Today you turn 4. I’m instantly called to the first time I held you in my arms, a feeling rushed with so much joy and such relief, I’ll never get over it. I often joke about the little ways you out yourself on your many lives here before us- cupping your hand over your mouth to smell your own breath, saying “now her voice will be different” when your sister lost her first tooth. Looking over at me at a party and saying “are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I have never been so stunned by a person so completely so all of the time. When you were 2 months old I played Chopin in our newborn haze, your lip was downturned quivering and your eyes filled with tears. A genius, I thought. But what I have learned in these last 4 years is that you are holding a wisdom that most of us are just beginning to touch. A memory, I know. Your laugh takes up your whole body and your whole body moves like it’s 10x heavier than it actually is. You remind me of my mother, and my mother of me; a healing conduit of time travel for us both. You don’t like it when it’s loud and often “feel shy of people”. You always want to go home and always want to sleep in. You are always hungry for something yummy and you always want to snuggle. This summer we went to a water park and on the lazy river holding me tightly as the warm water carried us gently, round and round- you looked at me and we spoke telepathically as we often do. You said “do you remember?” I said “yes of course I do.” You said “let’s stay forever” I said “baby this is what remembering is for” I have spent a lot of time watching you be wary of the world, building a hard shell for your delicate center but these last few weeks I have seen you crack open. An entirely new version of the joy/relief for me to unpack. When we got out of the lazy river I wrapped you up in a towel and held you in my arms (the best way to get a glimpse of your newborn baby while they are in toddler form) and I swear on your life and all things holy in this world- you looked up at me and said “E.T. phone home.” Well, my little extra terrestrial, this big scary world has called on you again and I think you must be here to change it. I love you infinitely.
Today you turn 4. I’m instantly called to the first time I held you in my arms, a feeling rushed with so much joy and such relief, I’ll never get over it. I often joke about the little ways you out yourself on your many lives here before us- cupping your hand over your mouth to smell your own breath, saying “now her voice will be different” when your sister lost her first tooth. Looking over at me at a party and saying “are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I have never been so stunned by a person so completely so all of the time. When you were 2 months old I played Chopin in our newborn haze, your lip was downturned quivering and your eyes filled with tears. A genius, I thought. But what I have learned in these last 4 years is that you are holding a wisdom that most of us are just beginning to touch. A memory, I know. Your laugh takes up your whole body and your whole body moves like it’s 10x heavier than it actually is. You remind me of my mother, and my mother of me; a healing conduit of time travel for us both. You don’t like it when it’s loud and often “feel shy of people”. You always want to go home and always want to sleep in. You are always hungry for something yummy and you always want to snuggle. This summer we went to a water park and on the lazy river holding me tightly as the warm water carried us gently, round and round- you looked at me and we spoke telepathically as we often do. You said “do you remember?” I said “yes of course I do.” You said “let’s stay forever” I said “baby this is what remembering is for” I have spent a lot of time watching you be wary of the world, building a hard shell for your delicate center but these last few weeks I have seen you crack open. An entirely new version of the joy/relief for me to unpack. When we got out of the lazy river I wrapped you up in a towel and held you in my arms (the best way to get a glimpse of your newborn baby while they are in toddler form) and I swear on your life and all things holy in this world- you looked up at me and said “E.T. phone home.” Well, my little extra terrestrial, this big scary world has called on you again and I think you must be here to change it. I love you infinitely.
