Hello You,
J is baking. I’m writing. And I couldn’t be more content at this very moment. There are few places that feel like home. Safe places. Places that when I think about being, whether I’ve visited or not, they feel warm. Cozy. Happy.
I was in a conversation with my friend P yesterday, someone I met when I moved back here. Oh yea, I’ve moved, but I’ll get to that in another letter. We were talking about our Thanksgiving plans, and I mentioned I was going to my Aunt and Uncles. How I couldn’t wait to be there, again. To spend this holiday with my family again, something that hasn’t happened in years. Too many years. I was explaining, to P, the feeling that washes over me when I get to their house; how my body instantly relaxing. I can breathe deeply. My stresses and worries don’t exist there, they disappear.
I got the feeling that P was hinting for an invite, as he has no plans for the holiday. I’m all about welcoming others in, and sharing the warmth, but my heart said “no”, a strong “no.” Their home has never seen a bad memory. There is no hurt that lies in their house. No memories of past relationships. No childhood drama. Just joy. Smiles. Laughter. Security, the ultimate weighted blanket. Love. The unconditional kind. It is where I found my smile again. I told P all of that, and that I wanted to be selfish with my time with them. Not be distracted by another person. I want to give my family my undivided attention and focus.
At the end of the conversation, when I still didn’t extend an invite, I got the impression he thought I was being selfish and rude.
Was that selfish? Maybe. Will I regret it, no. And yes, I will be picky on who I let into that space, that sacred happy place.
xoxo
Ps, I know it’s been four months, I’ll catch you up in time.
Letters to You 