BIRTHDAY WISHES
Hope, holding hands, and all those little earthquakes. Plus: we're almost a Substack bestseller!
Thank you for reading Resilience! Two months in, and we’ve built a community of over 1,500 readers! I’ve also just learned I’m only a handful of paid subscriptions away from becoming a Substack bestseller. If you’ve been thinking about upgrading to a paid subscription (or gifting one to a friend!) why not do so today? I deeply appreciate your support, however it works for you. Much gratitude, and enjoy this week’s teeny-tiny tale. PS. Saturday is my birthday! You’re all the best gifts a writer-girl could ask for. May all beings be safe, happy, healthy, and FREE. xx
A few weeks ago, when a 4.8 earthquake hit the Northeast, I was home alone with my son, Lou. At first we thought the washer and dryer was making the house shake as it always does, but the machines were empty and the house kept shaking anyway. Lou ran to his room, screaming, “My antiques, my Lego City!” and I raced after him, instinctually pulling him and a handful of his tea cups back into the door frame.
“Hold onto Mama!” I instructed him. I did my best impression of a calm and collected grown-up when, actually, I wished there was a Mama available to hold us both.
As Lou buried himself in my dress, I thought about all the times we’d held each other like this. In the hospital, on the playground, when it felt like the ground was moving, would break open, or even swallow us whole.
Lou squeezed my hand as the room swayed. He squeezed once, twice. Once, again. It reminded me of my best friend in the second grade, Liana. Walking through Central Park at recess, we had a hand squeeze game that I was always fucking up.
“Squeeze once if something’s scary,” she’d instruct me, “twice if something’s funny.” But I could never decide if something was scary or funny. An old woman pushing a cart in her underwear? An off-duty clown?
“Make up your mind!” Liana would yell at me, totally exasperated. More often than not I’d just burst into tears.
Because here’s the thing I wished I had told Liana. Everything is everything at once! Something is scary, something is funny! The sun sets an unbelievable pink when you’re trying to save your child’s life. The stars light up the night sky when you’ve lost your breast, your dreams, your illusions. And somehow a new day still begins.
As the house continued to rattle, I sent this message back in time, to Liana, to little me, my heart bursting for the old lady in her underpants, for the clown, his shabby knapsack, his floppy shoes.
I hoped with all my might that my son, West, who was skiing in Vermont with friends, was safe. I knew he had probably skied the black diamond slope even though I’d asked him not to. I really should trust him more, he can totally do it. I hoped everyone I loved and everyone they loved and every single person in our big, broken world could, somehow, be safe, too. I hoped for all these things and I hoped so hard I didn’t realize that the house had finally stopped shaking.
I exhaled.
“Why are we in the doorway?” Lou asked after some time, looking up at me.
“Because there was an earthquake,” I answered.
“Weren’t we supposed to stop, drop, and roll?”
“No, Lou, that’s for a fire.”
What a pair, I thought. Two hysterics, two survivors. Squeeze once if you’re scared, twice if something’s funny.
Another adventure, another day done.
A MEDITATION
May our hearts be big enough to hold everything at once. May we keep holding on.
Feel free to share a snippet of your story or some thoughts in the comments. I love hearing from you all. Especially during this dark time in our world, may we hold each other’s hands, each other’s hearts.
Thank you for spending time with me and my stories every week.
xx Alexa
This article hit home. Boy, would I have loved to have the ability to tell my Grade 2 self a few things that would have made it easier to get through school without being a people pleaser. I would have told my younger self that you are Ok the way you are, the same way you are now. Sometimes serious. Sometimes silly. But always an animal lover and protector of small things.
As you know, your writing speaks to me on so many levels, Alexa, but what moves me most is how you always manage to find humor and beauty in every situation. Also, I love the song you're sharing here. Little Earthquakes, the album, got me through some of the darkest times during my teenage years. I was a sexual assault survivor, and Tori's voice was the first to tell me that it wasn't my fault. I finally got to see her live last year in the town where I grew up - life can be funny that way. In that concert hall, I sent a message back in time to my 16 year-old self : "Girl, we haven't seen Barbados, but we did get out of this."
I love the idea of our future selves reaching out to us to help us hold on during tough times, like a wave of energy or something. As I was getting my driving license at 37, feeling like a nervous wreck, I thought "there's a version of you who's been driving for years and she's rooting for you". I held on to this comforting idea as I failed the test twice and passed on the third attempt.
All of this (sorry for the tangents!) to say, I love how you see the world. Thanks for sharing your stories, as always.