On Being Cherished

 Hello, Beautiful Human.

Perhaps your inbox is like mine today, full of orange, leafy, cursive-laden emails from people I don’t really know, containing expressions of Gratitude.

I don’t know about you, but I’m is giving these subject lines a healthy dose of side eye.  Instead of thinking “oh! How nice! Someone appreciates me!”… I am a little ashamed to admit I’m currently veering towards “Tchyaw. What are they trying to sell me?”

And I mean DANG. What kind of cynic am I all of a sudden? Am I really that jaded? Is it just me?!

(If this isn’t you, congratulations. Please don’t unsubscribe. Just reply with “nope” so I can learn from you)

Anyhoo. As an artist, it’s my job to be curious, so I’ve nattered around with this uncomfortable feeling for a few hours now, and would like to share my thoughts with you, perhaps saving you a little emotional energy.

At the root of this Gratitude Side Eye would seem to be a deep cynicism that my presence in the world actually matters. With so much strife, disaster, uncertainty, volatility, and confusion in the world, is Who I Am even a thing anymore? After all this time of working SO HARD to not only simply survive, but also to be a good human, I’m kinda mad that I’ve been reduced to a name on a mailing list and ubiquitous giving thermometers.

Where did this small feeling come from? It would seem the past (2?) (3?) years have not only numbed my emotions, they’ve eroded my sense of meaning and purpose to the extent that seeing clip art pumpkin pie can make me feel small and slightly stabby.

What I miss is allowing myself to truly feel cherished. I notice I am waving away compliments and expressions of gratitude, side-stepping them as one might a soiled tissue.

 Why?

Because it hurts to care.

If I allow myself to be moved by genuine expressions of gratitude, I’m afraid the dam will burst with all of the other Feelings I have inured myself against. (Great. Now, with all the other Things to fix, I am steeped in binary thought. Sigh.)

But…what if this sardonic little story that’s playing in the background is actually a very sneaky bit of fiction my brain has manufactured to keep me safe from harm?

That’s what I am offering for your consideration, Brave Human.

What would happen if we cracked open the drawbridge a bit and toyed with the “tiny” idea that you are a person of great worth and value, simply by virtue of who you are, lumps and all?

If that were true, how would it change the way you move in the world?

I just want you to know that, on this evening before Thanksgiving (a loaded holiday for those whose ancestors got the short end of the Pilgrim stick), I see you. I also feel the pang of unrequited love, of What Might’ve Been, of the regrets that keep you from burning through the ether as a fully-embodied bit of numinous stardust. I see you, and I cherish you, for all that you are.

You are part of me, and I am grateful for you.

With big love, and dogeared solidarity,

Nicole