’ve all agreed not to mention. We stand in line at the grocery store holding bread and milk, while quietly carrying a breakup, a grief, a regret or a memory that still hurts. We say things like, “I’m good, thanks,” with Olympic-level commitment.
People will tell you the weather while their life is actively unraveling. They will ask how you are doing while holding themselves together with caffeine and habit.
We’ve decided, collectively, that the correct response to existing is politeness. Someone you pass every day has probably cried in their car this week. Someone who laughs easily has practiced that laugh. Someone who seems calm has just learned where to place the chaos so it doesn’t spill onto the floor.
Everyday they show up. They make appointments. They answer emails. They remember birthdays they don’t feel like celebrating. They buy groceries for a future they’re not entirely sure about.
We like to believe everyone else has instructions we missed. That they know how to be a person properly. But most of us are improvising with alarming confidence. We are all, in our own way, winging it with sincerity.
People love imperfectly. They try again after saying “never again.” They forgive things they swore they wouldn’t. They hope quietly, because hoping loudly feels risky and sometimes they sit alone and think, Is this it? Is this the whole thing? And then they get up the next morning anyway. Which feels important.
So when someone seems distant, or sharp, or distracted, remember: you’re seeing them mid-story. Mid-carry. Mid-figuring-it-out. We all are.
Everyone is carrying something.
With love,
The Whimsical Mailbox