What's Going On?

It’s been more than a month since my last post, and I have a backlog of updates. Life has been especially lifey, and I’ve found myself falling into an old habit — cramming my unprocessed, unacknowledged emotions into a messy stuff sack I carry around my heart. Powering through. Telling everyone I’m fine.

I’m fine.

Anyone who says “I’m fine,” is most certainly not okay. They probably need a hug. Or a good cry. A walk in nature.

Maybe they need to eat a special mushroom and gaze into the fire.

That’s how I learned I’m not fine.

The stuff sack around my heart grew too full and too heavy. Too much to carry.

I stopped writing, not only here, but in my journal also. Or, when I did write, it was a to-do list. A packing list. An account of the things that had happened. It wasn’t me.

So I let that fucking sack burst and I let myself feel everything. I told my husband, “I am not okay,” and I cried on the way to work, and I cried when he picked me up that night with ice cream and a bouquet of flowers.

I’ve been crying every day since — because now I realize crying, like pooping, is a thing I need to do daily to feel okay.

I cry when my work friend gives me a piece of chocolate and tells me I’m going to be okay even though he has NO CLUE what’s wrong. Or maybe he does? I don’t know.

I cry when I clock out for a 25-minute walk down a trailhead on the most stressful mail route ever.

I cry when I’m speeding down an open road on my favorite mail route. And I howl at the sunset over the rolling hills, tidy New England-y farms, and the clusters of islands beyond it all.

I cry whenever “Be So Happy” by Heartless Bastards comes up on my Spotify playlist because I miss Hayley so much.

And because, in the last six weeks:

• I learned that Bruce has cancer — a very common and treatable type. And then I watched and thanked goddess as the tumor miraculously disappeared after a simple steroid injection.

• I flew to Colorado to celebrate the life of my cousin’s husband, Greg, a beloved family member who died suddenly in a snowmobile accident two weeks before his 39th birthday. I like to think the last thing he saw was an epic skyline of snow-covered mountains, and maybe his last thought was, “this is fucking awesome, can’t wait to tell Katie.”

• I caught some god-awful airplane disease that filled my brain with snot for about two weeks, making me a mouth breather. This overlapped with…

• We got a puppy! Jason flew to Alabama to puck up Remus (yes, that’s a HP reference) Stokely Northen-Steinheimer, the newest addition to our pack. He just started sleeping six hours at a time, and only on good nights.

Me and Remus (aka Hell on Wheels)

It’s been a lot.

In the middle of all that, I finished two books I think you should read:

1. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin — This might be the best thing I’ve ever read. I tore through it way too quickly because it was impossible to put down. The characters and storytelling are so easy to fall in love with, I actually mourned their loss when I finished the book and have yet to pick up another because I’m still debating whether it’s too soon to read this one again. It’s a story about love and creative partnership packed with 90s nostalgia and peppered with just enough heart-wrenching plot action to be addictive-but-not-too-violent-for-bedtime.

2. Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May — Also so good. I started this book in October or November 2023 and savored it slowly over the winter. Like Enchantment, which I wrote about here, Wintering is raw and poetic. The fact that my copy of Wintering once belonged to Hayley made it extra special to read and sad to finish. It was such a joy to come across a passage she had highlighted.

And with that, I’m going to wrap up here. Little Hell on Wheels has pooped on the floor.

Ready as I am for spring, I have to admit that the late snowstorm going on outside my window was a much-needed excuse to call out of work, tie up some loose ends, and write this post. Thank you for being so patient in its late arrival. I simply didn’t have the words.

Love you,

Lauren

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