Today you turn 4. I’m instantly called to the first time I held you in my arms, a feeling rushed with so much joy and such relief, I’ll never get over it. I often joke about the little ways you out yourself on your many lives here before us- cupping your hand over your mouth to smell your own breath, saying “now her voice will be different” when your sister lost her first tooth. Looking over at me at a party and saying “are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I have never been so stunned by a person so completely so all of the time. When you were 2 months old I played Chopin in our newborn haze, your lip was downturned quivering and your eyes filled with tears. A genius, I thought. But what I have learned in these last 4 years is that you are holding a wisdom that most of us are just beginning to touch. A memory, I know. Your laugh takes up your whole body and your whole body moves like it’s 10x heavier than it actually is. You remind me of my mother, and my mother of me; a healing conduit of time travel for us both. You don’t like it when it’s loud and often “feel shy of people”. You always want to go home and always want to sleep in. You are always hungry for something yummy and you always want to snuggle. This summer we went to a water park and on the lazy river holding me tightly as the warm water carried us gently, round and round- you looked at me and we spoke telepathically as we often do. You said “do you remember?” I said “yes of course I do.” You said “let’s stay forever” I said “baby this is what remembering is for” I have spent a lot of time watching you be wary of the world, building a hard shell for your delicate center but these last few weeks I have seen you crack open. An entirely new version of the joy/relief for me to unpack. When we got out of the lazy river I wrapped you up in a towel and held you in my arms (the best way to get a glimpse of your newborn baby while they are in toddler form) and I swear on your life and all things holy in this world- you looked up at me and said “E.T. phone home.” Well, my little extra terrestrial, this big scary world has called on you again and I think you must be here to change it. I love you infinitely.
I’ve gotten a beautiful gift the last couple years- women I love becoming mothers. Watching their shoulders drop, their face change and their breathe soften. I have been waiting for them. Waiting for them to join me in this gentle, achey lovingness. To nod my head when they say “what was I even doing before this?” Mothering remains as joyful and as painful as it always has. Spending my most poignant moments staring at them in the rearview mirror. The risk of missing the turn eclipsed by the risk of missing the way their eyes change on the way to school and on the way home. Watching them stare out the window, their thoughts and dreams that I wish to peer inside of, whispering lyrics to Avril Lavigne songs. My life a merry go round of “how was your day?” Seeing my baby tuck away her pacifier before preschool, my toothless child begging to transition out of her car seat- all while wishing for my own safety harness to grow into. A kaleidoscope of the way things change- no longer jolted awake by a crying baby at 3 am, but the gentle shake of a 6 year old with big worries. Her little body curled up against mine, just like how it all started. A new kind of bad sleep softened by the breathing in of her exhaled dreams. I have learned that the feelings and the bodies do not grow to scale, the feelings will always outmatch us. My container for them will splinter but we are not made of glass. As mothers we can hold their feelings, we can also connect to them, even when it hurts. Even when your child looks you dead in the face and says they’d be happier somewhere else. “Tell me about that happiness” I’ll never forget the way her face changed, and how in that moment my life did too. Mothering is a practice of witnessing all the changes, in our faces and eyes and in our hearts. The permission to design a life of their wildest dreams, their happiness on their own terms. May that happiness be a place I can visit, maybe even one day to find their face changed asking me “what was I even doing before this?” So much. So much.
I’ve gotten a beautiful gift the last couple years- women I love becoming mothers. Watching their shoulders drop, their face change and their breathe soften. I have been waiting for them. Waiting for them to join me in this gentle, achey lovingness. To nod my head when they say “what was I even doing before this?” Mothering remains as joyful and as painful as it always has. Spending my most poignant moments staring at them in the rearview mirror. The risk of missing the turn eclipsed by the risk of missing the way their eyes change on the way to school and on the way home. Watching them stare out the window, their thoughts and dreams that I wish to peer inside of, whispering lyrics to Avril Lavigne songs. My life a merry go round of “how was your day?” Seeing my baby tuck away her pacifier before preschool, my toothless child begging to transition out of her car seat- all while wishing for my own safety harness to grow into. A kaleidoscope of the way things change- no longer jolted awake by a crying baby at 3 am, but the gentle shake of a 6 year old with big worries. Her little body curled up against mine, just like how it all started. A new kind of bad sleep softened by the breathing in of her exhaled dreams. I have learned that the feelings and the bodies do not grow to scale, the feelings will always outmatch us. My container for them will splinter but we are not made of glass. As mothers we can hold their feelings, we can also connect to them, even when it hurts. Even when your child looks you dead in the face and says they’d be happier somewhere else. “Tell me about that happiness” I’ll never forget the way her face changed, and how in that moment my life did too. Mothering is a practice of witnessing all the changes, in our faces and eyes and in our hearts. The permission to design a life of their wildest dreams, their happiness on their own terms. May that happiness be a place I can visit, maybe even one day to find their face changed asking me “what was I even doing before this?” So much. So much.
