Counting Blessings
In our house, we keep time capsules. It’s our way of dealing with life’s most excruciating moments. So, whenever things get really bad and unbearable, we sit down and right about three things: 1) what we’re unhappy about now, 2) what we’re grateful for in spite of the bad stuff and 3) what we hope for in the next twelve months. Then we seal the envelope and write on the outside in big cautionary letters, “Not to be opened before [the date 12 months hence].”
We’ve been writing time capsules since December of 2004, a cold winter when we felt desperate: I had just moved to New York. I was achingly lonely, afraid of my boss, so terrified of screwing up at work that it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I missed my friends from college, I had $40 a week to spend on things other than groceries, and my boyfriend lived far away in New Jersey, his car having just sputtered to its final death, steam pouring out of its hood on a dark country road.
That first time capsule always makes us laugh when we read it now. The center of our disappointed world was that broken-down Bronco. But Sebastian would soon move 10 blocks south of me in Brooklyn, and I would grow to deeply admire my boss and even make a friend or two. I sound so very young and unsure of myself, and reading it makes me grateful for the aging process, despite these new fine lines I’ve noticed at the corner of my eyes. The time capsule is like a snapshot of exactly where you are in a moment in time, like those treasured old photographs of your parents, picnicking by a river and still so in love.
We recently split the seal on a time capsule from this time last year, and the picture was grim: I didn’t know where my next paycheck was coming from, I sounded untethered and uninspired. What struck me most of all was the sad, mournful timbre to the time capsule: I sounded lonely.
I got an email from a new-ish friend a few weeks ago. For the past year we’ve been getting to know each other over oysters and Monday morning emails. She was counting her blessings, she said, and thanking me for my part in hers. I’m embarrassed to say that her thank you reminded me of just how many people have played a part in my being in a much happier, hopeful place this year. I’ve got a lot of thanking to do.
What I needed in 2004 and this time last year was a community. I needed a circle of women to talk my head off with, who would help me see things from a different perspective, introduce me to new writers and new ideas, friends who would listen to my tales of woe and then make me laugh about them. But these things take time to develop, especially if you’ve got sky-high expectations for what community and friendship should feel like. Six years after moving to New York and starting my grown-up life, that community is clicking into place in a way that makes me feel so different about my life.
We forget to tell our friends how much they mean to us. It feels cheesy and florid and overwrought. So we wait until we’ve had too much to drink or someone’s getting married to let it all pour out in an urgent outpouring. The people in my life don’t need scented soaps and gift certificates: they need to be thanked. You’re first.
I love this space, not because I hold forth and blab about cookies and cocktails, but because of the community here. It’s like––to speak in television terms––the Peach Pit or the Double R Diner. I always know someone’s going to be sitting at the counter, ready to bust out with something pithy, wise, or funny. It’s really the best, and something I thank my lucky stars for.
Here’s wishing you all a relaxed, love-and-eggnog-filled holiday, with lots of pajamas, good food, winter walks, and so much laughing your belly aches.
And thank you.
Amy C: Friends are the absolute best. I am stuck at my in-laws with the flu, and my MIL is blaming me for “ruining Christmas” because I am sick. So she is making me stay in my bedroom, and I have to open presents and eat all alone in here, because no one wants to get sick
My best friend just called and told me that when I get back, she is throwing Christmas 2.0 just for me…christmas movies, roasted turkey, etc. It made me feel so much better in every way.1 year ago
Martie: What a beautiful post. Personally, I enoy your “blabbing” about cookies and such.
However, we all need to be reminded to thank our friends for being an important part of our lives. Thank YOU for you post! Happy, safe, & friend filled holidays to you!1 year ago
Amy, Um…what?!?! That is the craziest most insane thing I’ve ever heard! Sounds like you need a voodoo doll up there! I’m so glad you have 2.0 to look forward to (what a great friend!) and in the meantime, I hope you’ve got lots of tea and movies up in your quarantined bedroom!
