A Clock is a Clock

Hey all, can you believe it’s been two weeks since I’ve told y’all about my emotions? I know you are all desperately waiting to hear how I’ve been holding up since my last blog. You know, the one where I was an anxious hot mess. Yeah, that one. Well good news, I am doing FABULOUS now. I know that sounded a little sarcastic, but I am being completely truthful with y’all- as always. 

The real question though, is how did I go from an anxious hot mess back to a confident boss babe in a matter of two weeks. Well, I am sure I can attribute it to a lot of things, but I would say the number one contributing factor was *drum roll* LISTENING AND TRUSTING MYSELF.

After my last big relationship, I had a really hard time believing myself. I was convinced that I didn’t know anything and that I could not, under any circumstance, listen to my instincts. That, my friends, is the result of being lied to by people you love and trust. Your internal meter for what is right and real gets twisted and begins to resemble The Persistence of Memory by Salvado Dalí. Reality just melts and it feels near impossible to get it back to its original shape.   

This is the result of trauma. 

Trauma bends our reality and alters our brain and, to be honest, f*cks sh*t up. So, how do we get them back to that original shape? How do we unf*ck sh*t up? Where is that place where a clock is a clock and there is no question about it? If you read my blog, you know what I am about to say… therapyyyy. You’re welcome. That is how we get reality back to its shape. We have a professional person guide us back to the spot where we trust our gut, where a clock looks like a clock and therefore is a clock. 

My therapist guides me through my body, eyes closed, with full trust in her and in myself. After my last post the first message that I listened to from myself was that I needed to speak with my therapist. I am not kidding. I posted my blog at 5 and then went to therapy at 6. Before I had a therapist I would convince myself I was fine. I wouldn’t listen when my body was literally pouring out tears uncontrollably or my brain was saying things like “nobody loves you”. I didn’t listen when I would eat until it hurt to avoid feeling anything else. Once I started listening to myself, all the pain I felt was still there, but it was healable. That pain was no longer an abstract, never-ending “this is just how I feel and I can’t change it” part of myself. You can only heal when you know what you are trying to heal. 

So, let’s circle back to that session of healing and how I got back to feeling stable. I fired up my laptop, hit the FaceTime button, and waited for my therapist to answer. I could feel the anxiety coursing through my body as I sat on my floor with my laptop perched on my bed. By the end of the session the anxiety was minimized, near gone. She helped me release the ties I was holding so tightly to. It was a beautiful exercise in release and I encourage you to try it if my description resonates with you.  I closed my eyes and she said “I want you to picture that relationship, the one that hurt you. Where can you feel it?” Without hesitation I saw a tight rope, thick and strong, tied so tightly to my heart it was strangling it. Each time it pumped, I could see the rope tighten. She wanted me to look at the memories that painted the rope. The good, the bad, the ugly; see the rope connected to that person. Then, she wanted me to cut it. 

I hesitated. I couldn’t cut it. I wasn’t ready. I was sobbing, not quite sure that I knew how to be without this part of myself. I was scared that letting go of that pain meant moving on and moving on meant finding someone new; scared because I didn’t know what any of that truly looked like. In the calmest of voices she said “only when you are ready Sarah.” And then the most beautiful healing imagery appeared: 

Baby Sarah. 

She grabbed my hand and whispered ‘we could cut it together.’ That little face of mine, with big dreams, staring up at me just wanting us to be happy. My sobbing slowed as we picked up the pair of golden scissors together. I squeezed her hand as I began to cut into the thick rope. It didn’t budge at first and I looked down at her again and she looked up at me as if to say “keep going” and I did. I cut again and again and again. Each cut made the rope fray ever so slightly. Then it happened, as if I was watching my own cartoon version of what I was doing, the rope slid to the floor, his end back to him and my end back to me and my heart started to glow like the sun. I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until the rope broke free and I took a huge gasp of air. It almost felt like I had been holding my breath for the last two years. I opened my eyes and saw my therapist looking back at me. She said “I am so proud of you.” Those words again, setting me free. I said I wasn’t sure if I was ready to do it and she interrupted me and said “Sarah, if you weren’t ready to, we wouldn’t have done it.” That was the power of listening to myself- knowing when I’m ready to let go, ready to heal. Just as important as knowing when I am not ready. 

