LOVE LETTER FROM THE TRAIN...

On interdependence, a New York story, and yes, a river to skate away on. Plus: special promo for FORTRESS ends December 31st!

Dear readers, I am sending you ALL my love this holiday season. Thank you for being here however it works for you. I hope this tiny tale will inspire you to pause, take a minute, and ask yourself: How am I doing? May the answer, and all its accompanying stories, fall around you gently like snow, like starlight. xx Alexa

PS. Special promo for FORTRESS, my 1:1 writing program, through December 31st. One spot left! What a gift this work has been for me. Consider gifting yourself or someone you love…

Sleepy and dreamy on the train in the Hudson River light…

I’m writing this from the train, on my way down to Manhattan from upstate, to see my long-time dentist, Dr. J. In a world where everything changes so quickly, there’s a beauty in the things that stay the same: this train ride, this light off the Hudson River…

I’ve been seeing Dr. J since I was a kid. His daughter and I were professional child ballerinas together. In fact, when I was eight or nine, Dr. J. and my own dad joined M. and me onstage in an old Russian ballet called Petroushka. The company was in need of extras, and our dads rose to the occasion, accompanying us to the stage door after french fries and milkshakes at the Starlight Diner on 57th Street.

Dr. J’s office is on Gramercy Park. The radio is always tuned to the classical station. In the waiting room, I smile at K., who’s worked there forever, and whose calls I avoided throughout the entirety of my twenties because I couldn’t afford the bills. I knew I was in somewhat better shape as a person, and as a grown-up, when I wasn’t dodging K.’s calls, and chastising myself for always being so broke!

Dr. J used to share the office with his wife, who was also a dentist. She died when I was younger, the first person I knew to leave and go someplace else.

Where did she go?

As the years went on, other tragedies would befall Dr. J. I never knew what to say. I was just so happy to lie in the reclining dental chair, with Schubert, Chopin, and once, even Stravinsky’s wonderful Petroushka surrounding us as Dr. J went about the otherwise unpleasant business of filling cavities and checking on my teeth.

Eventually, I had my own terrible things to report. Like the cleaning I went to pregnant, only to return six months later, not pregnant. Or the tooth that had to come out. Dr. J insisted on doing it himself, instead of sending me to the surgeon I could not afford. It was a bloody affair. As he gently pulled, we talked about Joni Mitchell’s Blue, or at least he did, while I nodded in agreement—yes, The Last Time I Saw Richard is a weird but wonderful song; A Case of You, beauty incarnate… I watched the snow fall outside the window as Dr. J recited the lines to River, to keep me calm, to keep me brave.

Why do bad things happen to good people?

Later, as the hits kept coming, I’d mark the time by my trips to Dr. J.

For a while there, it felt like I had one bad thing to tell him after another—my son Lou’s two bouts of cancer, then my own. But Dr. J’s office was one of the few places I didn’t feel my cheeks flush. I knew he understood what it meant for a life to go sideways, and the fact that he just kept going, seeing us all, with the classical music and K. hounding us to pay our bills... there was something about that that kept me going, too.

Today, I know the classical music will hit me the minute I step into the office. Maybe K. will be there, or maybe there will be a new receptionist, and I’ll have to reintroduce myself, which is always jarring to the ego and to the heart.

“Alexa Wilding,” I’ll say.

A flicker of light, metallic from this cold December day, will dance across the wall. I’ll wonder if it’s Dr. J’s wife, saying hello from wherever she is—a land of ballet, of music no one listens to anymore, of Manhattan, of taxis, and gray slushy snow. The Starlight Diner, me and M. with our stiff upper lips, our bloody toe shoes.

Kindness, faith, courage, and care. And beauty—so much beauty.

Dr. J will call me back. As the light continues its dance, I’ll take a minute to reflect on all that’s happened since I was last there. Perhaps I’ll marvel that it was a good year, that I’m still here. And that Dr. J, and the snow falling on Gramercy Park, are still here, too.

Photo by Clay LeConey on Unsplash

A MEDITATION

The holidays can be A LOT. Take a moment — a train or taxi ride, a walk to the end of the road — to reflect on how far you’ve come. Think about the major minor characters you count on, and the moments that make up a life. With your hand to your heart, ask yourself: How am I doing?

Feel free to leave an answer in the comments, or whatever else might be on your mind. In these moments of solitude, we can perhaps touch in our interdependence, and the beauty of never, ever being alone.

May all beings be safe, happy, healthy, and FREE…I appreciate you all so much!

xx Alexa