Rising Thoughts #5: Ready or Not, Chapter Thirty-Seven
Join me while I unravel this weird, beautiful year. š
It is a couple of days before my 37th trip around the sun and my husband asks me, āWhat do you want to do for your birthday?ā We are doing our daily morning dance around the kitchen while he feeds our dog and I make us oatmeal and me some desperately needed coffee. I pause, look out the window, and realize that I am confused becauseā¦my birthday? When is my birthday? Oh yea. Itās on Wednesday, and we just went out to dinner on Saturday to celebrate my BIL and me with some yummy pasta. Yet, I am disoriented for a moment and confused about how he could be talking about me. š¤Æ
As I come out of my fog I say what I say most years. āI just want a chill day and an evening with no responsibilities, so some take out would be great.ā
And we move on. I finish making the oatmeal. He goes upstairs to his nine oāclock meeting. Still, hours later I cannot shake that feeling of disorientation. Itās sitting with me in an uncomfortable way, so Iāve sat down to write about the past year to see if I can dig up why. š¤
What This Year Held
This past year I experienced growth in unexpected places. Something a friend said to me encouraging me to return to writing and reading finally struck a chord with me, and I started Shelf-Rising. I remember the giant creative burst that followed once I fully leaned into the idea of creating a welcoming space filled with books, bakes, and resistance that shows up in caring about people and paying attention to the world. Now here I am about six months later, writing my thirteenth newsletter (Or is it a post? I still donāt know.), with 15 people out in the world who choose to read my thoughts, which still blows me away, and I even sold six books through my little secondhand bookstore on PangoBooks. These may be tiny steps, but for me they are mini signs that Iāve chosen to do something that aligns with who I am. āØ
My professional growth was also unexpected as I was promoted at work and having only been at the organization for a little over a year, I was incredibly grateful. If Iām being honest, it also caught be off guard by how emotional I was about folks recognizing that I was capable of more. For the majority of my career I have been given tasks beyond my role because I would get it done, but the buck stopped there. This promotion felt like the first time the doing and the recognition were starting to align.
This year was also the year that my husband and I celebrated our 1-year wedding anniversary. Weāve been together for a long time, almost nine years, and have known each other even longer, but there has been a mentality shift as to how we approach and talk about our goals and the things we want for our family. Itās been a journey of laughter, tears, and emotional growth together. None of which I would trade and all of which Iām immensely grateful for.
Iāve been relearning how to be a friend this year. Itās been a trend the past few years that my friends are moving out of the area, myself included, and are no longer a short subway ride away. That trend has of course continued and I find myself muddling around in the dark trying to figure out what long distance friendships look like, how I need to show-up, and how I need people to show-up for me. I still donāt think Iāve got it right and if Iām being honest I think I get it wrong most of the time, but Iām trying. What has helped is remembering the friends who do reach across the distance. The ones who check in just because. The ones who send voice notes or pictures of their day, or who collect Instagram posts to show me when we finally see each other because I am the weirdo friend without it, and who always manage to make me laugh. The ones who remind me that friendship can stretch and bend without breaking. Itās also been a year where a childhood friendship seems to officially have hit the point of permanent drift. There was no falling out, but its become clear that we are too different and have grown in too different of directions to continue to sustain our connection simply in the name of our past selves. This whole section of my life has likely been the most challenging and one that brings me to tears more often than others. But even in that sadness there has been a comfort in realizing that not all changes are failures. Most are evolutions toward who Iām becoming.
My family continues to be my anchor. Almost fourteen years in and being an aunt is still my favorite identity. From basketball games, to our Halloween movie night, to him calling me when he is fighting with his mom, it is all still my favorite part of life. As my sister and I get older we are also building our own relationship and our own traditions. We started an annual sister trip a few years ago and were able to go on another one this year, and it remains one of the biggest highlights of my year. And when life got hard this fall with the passing of my uncle, it was my cousins, aunts, and extended family who showed up and reminded me that we are not alone in this big ole world after all.
I re-learned this year that holding moments for creativity is care. And it has shown up in unique ways for me. I hosted a party this fall to bring my husbandās and my friends together and I forgot how much fun I have creating an atmosphere and putting intention into food and decorations. It felt good to lean back into my event-planning side and to remember the joy that comes when the planning is deeply personal. I carved out space to get my hands in the dirt too, and it has been such a joy to learn that I can grow things. Painting rocks with my best friend for the new garden bed and decorating pumpkins with my nephew were tiny reminders throughout the year of how much creativity lives in ordinary moments.