So, I spent the last two weeks remaining in tune with myself. I took a break, I ran away with me for the summer. I did not go upstate though, I went to Wisconsin. (Solid Hamilton reference in case you missed it.) I rented a car, drove 14 hours there and 14 hours back, got a COVID test before and after, and was able to be in tune with myself. My wants and needs were met every inch of the way.  I stopped everything that was giving me anxiety and I just lived. I took a break from this blog (not that this blog gives me anxiety, but I do feel the pressure of deadlines and wanting more people to read, etc.). I had dance parties in my kitchen with my roommate; I watched TV; I read a book; I took my antidepressant every day; I listened to me and trusted what I was hearing. 

So, here I am refreshed. My head is clear and my heart is … free. Of course, it’s all a practice and I’ll forget to listen and/or trust myself again, but that’s what learning is all about. We fail and we try again and again and again until we no longer have to think about. Until listening and trusting myself is as second nature as obnoxiously quoting Hamilton is. And please remember, it is more than okay to fail and forget and to make mistakes. If we didn’t we would be robots and we wouldn’t have feelings and this blog would be meaningless.

Plus, without the mistakes I’ve made along the way, I’m not sure this blog would even exist. Scratch that, I know this blog wouldn’t exist.

A[wo]men

arms spread,

eyes closed.

drop back

into a vast sea of yourself.

deep, powerful, real.

-trust falls

Strength is Found in Awareness & Help

C/W suicide, depression

Hello friends, welcome to our newest time and place. If you didn’t see the memo yesterday I am officially posting my blog on Thursdays because I have just found myself extremely tired on Wednesdays, so I have been using those days to heal. Healing looks like many things right now. Resting, first and foremost, but also scheduling my therapy on that day to help process what the last 7 days had brought me. Since I didn’t write last week, I’ll catch you up on what the last 14 days brought me.

The last two weeks were filled with a lack of energy to do much of anything. I felt completely void of motivation. I cried A LOT, more so than usual- which is A LOT, A LOT for “regular” people. My shower schedule went from every day, to every three days. I still brushed my teeth every day, twice a day which is honestly the biggest win of them all. I ordered takeout food every night, most of which was fast food, and most of which could have fed two people.

It is mental health awareness month, and with that I want to make people more aware of my experience with depression. This is something that I have sprinkled throughout all of my posts, but it is rarely the star of the show. Depression was a side character to enhance the more “important” story. I quote important here because in reality discussing depression is just as important as the other parts of the story, but the thing about vulnerability in writing is that it can be easier to write the story and hope the reader can read between the lines. Today, I don’t want there to be any messages between the lines. I want to be raw about my experience. I would also like to be raw about my experience of healing and processing and the journey that my life has taken.

This last week was a reminder that healing is not linear and as much as I hope and wish that old habits have died hard, I know they are still there, lingering around. In fact, the last couple of weeks my depression has been the worst it’s been in a year. I felt numb and tired. Anytime a person asked me how I was I would respond “Oh, ya know, just tired.” There it is again, the reading between the lines, hoping that someone recognizes the fact that I’ve been tired for two weeks and that isn’t normal. Praying for someone to ask me again, “how are you really though?” There is this fear that if we say how we really are we won’t get the response that we really need. We know we need the help though, so we leave context clues and hope one day someone picks up on it. It is interesting how subtly people ask for help because of this fear. I’ve picked up on it a lot in the work that I do. If you have someone always saying they are are tired, or when asked how they are always respond with the same answer, try asking them again. I like to call this phenomenon the folly of small talk. Sometimes people really don’t want to know how we are. So, there are these automatic lines we sprawl out like a red carpet for others to feel more comfortable. I loathe small talk. It is devoid of any real meaning and I think it should be canceled. In my opinion, if you don’t want to really know how someone is, don’t ask.

Okay, I am getting a little bit off topic, let’s circle back to my depression. Spending most of my life with, I’ve gotten good at hiding it from others and having my automatic answers lined up. My experience with depression has been a long and winding road, escalated by trauma. I have wished to be dead on countless occasions. Again, no reading between the lines. I would pray and cry and beg to go to sleep and not wake up. I recently read online somewhere (I wish I could remember where so I could give them credit) which said suicidal ideations are often the hope of getting rid of your current life for a new one. Meaning, people don’t necessarily want to die, they just want the life as they know it to be different. I wanted my life as I knew it to be different. The older I get the more my depression ebbs and flows, and the less I want a different life. I can go a long time without feeling any of it’s lingering effects and then one day I am triggered by something and it sets off this downward feeling. A feeling that is both slow and fast at the same time. I’ve done a lot of work around this and working through triggers. My recovery time is actually much quicker nowadays. Something I am proud of.

