Tuned to Blooming

Just say what it is.

I’m here at the beginning but I’m tuned to the blooming of this past year. I have pages and pages of writing in blue about the tree outside my window and the precise color of the sky. These are the signs of the richness found in the current season of life. I feel a need to surrender myself to the unknown, to the fleeting, to what I carry. Here at the beginning I am tickled by something familiar. Another revolution in the time spiral and I find myself stumbling over the same speed-bump in the lane of desire. How do I ask for what I want?

What if I said I used to want to be an instagram famous illustrator. The kind with a quirky website and clients of my dreams. I stalked everyone I still admire with hungry eyes, whispering “how do they do it, how do they do it,” between impatient breaths.

What if I said I used to want to quit my job. I begged the universe every day for a year to give me something different and to help me force the change. Flash cards and interviews and zoom calls with no follow-up.

What if I said I used to want New York to be meaningful. For this place to be real and worth all the distance. How badly I want New York to be mine in the way the songs talk about.

What if I said I still think fondly about 2016. The rise of girl bosses and the sea of millennial pink. The false wave of hope before what happened in November.

What if I said I used to want to be her friend forever. I still think about the summer of ‘21 when I hadn’t laughed so hard in such a long time. Our last memory together, hugging with tears in our eyes as we whisper “I’m so happy that we are friends.”

author

Jordan Westfall on Instagram: “2023!!!! I know many of you this year have experienced a deep felt grief, unexpected loss, and there is a wide gaping hole in the heart. Whether I’ve been right beside you or a gentle sideliner, I hope you know that you’re someone I call home. If any of these moments were to be our last, I’d keep them close & years later hold up my glass because memories with you are what has made me whole. Personal or collective, this world’s trying to wreck us but believe me when I say there is always room for hope. 🩷”

January 28, 2024

I’m here at the beginning but I’m tuned to the blooming of this past year. I spend a week with my sister playing video games and watching forgotten favorites. On another day my college best friend expresses a small need for change so we spend an afternoon curating objects for her mantel. At the top of summer I find myself floating on pool noodles in the cool water of a lake with my teenhood friend. I remember her freckles and the clouds reflected in the surface, deep in conversation right before we say fuck it, let’s get high. I drive around northern Canada with Max down a road with an end. The wind whips through our hair as we squint into the bright sunlight. I sob for the millionth time in the passenger seat of my Momma’s car. How many more times do I have left to ask her if I’m going to be alright? One dark night on a back road in upstate NY I find myself singing old songs with new friends. I remember how I begged the universe for all of you. I remember how lovely it really is to call all of you mine.

What if I said I’m still here in my house, in New York, at my job. I’m still here reading and writing and drawing. What if I said I’m still here thinking about you, about us, and about them. I whisper softly about Cadmium and Emily, telling everyone “I’m still here,” and “Things in there were just getting so loud.” I’m at the beginning and I’m tuned to blooming, to saying what it is, to knowing today this finally feels more than fine.