and you’ll think you’re not like them. But that’s because
you’re not seeing what they carry. I see it, though, because
they’re my people. I see each of us who are carrying those
heavy weights together, for one another, on behalf of one
another. And it’s the most beautiful thing I can think of.
We’re all so much more similar than we are different.
Our secrets are largely the same. Our fears are largely the
same. Marriages crack, addictions take hold, families break,
decisions are made than can never be reversed. No one is
exempt.
My friend isn’t alone. She won’t be the only one at that
party hoping that someone she loves pulls it together for a
couple hours. She won’t be the only one wishing her story
was different, neater, simpler.
At some point in the party, I’ll check in with another old
friend—I’ve been carrying his family’s deception and
betrayal and disease for decades. I’m honored to. And he
carries the broken parts of my family’s story, and my
failures and regrets. Because that’s what we do: we carry the
mess together. Your mess is mine.
grace
(Grace)
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