She sent a card. I got a time machine.
Isn't friendship grand?
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Y’all know how I feel about art 🥹.
gifted me one of her prints, You Do Not Have to Be Good, and I feel like I’m looking into a mirror. A candle, plants, tea, and a book of poetry? Yes, please. I can’t wait to stick this thing to the wall!
The biggest threat to my workspace is a stiff breeze.
The very place I wrote these words becomes completely undone by the might of an open window. It’s a cruel thing, really. Considering we’re in the midst of open-window-season or as it’s known, spring. After a snarling winter, I savor air that no longer bites at the skin. At the cost of mild vigilance, fresh air is mine.
From my desk I keep an eye on treetops to see if they mimic straphangers as a subway car comes to a stop. Rain clouds are the true canary in a coal mine. They bring about those upward spirals of wind that gather pollen and leaves because nature, ever the steward, knows to sweep the floor before mopping it clean.
If the front door is opened even briefly a cross breeze churns through the living room leaving my writing desk in a wake of collateral damage. Pictures get blown over, Post-its take flight, the dried flowers threaded carefully through a wicker mirror turn to potpourri as they hit the floor. The handiness taken to arrange the beautiful things around me becomes undone in the time it takes for a current to slip through the sliding window.
My friend Lex sent me a card the other day. It’s been nearly a year since we saw each other so the pink envelope landed in my mailbox carrying the comfort of her thoughtfulness.
Her pen bumped over the dimpled card stock and expressed all the things you say to a friend when it's been ages since your last link. That was to be expected. What I didn’t see coming? A gift card to feed my writing habit. A real-life buy me a coffee - got to love an overachiever. Her words now sit just above eye level on the metal ledge of my whiteboard where its foil design catches the evening light. It joins a collection of other handmade items like a painted wedding gift and glass blown cups in the corner of the room. A shrine of sorts to craftsmanship.
Hands ground us in the tangible—they are our connection to the real, the present, the here and now. They punctuate laughter with a playful nudge, and steady us with a gentle squeeze in times of need. They offer a kind of presence that words often can’t. They’re the tips of our existence, tools of expression and extension. With them, we grasp and shape daily creations and the future. The handcrafted takes deliberate, irreplaceable time. And in this finite life, time, therefore, becomes our most valuable offering. Creating something by hand is more than producing an object; it’s an act of devotion. It says: I made this, with time I’ll never get back—time I chose to spend on you.
That’s why written mementos carry a different kind of weight. Unlike photographs, which capture us together in a shared space, letters and cards exist because of separation. They are not reminders of presence, but responses to absence. They’re measures to fill the gap of longing. As such, handwriting is inherently romantic.
Her writing offers a portrait of our friendship. It carries her voice and is traced with the same playfulness she had when she'd come back from class to find me lounging with my feet up in her room. In the curve of the heart she signed next to her name, I see the same soft roundness as the clouds that hovered over us on our trip to the Sequoia Forest. A quick stop before hopping on a plane to visit a friend in Los Angeles. And when the wind inevitably blows through the open window by my desk, our time together will once again take flight sailing through the air.
In an age where texts and digital wallets serve the same purpose, she took the time to write a note and purchase a physical gift card. Distance won’t justify absence when someone is committed to showing up. And her care is met with the reciprocal. When the wind blows I don’t mind taking time to prop her card back up when it falls. I’m happy to dust it off and put it back in place. It’s what I’d do for her in real life. It’s what I’d want done for me if I lost my footing. It’s what friendship is for.
If this found you at the right moment, maybe it’s meant for someone else too. I invite you to like, share, or comment on this post to help carry it further. You can also upgrade your subscription, buy me a coffee, or purchase a book for my library to support me in exploring the beauty of becoming.
TODAY’S TIDBIT
My interest in writing has always been to pay attention to life around me.
It takes artistry, skill, and study to get better at any craft and one way I practice is by studying the greats. James Baldwin’s interview with the Paris Review speaks to the art of simplicity. It’s also where he delivers the iconic line, “You want to write a sentence as clean as a bone. That is the goal.”
COMMUNITY CORNER
📋 Got a goal? show up. Show Up. SHOW UP! Inspiration is Overrated. Discipline Pays Dividends and Pursuit is Sexy.
delivers a brief on deliberate practice.🌱
is speaking my nature-filled language with You Are A Seed. The line that made me sit in silence for a bit? “The garden has never desired to tame its wildness. I wonder if you could gift yourself that freedom too?”🥊 Dating isn’t always A damn good time, in fact, sometimes the road to a second date is paved with downright humiliation.
, dude deserves a punch straight in the solar plexus.LET ME KNOW
What tokens of love do you keep around? Do you carry any on you physically?
In which ways does your home reflect your relationships?
Are you a fan of art? What’s your favorite type to consume? (literary, musical, visual, performance, etc.)
Has any quote about writing changed your approach to the craft?
Rachel, while I was reading this article, it truly felt like a spring breeze, cool and fresh.
I loved it.
Grateful to be included in such a tender and romantic ode to friendship, as it’s been a theme of my life this weekend too. Thank you, Rachel!