Thank you for tagging me in this. Sy's essay came and hasn't really left my veins yet. At least, I don't think it wants to.
As I was reading between the lines of your essay, particularly the reflection on 9/11 and how something dropped you to your knees and left you perpetually working to get up, the ingredients of that moment felt similar to something I've been experiencing for, perhaps, 15 years now. That specific moment in time, of building momentum, the hope of things really making a difference in life/work/all the things, and then something, utter tragedy, then slams you to the ground and something changes everything inside (except you don't quite know what it's done to you).
I was a 20-something who'd just gotten a huge job promotion, for a global law firm. I had negotiated a higher salary (very proud of myself for it, too) and when I met with two friends to celebrate at dinner, I couldn't help but notice they were happy for me but it was all very short. Short smiles, short laughs, short sentences about what I'd be able to do in the new job. On the way out to the car, my friend grabbed my arm and said, "Sweetie, we have something to tell you."
And that's the moment, I can see now, that I began running from an invisible freight train everywhere I went in life. Our friend Renee, a healthy, happy runner, super active, concert-going, 28 year old, had died on a trip with her family. It was likely the moment that I began asking the big questions of everything I was doing in my life, but also at the same time, never quite felt like I could rest inside my work. Once I could say it out loud last year: "The freight train is coming for me everywhere I go," I could start piecing together the ground of pain: Renee's face, how I see her at every birthday, how I wonder who she would be today.
Anyways, I know you asked us if we've put off doing something that could become one of the stories of my life. Maybe it's this. I just need people to know her and I need to talk about the freight train a little more often so it can become something else entirely.🫶
So appreciated you bringing Sy's piece to my attention, Amanda. It's clearly stayed with me as well. And the story you just shared. The invisible freight train. Your friend, Renee. Makes you feel it in your bones. I often wonder if the dance is to allow yourself to feel it, while know savoring where you are now.
Thank you for this, Jonathan. Yesterday, I booked a last-second trip with my husband and son for my husband’s 68th birthday. We leave tomorrow. It’s a splurge, but I thought, who knows how much time we have left- take the trip.
I love your mantra Jonathan, it is an amazing call to show up for life and to make no excuses for not living a full life. I have kept myself hidden for my whole life, so afraid of everything, afraid of life, of love, of success, of my own shadow, of my own darn voice, and it is true, there are no promises, so I am going to "Say the word, Be the Person, Risk the truth, Bridge the Gap and in my full capacity Do. The. Damn. Thing. Now! ❤️🙏
Who handed us the map,
marked in milestones, etched in expectation—
as if time were promised,
as if we could gather it like petals in our pockets,
as if the bloom were certain.
When will you grow up, they ask.
When will you settle down.
When will you marry, bear children, retire—
as if life were a ledger to be balanced,
as if wonder had an expiration date.
But I have never measured life by their clocks.
I have never asked when
as if time were a gentle thing,
as if it wouldn’t slip through my hands like perfume on the wind.
Instead, I ask—
What waits for me, neglected but alive?
What thread remains unwoven, what name unanswered?
What step have I rehearsed in my mind
but never taken in the world?
If I do not close the distance now, will I ever?
If I do not say the words, will they fade?
If I do not reach, does the space between
become the story I regret?
What if I touched the thing I have only imagined?
If I stepped toward the place I’ve only dreamed?
If I turned the someday into now—
not all at once, but one breath, one word, one motion at a time?
What if we centered the thing,
rather than leaving it to chance?
What if the map was never meant to be followed,
but scattered like breadcrumbs, leading only to now?
So here I am, barefoot in the field of what is,
not waiting for permission, not waiting for time to turn kind.
Today, I will take the step, close the distance,
say the thing that lingers unsaid.
Let them ask their questions.
I have no answers, only movement—
only wonder, only breath, only this.
And to the one who asked—
Jonathan, I thank you.
For holding up the mirror,
for pressing the question into my palm like a gift,
for reminding me, gently but firmly,
that the time to live is now.
Beautiful, Kim. Particularly loved "I have no answers, only movement—only wonder, only breath, only this." Truly poignant.
Thank you, Jonathan. Your question was a gift, & I’m grateful for the mirror it held up. That line, & this piece, exist because you asked it.
Thank you for tagging me in this. Sy's essay came and hasn't really left my veins yet. At least, I don't think it wants to.
As I was reading between the lines of your essay, particularly the reflection on 9/11 and how something dropped you to your knees and left you perpetually working to get up, the ingredients of that moment felt similar to something I've been experiencing for, perhaps, 15 years now. That specific moment in time, of building momentum, the hope of things really making a difference in life/work/all the things, and then something, utter tragedy, then slams you to the ground and something changes everything inside (except you don't quite know what it's done to you).
I was a 20-something who'd just gotten a huge job promotion, for a global law firm. I had negotiated a higher salary (very proud of myself for it, too) and when I met with two friends to celebrate at dinner, I couldn't help but notice they were happy for me but it was all very short. Short smiles, short laughs, short sentences about what I'd be able to do in the new job. On the way out to the car, my friend grabbed my arm and said, "Sweetie, we have something to tell you."
And that's the moment, I can see now, that I began running from an invisible freight train everywhere I went in life. Our friend Renee, a healthy, happy runner, super active, concert-going, 28 year old, had died on a trip with her family. It was likely the moment that I began asking the big questions of everything I was doing in my life, but also at the same time, never quite felt like I could rest inside my work. Once I could say it out loud last year: "The freight train is coming for me everywhere I go," I could start piecing together the ground of pain: Renee's face, how I see her at every birthday, how I wonder who she would be today.
Anyways, I know you asked us if we've put off doing something that could become one of the stories of my life. Maybe it's this. I just need people to know her and I need to talk about the freight train a little more often so it can become something else entirely.🫶
So appreciated you bringing Sy's piece to my attention, Amanda. It's clearly stayed with me as well. And the story you just shared. The invisible freight train. Your friend, Renee. Makes you feel it in your bones. I often wonder if the dance is to allow yourself to feel it, while know savoring where you are now.
Thank you for this, Jonathan. Yesterday, I booked a last-second trip with my husband and son for my husband’s 68th birthday. We leave tomorrow. It’s a splurge, but I thought, who knows how much time we have left- take the trip.
Love this, Liz! Can't wait to hear about the trip.
I love your mantra Jonathan, it is an amazing call to show up for life and to make no excuses for not living a full life. I have kept myself hidden for my whole life, so afraid of everything, afraid of life, of love, of success, of my own shadow, of my own darn voice, and it is true, there are no promises, so I am going to "Say the word, Be the Person, Risk the truth, Bridge the Gap and in my full capacity Do. The. Damn. Thing. Now! ❤️🙏
Love it, Samantha!
Thank you for sharing this piece and your reflections - helping us not “ignore the beauty around us.” Your writing is beautiful Jonathan. Thank you!
Do. The. Damn. Thing. Now. 😊 well said!
Thanks, Glenn. So glad this landed with you.
No Promises, Thank you for your urgent message…I need to know it now … Thank you thank you
My pleasure, Win. Happy that it resonated.
Thank you for this wonderful piece and leading me to “This is Hard to Write”
yes…. move on
Thank you
So glad to have been able to lead you to Sy's essay, Alix. Really moved me as well.
Available now,
‘as is’ liquidation sale.
Without warranties.
"as is," as always, Marisol. :-)