Working through depression though, is a battle. If you have watched Game of Thrones, you can recall the scene where Jon Snow is being trampled to death during the ‘Battle of the Bastards’. For those of you that haven’t seen it, he’s literally under a pile of humans all stepping on him, as he is gasping for air. While watching it you’re like “Oh yeah, he’s definitely going to die” and then somehow, against all odds, he comes out. Yeah, that is how I would describe battling depression. In fact, it’s a great title for the battle of depression as well. Those bastard voices in my head trying to keep me down and I have to come back ten times harder. It’s a muscle though and I know that the more I keep coming out of it and fighting back the easier and easier it gets. I think an example may help to get a better idea. I’ll walk you through a day of my worst depression this week. I’d also like to note that this experience is vastly more doable than what my depression looked like when I was younger. I have done a lot of work.

My alarm goes off, although I’ve only been partially asleep because my body can’t seem to shut all the way down. The sound of the alarm is not jarring, it is just irritation. I calculate how much longer I can stay in my bed, how much longer can I push the time? If I skip showering.. again.. I can lay here for another 20 minutes. In those 20 minutes I am not resting. I am thinking through a million different thoughts. ‘I wonder what today will bring? Why can’t I just get out of bed, it’s not like I’m actually sleeping right now? You are so lazy. I wish I didn’t wake up today. I wish, I wish, I wish..’ I finally role out of bed. I go into the bathroom where I convince myself that brushing my teeth is necessary. As I brush my teeth I look in the mirror and stare at the bags under my eyes. ‘Why do you look the way you do? Maybe because you didn’t wash your face again last night?’ I then talk myself into washing my face. I go the kitchen to get breakfast. All I want is junk food. I eat left over, cold pizza. I take my vitamins, hoping that they are the magic pill to make this feeling go away. I realize I only have 10 minutes to leave the house and then I rush around picking out an outfit, looking in the mirror at my hair realizing there is no time to fix it and leave. I bike or walk to work, knowing that it is good for me to get the exercise. That this will help with how I am feeling. It actually does. I get to work, where I know I have to have space for others trauma, so I leave mine at the door. Before I enter I remind myself that my pain is not important right now, this space is for them. Once in that space, I feel a little break. I hold space for other people, and my pain feels lighter, but by the the end of the day I am exhausted. I now I have my pain on top of there’s and I don’t know where to put it. I bike or walk home, again knowing that this is the most helpful thing I’ve done all day for myself. I get home and want to turn it all off. I turn on TV and watch something that I know will numb my thoughts. I order take out. Most likely shake shack for the 4th time this week. I eat the food in front of my screen. I eat it so fast that I barely remember what it tasted like. I feel full to the point that it hurts. I stare at the screen wondering why I just ate so much. The pain is so familiar and it makes me feel good, in the worst kind of way. I try to stay on my screen for as long as I can, so I can avoid hearing what I know I am thinking. I know those negative thoughts are swirling in there- you’re horrible. you’re disgusting. you’re unloveable. I finally make it to my bed where I spend another 30 minutes on my phone, trying to avoid the moment the noise all stops and I have to hear those thoughts. I finally turn the phone off and count down from 100. This helps me fall asleep and avoids the noise further. Finally I am asleep, but not really.

This is what a day with really bad depression felt like recently. Each step is hard and it is something that I mentally need to tell my body to physically do, otherwise it would just stay in that state, in my bed, not moving. I usually give myself a day, when I am feeling that way. I call it my depression day. It’s like a staycation for pain. I recognize that I’ve pushed my body far and it needs a break for a moment. I just kind of melt into my feelings and give it some space. I then spend the following 24-48 hours pushing back hard. Every negative thought has an equal and opposite reaction. This last spell though was a bit longer than 24-48 hours of pushing back. I think because there is just so much going on at once. Like COVID, depression, dating, trauma, drama is a lot for one girl to handle. But I still pushed back and I finally feel like I am finding a clearing. BLESSED.

What really helped me find the clearing though is therapy. I reached out to my therapist, who I hadn’t talked to in awhile, because for awhile I was doing really well. The second I realized this time felt a little different though I sent that email. I knew I needed support and I knew, as much as I love my friends and family, I needed a different type of support. The moment she came onto the screen I burst into tears. Not because I was sad, but because I knew there was space for me to just be. It was tears of relief, of all this pressure being lifted off. We talked for the full hour. I honestly could’ve talked to her for two hours. She reminded me of my strength and my ability to reach out when I need help. I had forgotten to recognize this as a strength. She helped my brain process in a way that felt like all the static was clearing and I could get a good image. She reminded me of different ways I can help myself, ways I didn’t even think about.

