I wish you could see what I see

Do you ever have those moments where you think to yourself, "I want to make sure I remember this exact moment:" the words spoken, the lighting of the room, the temperature, maybe even the smells and sounds floating around you?

One of those times for me was a decade ago. I was in my mid-20s on my way out to see Justice at Terminal 5. I remember stopping at the bodega near my place in Greenpoint to get a Red Bull — it was sugar free, because that was a period of my life when I thought, "I wanna be hype, but without all that pesky sugar." It was cold outside and I remember seeing my breath as I cracked open that frosty can, which I chugged — nobody sips Red Bull — before I reached the next corner. Strutting down Nassau Ave. I thought, "I never want to forget this moment. This is NYC. This is living."

I don't know why I still remember that moment. Maybe because I told myself not to forget. Maybe because Red Bull also includes an ingredient that enhances memory.

Or maybe it was because I was experiencing an exciting moment where I felt really happy. I was seeing live music with friends, living in a city that I loved, feeling alive.

I wish I could say I always feel that way, but I don't. It's not uncommon for me to spiral down into the dark holes of my mind, leaving no lifeline with which I can climb back out. In those moments, I question everything. I doubt my ability to create, to show up as a partner or friend, to really do anything productive or of substance.

Last night I fell into one of those holes. It felt deeper and darker than usual. I started questioning everything. "why do I do what I do?" "I don't feel like anybody cares." "am I even good at it?" This time, though, rather than just asking the questions silently, I allowed myself to ask them out loud.

Levina walked over to me, where I sat at our kitchen island. The lights above were bright, our loft felt cozy and smelled like mushrooms and meat, which sizzled on the stove. She pulled out the stool next to me and sat down, I could feel her looking at me. When I looked up at her, she had tears in her eyes. Her tears startled me and, briefly, pulled me out of my head, just enough to listen. "I wish you could see what I see."

It really became clear in that moment that self-criticism doesn't just effect me/us/the self-criticizer. It touches the people we love most. They can feel it, and it's painful and heartbreaking to witness us question and doubt when they can see our full potential. They see us for our wins and our strengths; the losses, setbacks, and doubts that we enlarge and focus on are mere blips to them, if even noticeable at all.

I told myself I'd never forget that moment last night with Levina. I'm not sure how much capacity our brains have to remember these moments, but if that folder starts running out of space, I'll happily drag the Red Bull story to the trash in order to remember what it felt like to be seen and appreciated

If you made it this far, thank you for reading. And if you're receiving this email, I wish you could see what I see.

I made this playlist for you, and am also really digging this album, this album (speaking of Justice), and these DJ sets at the moment.

What's inspiring you today?

Thanks for reading and for being you.