Ha! Thanks, Martie! Happy holidays!1 year ago
Suzy: Martie took the words right out of my mouth: Thank YOU! PoP is always a comforting place to come, and you are such a kindred spirit (initially I wrote “sprite”) I can’t help but feel we’d be friends in real life. Best wishes to you. (And I’m hoping Amy’s MIL takes a chill pill in 2011–or hey, it’s not too late for 2010. Let’s hope her son doesn’t take after her!)1 year ago
Patricia: Thank you so much for your beautiful writing, recipes, photographs and more. Happy Holidays , enjoy and onward to 2011
Cheers
Patricia1 year ago
Cadi: Sarah, thank you for being a bright spot in nearly every one of my days with your amazing insight, cookies and cocktails. I can’t wait to come here every day and see what you have in store for me.
Best wishes to you for the Christmas season!
Oh, and @Amy: I’d get out of bed and stomp down to the tree and enjoy yourself – that’s an awfully mean MIL you have there. And you can tell her that we ALL think so!
1 year ago
caitcat: Thank you for this blog!!! It always inspires me. Merry Christmas!1 year ago
Kanesha: Merry Christmas, Sarah!
Thanks for using the keyboard to share the love, joy and reflections!
And Amy C. – your MIL needs to take my “MIL bootcamp”! She’s not being close to festive. Here’s to 2.0!1 year ago
ruth@gracelaced: I think you always handle life’s questions and times of insecurity with such humility and loveliness, demonstrating how to live daily life with grace, even if you don’t always feel like it. I’ve been reading your blog as long as I’ve been blogging myself, and you consistently inspire me with your wit, warmth, and willingness to call it like it is. Thanks YOU for a piece of smart, real, and sophisticated little corner of the blogosphere. I’m thankful to be in your circle.1 year ago
Alison: Sarah, you are a light of love in the world. I’m sure I speak for many people when I say we are thankful that you are in our lives.1 year ago
Karen: Sarah, thank you for this beautiful blog. Merry Christmas!1 year ago
Eva: The Peach Pit? you’re so funny, and THANK-YOU, Sarah of
PoP, i’ve been feeling better after reading your articles since you first began.1 year ago
Christine S.: Thank YOU, Sarah, for all the inspiration and loveliness you provide for us!
@Amy: march out of that room and cough on her!1 year ago
geek+nerd: Aww – love to you too, Sarah!1 year ago
Ana @ Confessions of a Designer: Hi Sarah!! Just stopped by to wish you a Merry Christmas and a joyful New Year. Reading your post today, I’m reminded of a Scripture, “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18). I wish you the best of God’s bounty and many blessings for your family and Pop in the upcoming year. Cheers!1 year ago
Sarah J: <31 year ago
Lisa (dinner party): Happy almost new year. I just wanted to echo everyone’s thanks for this lovely post and all of the other ones before it. xo, Lisa1 year ago
Traci: Happy New Year, Sarah! I just wanted to tell you that Pop is such a bright spot in my life. I’ve found all sorts of goodies here. The recipe for squash soup you posted last year (earlier this year?) is still one of my favorite meals ever. And while I know you’re hurting when you write your pick-myself-up-by-the-bootstrap posts, I hope you find comfort in knowing that they really (really, really, really) help those of us out here who are hurting in the same way (or, at least that’s the way it seems). Wishing you a fizzy, sparkly, can’t-believe-it’s-real 2011!1 year ago
Katie @ cakes, tea and dreams: Thank you, Sarah, for making this a cozy, fun, honest place for us all to come. I’m always excited to see what’s happening over here. Wishing you the most wonderful of New Years! (And Amy – I hope you’re feeling better, and that your MIL realized how mean she was being!)1 year ago
El: Time capsule… brilliant!1 year ago
Evon T.: Ummm… I know this will make me sound really dense, but what exactly is “2.0″? LOL!!!
Also… Sarah, you’ve inspired me to keep time capsules. I’ll write my first today! It’s almost like a journal, without the pressure of needing to write something super-engaging so that someday your teenaged grandkids can talk about how cool their grandmother was. It’s a more simplistic summizing of one’s life, but with major impact. I just love this idea. Aw man, it makes a lump grow in my throat and I’m feeling a bit emotional about the concept. It’s wonderful.1 year ago
So many kind and lovely wonderful comments here, but I’ll leave it at this:
Evon, “2.0″ is the second version of something, usually with improvements. So here’s to all our 2.0s or 3.0s or whatever in 2011!1 year ago
Charlotte: Wow, what a great post! I love your timecapsule idea – I hope you keep notes of all the happy times to look back on too!
Blue Skies
Charlotte xo1 year ago