Letter 2: New beginnings
Letter 2: New beginnings
When we grapple with the unknown
“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”
Zora Heale Hurston
Many days I find myself moving between sets of complex emotions—sadness and hope or anxiety and eagerness—as we move into this brave new world. We’ve lived over a year of awkward boundaries; yet uncertainty remains, as shown so hilariously here. Many of you commented last week with trepidatious joy about simple things: live music, hugging your loved ones, and traveling, traveling, traveling. Emily and I are right there with you.
This new start has me thinking about the universal experience of moving forward. Every experience is—of course—unique, and yet it is part of life. In our own ways, we learn to conquer the fear of letting go as we move into the unknown. As Kara commented on last week’s letter, “This spring finds me rejoicing and weeping in equal parts, and I think this grief is important and healthy and really hard.” So while the effects of the last year still linger, how we move forward and empathize can be a beautiful opportunity for connection.
I’m reminded of the unsettling months before my husband and I moved across the country, uprooting our family, leaving our home and all of our loved ones. While we were grateful and excited for Mark’s new job, we also felt deep grooves of uncertainty. Our “new beginning,” as Lao Tzu described, was also a “painful ending.”
One night as our departure date loomed, my friend Marie, who had experience with moves of this magnitude, visited. Mark and I were shell shocked about moving to the absolute unknown. Marie’s excitement for us was contrary to my sadness and fear. I wanted to embrace her enthusiastic joy. Instead, it felt like a crack was widening in the shaky ground.
That night she repeated her oft-used phrase: “You just need to find your one person.” She had said it to me no fewer than five times by that point. I couldn’t roll my eyes right in front of her, but I wanted to yell, “My people are here! There are no more people for me!” Although I knew my sadness masked a hint of excited possibility, I felt there was no village like the one in which I was deeply encamped.
I smiled, nodded and tried to trust her words, blinking back tears. One person? I was leaving many people.
But Marie’s words held me, most especially when we arrived in Tennessee. I had left home with no map other than Marie’s prophecy:
You’ll be okay. Find your one person.
I felt Marie as I tried to make eye contact with each fellow mom who passed me on the way to Matthew’s new school. (I swear every woman already had her best friend right next to her!) I scanned license plates (still do!) trying to spot another who may seem as out of place as I felt. I texted friends back home, missing the routines I knew so well.
But I’m sure you see where this story is going.
While I outwardly denied that my “one person” existed, inwardly, I held deep hope that she did. I never imagined she would be a fellow transplant standing next to me at school pick-up, possibly sweating as profusely as I was (i.e., August in Tennessee). When she smiled and invited me to coffee a few days later, I still didn’t know it was her. But at that coffee date, as she described that she felt as out of place in this new land as I did, my heart fell into a new place.
That Marie. She was right.
The difficult unknown, my deep canyon of uncertainty, was scary. And while I don’t imagine directly comparing my move across the country to several of you grieving lost loved ones, grappling with the unknown can unite us in a way.
It’s still hard (especially during covid) to be in a place where everyone else seems to have family and longtime friends living next door. But that day, when I met my friend Neetu, I knew I was going to be okay.
I don’t have answers about what comes next in 2021, but I do know that when we look out for each other, we will recognize that some are suffering, others are anxious, but we can all be hopeful. Just as I was told to find that one person, we can turn this corner together and move forward, into the unknown, uniting over that which connects us.
My 5 Favorites
(Each week our writers share their current favorite things)
Kelly Corrigan is one of my most favorite writers and like her writing, her podcast never fails to be one I eagerly await each week. Her recent episodes unpacking human nature with the amazing Margaret Atwood and Brit Bennett are phenomenal. Also, Kelly’s notes at the end of every episode are true gems that cannot be missed!
I make fun of my (older, ahem) sisters’ love of tea. But I gifted Memphis’ My Cup of Tea to them for Christmas and they have been raving about it ever since and are now return customers. The mission behind this company is beautiful and their tea flavors are a big hit with the sisters!
I recently planted my flower garden; I’m a dahlia and zinnia lover (see top picture above). Floret, a female-founded seed company based very close to where we used to live, was a favorite long before they were discovered by Joanna Gaines. I can’t wait to see how the seeds do in the hot South.
Emily & I both loved reading your comments on last week’s post. Kelly from Florida shared so beautifully, “I hope for me and for everyone that the ‘normal’ things we may have once taken for granted continue to spark all of the awe and joy that they do right now. It’s magical.”
A dependable creature of habit, I will happily eat the same meal every single day for months on end. I can’t stop making these overnight oats. I make big batches in mason jars and I’m good for the whole week.
“Hope, like every virtue, is a choice that becomes a practice that becomes spiritual muscle memory. It’s a renewable resource for moving through life as it is, not as we wish it to be.”
Krista Tippett
With gratitude,
Molly
P.S. Who has been your “one person?” How did you find each other? Share your story with us in the comments and maybe even consider sharing this letter with them.
When I moved to grad school, I spent the first few weeks holed up in my dank basement or sitting in the Peninsula Park Rose Garden down the street. I knew almost no one. I'd never felt so lonely before and sometimes in the park I hoped no one could see me crying behind my sunglasses.
I started my classes and in the glorious Portland sunshine, I found another person who wanted to toss a frisby during breaks. We played soccer but talked through the whole game, talked through class about God knows what, and then left to hangout some more.
We moved far apart after graduation, but that bond still exists, built on laughter and conversations so real you could taste them. That's the great thing about the "one-person"; they turn up in each place I move. Love this description of friendship!
Having moved half-way across the country three times to end up back where I started, finding your one person has been advice that I have carried with me since my first move. I always thought when I was younger that you would have that one friend that would be there with you throughout your whole lifetime. I still have some close friends from when I was in high school and college, but as you experience life, your life experiences can very different. Maybe you have moved three times, or have a child with a disability, or sometimes, as much as it sucks, you just grew apart. I have been fortunate to have some of the most wonderful women be my one person in these different locations or seasons of life. I love L.M. Montgomery quote form Anne of Green Gables “Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.” My current one person is Christine. She is very opposite of me: she is loud, super outgoing, not a planner at all, and super confident. She is exactly who I need now in my life right now. I thank God that she was placed in my life exactly when I needed it.