The most interesting part of our session was when we discussed my work. We were discussing how I should hold space for myself between patients. When talking about what I could do I said I have a meditation app and I could listen to that between each person. She looked at me with a puzzled face and said “Sarah, that really won’t help you. When you are experiencing trauma, even vicarious trauma, you are being heightened. You are disconnecting from you body. Meditation will only make you go higher. In those moments you need to remind yourself of where you are. You need to be in that room wholly.” She said “the best antidote for trauma is embodiment.” I was shooketh. All this time I’ve been told that meditation is basically the end all be all and here is my therapist being like ‘nah, that is not what you need.’ She talked about literally tapping my body to remind myself that it is here on earth, in that chair, in that place. So, for the last 24 hours, anytime I could feel myself leaving the room, I began to tap. My face. My chest. My legs. Tap. Tap. Tap. It brought me back every. damn. time. Brilliant and simple. My favorite kind of healing technique.

The thing with healing through, and depression, and mental health is that our stories all look different. Yet, we all have pain, we all have mental health, we all have feelings and we are all constantly trying to heal. The reason there is a month dedicated to awareness is because there continues to be this stigma that nobody else experiences these things and if you do experience this you are “not normal”. I have to argue the exact opposite. I can’t think of one person in my life that hasn’t experienced pain or that couldn’t benefit from therapy. We go to the doctor when we break our leg, but when we feel pain, when our hearts shatter into a million pieces, we think we have to heal it on our own. This is cultural. There are people trained in healing broken hearts. I beg, urge, and plead with you to help me break the stigma. Tell people that you hurt too, just like every normal human being, and that there is ZERO shame in seeking support in that. Isolation creates and perpetuates negative self-talk and feelings of depression. Culturally, we think we are being strong by not getting help, but in reality we are actually harming ourselves in ways we don’t even know. The reality is that being strong means we know we can ask for help and then doing just that.

Today, be strong- reach out for help and tell your story.

A[wo]men

P.s. Not sure where to start? May I suggest right here.

tap. tap. tap.

you are here 

in this space.

you are breathing

in this space.

you are living 

in this space.

you are

in this space.

-grounding

 

An Exercise in Grounding

Wassssup (entering old school today- tongue out and all).

I think we are all aware that the world is, well, to put it gently, “off”. Now, I could spend the next hour writing about how I am feeling and all the scary ideas that are running through my head. Most typically, this is exactly what I would do. I would want you to know your aren’t alone in this and we are all going through it together. However, I don’t think that’s helpful right now. I think we are all feeling the unknown and we all have a better understanding of just how intense anxiety can feel. So, I thought it might be best to switch it up on the interwebz for a moment. You know, share something that isn’t all about a pandemic, or anxiety, or toilet paper.

I’ve been racking my brain over the last few hours trying to figure out exactly what that would be. What I could write about when my mind seems to be consumed with all of these things and more. What would help me to slow down and for a moment forget I’m alone in my apartment, unsure about the state of the world?

Gratitude.

It’s so simple, I am surprised it took me a few hours to come up with it. Just hear me out, I know that sometimes it is annoying when you are feeling one way and people are like “just think of all that you have”. Sometimes it makes me want to puke in my mouth. Sometimes I want to be angry and scared and petty and vent and not think about all the good. Sometimes things just suck and I want to sit in that suckiness for a bit. We have every right to do so. There are other times though that thinking about all I have can alter my mood in ways I never thought it could. When a brain is on fire and is able to say I am thankful that I have water to put it out- that, my friends, is power. A power that is free of cost and fills up time and is totally doable in, let’s say, a quarantine situation.

Today I will be making a list of 25 things that I am so incredibly grateful for today.

