This I Believe

In light of what I wrote yesterday, I suppose I wanted to clarify (mostly for myself) that I have not lost faith in things. Despite all the sadness and angst I've been feeling, despite my lack of interest in the world around me, despite the fact that I spent all morning crying about things I can't even define, I still believe in happiness. I still believe in joy. I still believe I deserve them, not because of anything I've done or anything that's happened to me, but simply because I am human. Being alive entitles me to happiness. I still have faith in that.

At a tram stop in Prague I once watched a small boy of about 10 through the window of a cafe. He was eating a sandwich. He had food smeared across his face, his tiny fingers gripping the enormous slices of bread on both sides while all of the contents fell to the countertop beneath him as he attempted to bite into it. His eyes were wide. It was the quintessential European scene. It was the opening to every pretentious black and white french film ever made. I was in love with that moment.

And I remember, even then, the awe I felt in watching his happiness. I remember the way it seemed so new to him, as though it was the first sandwich he had ever eaten, as though it was the first delicious thing to ever touch his lips. I remember the way that simple act seemed to bring him more pleasure than I could recall anything ever bringing me.

Until I realized, of course, that the moment in and of itself brought me that same kind of joy. And so I began, slowly, to return to myself, to begin to notice those little details that make the whole experience of living worthwhile. The scent of an early morning in winter, a child's laugh, the way the soft afternoon light pours so gently through my windows. It all began to make sense again.

I think of those little things now, as I sit here feeling unmotivated and uninspired. I think of them and understand that I am not foolish to hope. Hope for something more, hope for something beautiful, hope for the future of my life. Because as sad as I may feel, I know that it's possible to be happy. As lost as I may feel, I know that feeling lost is the only way to find, to be found. As alone as I may feel, I know that I am not alone, as no one can ever really be alone. As much as I feel disconnected from my family, I know that I still have family in the people I have chosen to love, the people who have so graciously returned the favor.

There's a great line from an essay by Cecile Gilmer from the This I Believe series on NPR that goes "I believe that families are not only blood relatives but sometimes just the people that show up and love you when no one else will." I think fondly of this line as I receive calls and messages from my friends. I know that they're there. I know that they'd be willing to help me in any way that they could if I asked for it. I know I am endlessly blessed for these amazing people.

And somehow, it's still so hard. It's still so difficult for me to call them up and say "I'm sad. I need you." It's still so hard for me to admit that I can't do things on my own.

I had several amazing conversations with the dear friend I stayed with in Prague. I told her things I had bottled up for years, things I had never told anyone because no one had ever bothered to ask, things I had wanted to say so many times. She listened. She heard me. And for the first time, in a long time, I felt somewhat better. And then of course, worse, as is the way with these types of things. Because what I had really secretly hoped was that by saying them, by naming them, by putting them out into the universe, it would all be different. But it wasn't. It only made things seem more real.

And she said "it's funny, because everyone always sees you as happy, wonderful Frankie that we all turn to for help, and no one ever realizes that you need help too." And it wasn't really until that moment that I realized I do, in fact, need help too. So I am trying now, to ask for what I need.

And I know that if I ask, it will be given to me, by all of those wonderful souls I am lucky enough to call family, those beautiful people who show up and love me when no one else will. I have not lost faith in them. I still believe that I am fortunate enough to have their love. I still believe in us.