I’ve gotten a beautiful gift the last couple years- women I love becoming mothers. Watching their shoulders drop, their face change and their breathe soften. I have been waiting for them. Waiting for them to join me in this gentle, achey lovingness. To nod my head when they say “what was I even doing before this?” Mothering remains as joyful and as painful as it always has. Spending my most poignant moments staring at them in the rearview mirror. The risk of missing the turn eclipsed by the risk of missing the way their eyes change on the way to school and on the way home. Watching them stare out the window, their thoughts and dreams that I wish to peer inside of, whispering lyrics to Avril Lavigne songs. My life a merry go round of “how was your day?” Seeing my baby tuck away her pacifier before preschool, my toothless child begging to transition out of her car seat- all while wishing for my own safety harness to grow into. A kaleidoscope of the way things change- no longer jolted awake by a crying baby at 3 am, but the gentle shake of a 6 year old with big worries. Her little body curled up against mine, just like how it all started. A new kind of bad sleep softened by the breathing in of her exhaled dreams. I have learned that the feelings and the bodies do not grow to scale, the feelings will always outmatch us. My container for them will splinter but we are not made of glass. As mothers we can hold their feelings, we can also connect to them, even when it hurts. Even when your child looks you dead in the face and says they’d be happier somewhere else. “Tell me about that happiness” I’ll never forget the way her face changed, and how in that moment my life did too. Mothering is a practice of witnessing all the changes, in our faces and eyes and in our hearts. The permission to design a life of their wildest dreams, their happiness on their own terms. May that happiness be a place I can visit, maybe even one day to find their face changed asking me “what was I even doing before this?” So much. So much.
I’ve gotten a beautiful gift the last couple years- women I love becoming mothers. Watching their shoulders drop, their face change and their breathe soften. I have been waiting for them. Waiting for them to join me in this gentle, achey lovingness. To nod my head when they say “what was I even doing before this?” Mothering remains as joyful and as painful as it always has. Spending my most poignant moments staring at them in the rearview mirror. The risk of missing the turn eclipsed by the risk of missing the way their eyes change on the way to school and on the way home. Watching them stare out the window, their thoughts and dreams that I wish to peer inside of, whispering lyrics to Avril Lavigne songs. My life a merry go round of “how was your day?” Seeing my baby tuck away her pacifier before preschool, my toothless child begging to transition out of her car seat- all while wishing for my own safety harness to grow into. A kaleidoscope of the way things change- no longer jolted awake by a crying baby at 3 am, but the gentle shake of a 6 year old with big worries. Her little body curled up against mine, just like how it all started. A new kind of bad sleep softened by the breathing in of her exhaled dreams. I have learned that the feelings and the bodies do not grow to scale, the feelings will always outmatch us. My container for them will splinter but we are not made of glass. As mothers we can hold their feelings, we can also connect to them, even when it hurts. Even when your child looks you dead in the face and says they’d be happier somewhere else. “Tell me about that happiness” I’ll never forget the way her face changed, and how in that moment my life did too. Mothering is a practice of witnessing all the changes, in our faces and eyes and in our hearts. The permission to design a life of their wildest dreams, their happiness on their own terms. May that happiness be a place I can visit, maybe even one day to find their face changed asking me “what was I even doing before this?” So much. So much.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Happy birthday to the oldest man who has ever lived. I am certain your soul is as surprised to find you in a young and strong body everyday as I am. Lucky for me and the world, you’re here for another go around. I have these very clear images of you constantly floating in my brain, things I’m sure will flash before my eyes in the end but they never go away. Almost as if my brain is saying “I know we left them there but it’ll still be a surprise when you see the way we put them together at the end.” Something about remembering and forgetting and how those two can become the same thing if you don’t look closely enough, or if you don’t stop to listen. When you are about to cry, your lip shakes and I automatically/involuntarily start to cry too. It reminds me of being a child, when I saw my mother cry, when my antennae’s were pulled to frequencies no one else was feeling. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to stop that sort of bleeding, only to find it wasn’t blood at all: it was just love. A hard wire to feel and see the world for what it was, to know pain and joy and feel it as my own. To feel life pass through me like a tidal wave. I never met anyone like me until I met you. How gentle and precious to be understood. How earth shattering and life affirming to stand next to someone and know they are feeling the same thing. I really love it when you are loud and moving. When you are dancing and silly. When you see things I can’t. But I especially love when you are still. When I see you and think “like a duck in the water.” I love to know who you are and to be close to it. Thank you for letting me big and small and messy and anxious, and loving and true. It has saved my life. Thank you for showing me things I don’t want to live without- like Jersey mikes, The Cheesecake Factory, and luka doncic and for showing me things I can’t- like being read to, being held and being seen. You are other worldly and so important, leaving an indelible mark on everything you touch. Steering your antennas towards grace and healing and the secret things we all have always known. You are my ghost. I love you.