Sometime during all of that creating, I realized how much I enjoy caring for people in simple ways. Whether it is giving seedlings to friends, bringing vegetables to my in-laws, or keeping my sister and nephew stocked with my frozen chocolate chip cookie dough, I find myself returning to small gestures. They are quiet and as a result they feel truer to who I am. š
What Stirred Me
The book that made the biggest impact on me this year: EfrƩn Divided by Ernesto Cisneros
This summer I read Ernesto Cisnerosā Falling Short while searching for books my nephew might enjoy, and I loved it so much that I picked up EfrĆ©n Divided next. The story follows a middle schooler whose AmĆ” is suddenly deported, leaving him to care for his younger siblings while his ApĆ” works nonstop, and it broke something open in me. Cisneros writes boys with such tenderness, letting them feel deeply, lean on each other, and grow in ways that feel honest. What stayed with me most was how quickly EfrĆ©n is forced into adulthood while his country debates whether his family deserves safety at all. At one point his friend Jennifer points out that people in this country worry more about cage-free chickens than undocumented children, and I still think about that. This book reminded me why stories like this matter and why adults should read outside their categories. They stretch our compassion and help us understand the world a little better.
Favorite Quote: āJennifer propped herself forward. āItās a poem, so I guess it can mean a lot of things. But to me, itās about bad things happening to people and not doing anything about it. Itās why Iām running for ASB President. I know Iām just a kid and canāt control whatās happening in the world, but I can have a say in what happens here at schoolā¦if you guys give me a chance.ā
This moment captures what the whole book is asking of us: pay attention and do something, however small. Jennifer refuses the idea that kids have no power, and honestly it made me think about how often adults forget that same truth. Being action oriented does not mean changing the whole world at once. It often means taking responsibility for your corner of it.
A moment that surprised me:
One afternoon while my husband and I were out walking our dog, we noticed another dog walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street with no owner in sight. We went over to them, and they were immediately sweet and trusting. What started as the two of us checking on them turned into a little gathering of neighbors. Folks appeared one by one, drawn in by concern or curiosity, until suddenly there were five of us, and one toddler, working together to figure out who this dog belonged to.
What surprised me most was how naturally it all unfolded. How quickly strangers became a team. One neighbor in particular guided us during those couple of hours with genuine care, modeling how to reach out to the community to gather and share information and how to talk gently to the elderly couple we eventually discovered the dog, Buddy, belonged to. Watching her navigate those moments taught me something about patience and presence. Since then my husband and I have grown closer with one of our older neighbors, and it has made our street feel a little less lonely. A lost dog ended up giving me an unexpected glimpse of community.
A conversation that stayed with me:
My mom and I had a moment this year that has stayed with me far longer than I expected. Her dryer had been broken for months, and every time we talked about it I could feel myself inching closer to taking over. So one day I just did. I jumped in with solutions and a plan because that is what I do when someone I love is struggling. But she got upset. She told me she was doing her best. And she was.
In that moment I realized we were both slipping into old roles. Her, trying to handle everything on her own because that is how she has survived so much of her life. Me, trying to fix it all because somewhere along the way I learned to step in before things fall apart. I took a breath and told her that she does not always need to carry everything alone. That letting people help her does not mean she has failed. It was a small conversation in the bigger scheme of things, but it was a reminder that care can be shared, and that sometimes the hardest thing is knowing when to receive it and when to give it.
A lesson baking taught me:
Macarons humbled me this year. I tried so many times. I baked them alone, I baked them with my mom, and I still have not made a perfect batch. Somewhere in all those attempts I realized the point isnāt perfection. It was spending time in the kitchen again, learning the steps, messing up, and trying anyway. Baking reminds me, over and over, that trying matters more than getting it right.
āØ
So. Here I am at the start of chapter thirty seven. Iām turning the page with one part confusion, one part curiosity, and equal parts hope. That disorientation I felt standing in my kitchen the other morning wasnāt about forgetting my birthday, it was about realizing how much life and learning I packed into this year without stopping to name it. Writing it down helped me see it clearly.
Thanks for reading alongside me. š