Transatlanticism

Transatlanticism
I resurrected an old playlist this weekend and heard a forgotten but beloved song from Death Cab for Cutie. I’m a sucker for songs, and have been wooed by more than one mixed playlist. This song, although always haunting and beautiful to me, is especially poignant and hard to listen to right now. I have not typically been one to cave in to loneliness, but I have never felt so alone, in my life, before. And, I have no real reason, I guess, to feel lonely. I have the opportunity to spend every day of every week with friends who are overwhelmingly supportive in their efforts to surround me with love and companionship. 
Mister Rogers wrote, “human relationships are the primary in all of living. When the gusty winds blow and shake our loves, if we know that people care about us, we may bend with the wind… but we won’t break.” Last Tuesday, I felt myself breaking. And, for a reason that I cannot explain, I took a radical and humbling step. And then reached out to a friend. There’s something to be said for the providencial relationships in life. And friends who work from home, with adorable, six month old baby boys around whom sadness just runs away from to hide in the shadows where sadness belongs. And friends who have excellent teas from marketplaces in Seattle (of which I get spoiled every birthday with bags of the Market Spice tea) and who are geniuses in the kitchen. Maybe it’s a mom thing, but she just knew that I needed a salmon breakfast sammy and some tea. 
And, as grateful as I am to Steffi and my abundantly loving and attentive friends who are bolstering me up to help me bend and not break in this gale storm (in conjunction with an extended family that any person would DREAM to have), I wish I didn’t need them right now. 
Because I’d really just like to talk to my dad again.
Who, the most literal man I know, would say to me in times of my stress, “I don’t know, Jenni, but… you’re smart and you’re pretty, and I know you’ll figure it out.” God, I hope he’s right this time, too.

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