Hal & Harper made its first step out into the world at Sundance and I could just cry about it forever. I cried almost entirely through our screening because we just really worked so hard to get this thing done and in front of people. This show is meant to be seen by so many people and for the first time it was and it had exactly the moving, powerful, hopeful impact I’ve always known it would. Falling in love with the script, its creator and every person who helped bring the show to life has brought me so much joy, transformation and healing and I’m just so grateful. So grateful for cooper’s brain for having all the deepest most knowing most truly important things tucked inside and for getting them out on the page. So grateful for the feeling I had reading it for the first time and for the true honor to witness it. I’ve never seen actors show up and go so hard like these guys did and I have never seen someone pour so much of their heart, soul, and body and be so unrelenting in the perfecting of every frame as Cooper has here. The show captures something so intangible and so desperately needed by us all, not just the pain of life and letting go but the inexplicable pain we forgot we remembered. It lets all of us go back in time and see our little selves and whisper to them sweetly everything’s gonna be okay ❤️
Hal & Harper made its first step out into the world at Sundance and I could just cry about it forever. I cried almost entirely through our screening because we just really worked so hard to get this thing done and in front of people. This show is meant to be seen by so many people and for the first time it was and it had exactly the moving, powerful, hopeful impact I’ve always known it would. Falling in love with the script, its creator and every person who helped bring the show to life has brought me so much joy, transformation and healing and I’m just so grateful. So grateful for cooper’s brain for having all the deepest most knowing most truly important things tucked inside and for getting them out on the page. So grateful for the feeling I had reading it for the first time and for the true honor to witness it. I’ve never seen actors show up and go so hard like these guys did and I have never seen someone pour so much of their heart, soul, and body and be so unrelenting in the perfecting of every frame as Cooper has here. The show captures something so intangible and so desperately needed by us all, not just the pain of life and letting go but the inexplicable pain we forgot we remembered. It lets all of us go back in time and see our little selves and whisper to them sweetly everything’s gonna be okay ❤️
Hal & Harper made its first step out into the world at Sundance and I could just cry about it forever. I cried almost entirely through our screening because we just really worked so hard to get this thing done and in front of people. This show is meant to be seen by so many people and for the first time it was and it had exactly the moving, powerful, hopeful impact I’ve always known it would. Falling in love with the script, its creator and every person who helped bring the show to life has brought me so much joy, transformation and healing and I’m just so grateful. So grateful for cooper’s brain for having all the deepest most knowing most truly important things tucked inside and for getting them out on the page. So grateful for the feeling I had reading it for the first time and for the true honor to witness it. I’ve never seen actors show up and go so hard like these guys did and I have never seen someone pour so much of their heart, soul, and body and be so unrelenting in the perfecting of every frame as Cooper has here. The show captures something so intangible and so desperately needed by us all, not just the pain of life and letting go but the inexplicable pain we forgot we remembered. It lets all of us go back in time and see our little selves and whisper to them sweetly everything’s gonna be okay ❤️