1. The sun is shining, baby. Gettin’ that Vitamin D under my skylights as I am writing this.
2. I have a place to live.
3. There is food in my fridge, freezer, and cabinets.
4. My friends are amazing. They check-in on me. They call me. They send me texts. They remind me that I am loved. I may be physically alone in this apartment, but I am definitely not alone.
5. I have hobbies. I write and I dance and I run and all of these things keep me grounded.
6. I am working. People still need our care and I am going to help provide that care for as long as I am able to.
7. Netflix.
8. Hulu.
9. Disney+. (Yes, they all get their own separate numbers because that’s how grateful I am for each one.)
10. My family group chat right now is straight fire. We even got a water challenge going so we all stay hydrated.
11. Memers are on the top of their game. They say laughter is the best medicine and damn, Instagram has been saving lives with its pure comedic medicine.
12. I have a washer and dryer in my apartment. Thankful for this on a daily basis.
13. I am healthy.
14. I have running water.
15. Electricity.
16. My awesome book collection is, well, awesome.
17. Coloring books are a gift.
18. Fat activists/diet school dropouts reminding me that it’s okay to eat. That I don’t need to prioritize weight loss in this moment or any other moment. And that sometimes food is comfort.
19. Healthcare workers.
20. Grocery store workers.
21. Therapy. Talk about your feelings- get support.
22. Soap. and subsequently-
23. Lotion.
24. Candles aka therapy of the aroma variety.
25. I’m alive. And while life can seem so fragile, it’s that fragility that reminds us just how important it is to live it.

If you’re still feeling overwhelmed right now, just check-in with your body. You are here and that is enough right now. Maybe you could make your own list. If 25 seems like too much, think of 1. Maybe you’ll start and not be able to stop. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll remember all you have right in front of you. Or maybe you’ll just want to sit it in the suckiness for a bit. That’s cool too.

If you are struggling with any of the things on this list, like lack of food or TP or essentials in any way please reach out to me. I may not be able to help out a lot, but I will do what I can.

Also, if you’re just looking for an ear, I am pretty good at listening, or so I’ve been told.

A[wo]men

i

love

you

-simplicity

 

 

The Stranger Friend

Have you ever been in a really crowded place and all you could think was ‘so long as no one talks to me, I’ll be okay.’ I do this often. In New York, basically everywhere is crowded and escaping people is only done in the solace of your bedroom, and some aren’t even that lucky. I often use the tactics of loud headphones, avoiding eye contact, and looking as though I am feeling any emotion but happy. I would say this works fifty percent of the time. Some people really don’t care. Typically, I am polite and make conversation, but the whole time in my head I am screaming “LEAVE ME THE EFF ALONE, damn…” 

Currently, I am writing this from one of the most crowded places one can find in any city: The DMV. *DUN DUN DUN* If you have seen the movie depiction of a DMV- then you know exactly what surrounds me. The wait time is an estimated 4 hours, everyone is grumpy, and it smells of something I can’t quite place. I’m pretty sure this kid next to me did something in his diaper, but who I am to say for sure. It’s an anxious ball of energy just wanting to be, literally, anywhere else. 

I spent two hours here yesterday with no luck of getting what I came for. I had to get to therapy by 4pm, so I had to leave before my number was called. I left angry and on the verge of yelling at a stranger- not in typical Sarah fashion. I was mostly angry because I knew I would have to do it all over again. I would have to wait in the long lines and sit with the smell and “waste” two-three more hours of my life. I was definitely in the ‘nobody talk to me or I’ll scream’ mood. 

I thought about those two hours on my thirty minute train ride to therapy. I thought about how that sucked and how none of it was urgent and I will try again tomorrow. I calmed my nerves by breathing and just felt glad that the moment was over and I was on my way to talk about my feelings. Bonus because if I had any leftover feelings from the moment, I knew someone who could help. (She did help, as always. #ilovetherapy)

So, for my return to the DMV this morning I set a different intention. Instead of wasting time, I wanted to utilize the time that lay ahead of me. I was prepared in my head to be there for 5 hours (better to think it will be much longer than to think it will be much shorter). I then thought about what I would like to get done in 5 hours and what was possible. Hello Sarah, you have a blog to write. Five hours of uninterrupted writing will help the time breeze by.

Right off the bat the line was long and I waited 40 mins just to get a number to be seen. I couldn’t exactly write while I was standing in line, so that 40 mins had a lot of scroll time. Instagram kept telling me I was all caught up… so rude. Then, there was a chatty person in front of me. “Can I ask you a question? Do you have a number? Should I already have one? You were here yesterday? How long was the wait? Do you have a pen?” On and on and on. At first I was back to the “LEAVE ME THE EFF ALONE, damn…” mentality. I smiled politely and answered their questions between scrolls. Then I started thinking about the five hours ahead of me and I wondered why I didn’t want to talk to someone who was just as bored as I was. I then put my phone down and tried to keep the conversation going.