Hal & Harper made its first step out into the world at Sundance and I could just cry about it forever. I cried almost entirely through our screening because we just really worked so hard to get this thing done and in front of people. This show is meant to be seen by so many people and for the first time it was and it had exactly the moving, powerful, hopeful impact I’ve always known it would. Falling in love with the script, its creator and every person who helped bring the show to life has brought me so much joy, transformation and healing and I’m just so grateful. So grateful for cooper’s brain for having all the deepest most knowing most truly important things tucked inside and for getting them out on the page. So grateful for the feeling I had reading it for the first time and for the true honor to witness it. I’ve never seen actors show up and go so hard like these guys did and I have never seen someone pour so much of their heart, soul, and body and be so unrelenting in the perfecting of every frame as Cooper has here. The show captures something so intangible and so desperately needed by us all, not just the pain of life and letting go but the inexplicable pain we forgot we remembered. It lets all of us go back in time and see our little selves and whisper to them sweetly everything’s gonna be okay ❤️
Hal & Harper made its first step out into the world at Sundance and I could just cry about it forever. I cried almost entirely through our screening because we just really worked so hard to get this thing done and in front of people. This show is meant to be seen by so many people and for the first time it was and it had exactly the moving, powerful, hopeful impact I’ve always known it would. Falling in love with the script, its creator and every person who helped bring the show to life has brought me so much joy, transformation and healing and I’m just so grateful. So grateful for cooper’s brain for having all the deepest most knowing most truly important things tucked inside and for getting them out on the page. So grateful for the feeling I had reading it for the first time and for the true honor to witness it. I’ve never seen actors show up and go so hard like these guys did and I have never seen someone pour so much of their heart, soul, and body and be so unrelenting in the perfecting of every frame as Cooper has here. The show captures something so intangible and so desperately needed by us all, not just the pain of life and letting go but the inexplicable pain we forgot we remembered. It lets all of us go back in time and see our little selves and whisper to them sweetly everything’s gonna be okay ❤️
Hal & Harper made its first step out into the world at Sundance and I could just cry about it forever. I cried almost entirely through our screening because we just really worked so hard to get this thing done and in front of people. This show is meant to be seen by so many people and for the first time it was and it had exactly the moving, powerful, hopeful impact I’ve always known it would. Falling in love with the script, its creator and every person who helped bring the show to life has brought me so much joy, transformation and healing and I’m just so grateful. So grateful for cooper’s brain for having all the deepest most knowing most truly important things tucked inside and for getting them out on the page. So grateful for the feeling I had reading it for the first time and for the true honor to witness it. I’ve never seen actors show up and go so hard like these guys did and I have never seen someone pour so much of their heart, soul, and body and be so unrelenting in the perfecting of every frame as Cooper has here. The show captures something so intangible and so desperately needed by us all, not just the pain of life and letting go but the inexplicable pain we forgot we remembered. It lets all of us go back in time and see our little selves and whisper to them sweetly everything’s gonna be okay ❤️
Hal & Harper made its first step out into the world at Sundance and I could just cry about it forever. I cried almost entirely through our screening because we just really worked so hard to get this thing done and in front of people. This show is meant to be seen by so many people and for the first time it was and it had exactly the moving, powerful, hopeful impact I’ve always known it would. Falling in love with the script, its creator and every person who helped bring the show to life has brought me so much joy, transformation and healing and I’m just so grateful. So grateful for cooper’s brain for having all the deepest most knowing most truly important things tucked inside and for getting them out on the page. So grateful for the feeling I had reading it for the first time and for the true honor to witness it. I’ve never seen actors show up and go so hard like these guys did and I have never seen someone pour so much of their heart, soul, and body and be so unrelenting in the perfecting of every frame as Cooper has here. The show captures something so intangible and so desperately needed by us all, not just the pain of life and letting go but the inexplicable pain we forgot we remembered. It lets all of us go back in time and see our little selves and whisper to them sweetly everything’s gonna be okay ❤️