They asked me where was I from, what I do, the usuals from strangers. The not-so-usual from strangers occurs when you tell them you’re a social worker and used to be a child and family therapist. For those of you not in this line of work, it is extremely common for people to hear this and think that they can just get a free therapy session. Often I am stand-offish when this happens and imaginarily cover my ears and say “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you! Nanananana.” *sticks tongue out* In this moment though, I thought, well sh*t, I’ve got time. Hit me. They proceed to tell me about their son who is 5. He just started kindergarten which was so exciting for the family. His class did a scavenger hunt the first day and it was really nice for the family and their son to orient to a new surrounding. However, the last week or so things have been hard. He has trouble sleeping which in turn causes him to be tired in the morning. They said “it is just a battle. Sometimes I can’t handle it. And then you’ve got these moms who brag about their kid going to bed at 7:30pm and I just wonder why he won’t do the same.”  I was amazed at this person just telling me their struggles, so openly and honestly. At one point they whisper “sometimes I just want to give him ambien… I mean I never would, but gosh it is tempting some days”. I pictured this kid, with assistance from the many pictures they showed me, just laying in bed fighting sleep wondering why his parents get to stay up so late, but he can’t.

“So, do you have any tips? Should I, like, take him to a therapist?” Again, said at a whisper.

I took a deep breathe, wondering how to breach the topic of “yo, I don’t know your kids life” in a graceful way. 

But then they just kept talking. 

They talked about their own troubles with sleep and how their anxiety keeps them up with their racing thoughts. How sometimes they need to listen to sleep stories, and take ambien, and need a warm bath before they can go to bed. “Maybe it just runs in the family,” they sighed.

As they are talking, I am so fascinated by their story. I find myself wanting to know more. Not because I am feeling like their therapist at this point, but because it is two people in this place that feels so rushed and hectic, slowing down. The loud speaker is intrusive in the conversation, continually calling out numbers. “B545 AT COUNTER 14.” And then here we are, two total strangers, connecting and passing the time together. I told them about my own life. How I just moved back after living in Alaska and giving them tips if they ever go there. My reasons for getting into social work and how ‘I don’t have a family yet, but I hope to one day.’

“Would you look at that, we’re almost to the front of the line. Thank you for chatting with me, Sarah, it was a really nice way to pass the time. I really appreciate you listening, I know you do it all day for work, but it was nice to just have someone to talk to. And good luck with everything.”

As we wrapped up our conversation I thought about how nice of a time I had in that line all because I decided to challenge my thoughts of ‘avoid, avoid, avoid’ to ‘lets just see where this conversation goes’. I think back to all the times I avoided people and what they had to say and the many connections I overlook on a daily basis. This is not to say that I am going to start talking to every stranger I meet, heck I may not even change my ways at all; it did remind of how simple it can be to just do one thing differently and how that will impact you in any moment.

I have now since left the DMV and am writing in the comfort of my own home and as I was leaving I thought about how I felt yesterday compared to today. Today I was smiling when I left. I utilized my time there, got what I needed, and was even able to gather a whole post just from a single morning. If I hadn’t talked to them, if I just put my headphones in, I don’t think things would be extremely different. I would’ve written about some other thing I’ve experienced, I would’ve gotten my license, had the same lunch, still gone for a run, taken a shower, picked out the same clothes. It just would’ve been one less connection I made in the world.

Then again, I don’t really know, we never do. Perhaps, if I didn’t talk to them I would have become angry again and then decided to leave and just deal with it a different day, then not to run and so on. We just never know how one thing impacts another. I think that is something I am trying to recognize more of. Perhaps tonight when my stranger friend goes home they think about how I told them I’ve met a lot of kids that have trouble sleeping and how they aren’t alone and this thought makes them feel less anxious for just a moment. See the impacts are invisible most times, but I think they are there and I think they all stem from each connection we make. And again, maybe they don’t do this at all, but isn’t it cool that it’s a possibility? That maybe just maybe I impacted their life, as much as they influenced mine. A whole blog post of material, ya know?

I guess I would like to urge you to maybe take your headphones out one day in a crowded place. Maybe start a conversation or don’t write off the stranger trying to start one with you. I think we are all just a little lonely some days and a stranger is just as good as anyone to listen. Heck, you might even make a stranger friend out of it.

A[wo]men

“Can i ask you a question?”

No-

You can ask me a million questions,

fill my head with a million conversations.

Become a stranger friend.

-How to make connections